Pedrouzo to Santiago de Compostella

It's hard to describe just how much I'd built up reaching Santiago in my head.

I'd imagined it many times over. I'd played out scenes in my mind. I'd become emotional just thinking about it.

And now today was the day .... and it was going to be nothing like I imagined.

Today would be the last time the whole family walked together. We'd all begun our journey looking forward to reaching Santiago but now the city cast a large shadow over us - it was the place where we'd have to say goodbye.

We planned to all walk together, to eat lunch on a hill overlooking the city and then to make our descent as a family into Santiago, weaving our way through the streets to the cathedral.

As with all plans over the last few weeks, the Camino had other ideas. We did end up eating lunch on a hill but we lost Abdal and Magda somewhere along the way. Janne and Rick were missing too, as Rick was in real pain with his leg and decided to rest a little earlier along the way.

It didn't feel quite right without everyone there, and while Martine and I tried to lighten the mood (mainly by poking Don with a stick!), I felt heavy, and I think everyone else did too.

Before making our way into Santiago, we thankfully managed to find Abdal, Magda, Janne and Rick and we all crossed the threshold into the city together, still with a couple of miles to go before we reached the cathedral.

They were a slow two miles, Rick was in terrible pain and so we matched his pace, determined that we'd all reach our destination together.

This was supposed to be the beautiful end of my journey, but I'd already decided to walk onto Finisterre, so it wasn't the end for me anymore, but it was for some of my friends and this felt like too much to contemplate.

Martine and I held hands for a little while, both understanding what reaching this place meant to the other.

Our slow trawl through the busy city seemed never ending. Walking through cities had been my least favourite part of Camino and I have to say Santiago was doing nothing to change this.

The only saving grace was knowing that my parents - who had flown out to meet me - would be there somewhere waiting for me.

The sun was shining and the sky was full blue, a welcome contrast to the grey concrete all around us.

Eventually grey turned to stone as we entered the old part of the city, the cathedral just around the corner. Cutting through the hustle and bustle came the sound of bag pipes, beautiful Celtic music welcoming us into Cathedral square and signalling the end.

We came down some stone steps, under an archway and that was it. We were there, the cathedral looming over us, not quite in all its splendour as it was covered in scaffolding.

Susanna and I have since spoken at length about this cathedral under construction, there really is no better metaphor for our pilgrim selves - beautiful people but in need of some attention, some work, some care.

Hugs were had, photos were taken and then, far away across the square I spotted two familiar faces peeking at us behind a pillar.

With backpack still on and aching feet, I ran across the square to my parents.

The last time I'd seen them had been at the airport, where they'd dropped me off with some trepidation about what lay ahead for me. Now, five weeks later, they were running to embrace me in the warm Spanish sunshine.

"You've done it! You've done it! We're so proud of you." These words will be ringing in my ears forever.

We walked back to the crew, and I couldn't wait to introduce them to everybody. We had more photos, more hugs, then it was onto business - heading to the Camino office to receive our Compostella - the official certificate for Pilgrims.

It was like queuing in the post office - I felt like I wanted party poppers, balloons and fanfare, but all we got was an electronic screen telling us which desk to go to.

When it was my turn, I handed over my pilgrim credential, now covered in stamps from each hostel I'd stayed at, while the man filled in my details, including my Latin name - Clarem - and how many kilometres I'd walked - 799.

Outside, I showed off my certificate to my parents and had my photo taken like I'd done 20 years ago with my swimming badges.

We all walked to our hostel together, checked in, then I headed back to my parents' hotel for a hot shower.

As the warm water ran across my body, tiredness gave way to emotions I'd been trying to keep in check all day. I was supposed to be feeling joy, but I felt overwhelmed with sadness.

My poor parents, they'd come all this way to see me, and now their daughter was a sobbing mess on the bed.

In all honesty I felt exhausted, empty and full of anxiety - I wanted this walk, this experience, this feeling to go on forever and now it was all slipping away.

I'm so lucky to have parents that understand me so well, they listened patiently and without judgement.

That evening, I met back up with the Camino crew and we went for dinner, then drinks, then some more drinks.

Susanna, Martine, Janne, Davide, Ines, Manon and I ended up in a bar playing pool and talking, talking, talking.

We drank too much, we stayed out too late - after all our nights together, it was bound to end this way.

Happy friends, walking and talking together on their way to a hostel, holding hands, hugging each other close, thinking only of this moment, this feeling, these people.

Endings are also beginnings after all.