Very close to the start of a new country, other than where I am, there is a sign. It says “Santiago de Compostela: 790″. Many people pass by, look at it, adjust their hats, adjust their shoes; Some take a picture or make a sign with their hands like drawing a cross in the air, and begin to walk. I do not know what that sign means, but something is clear: Santiago de Compostela is far away.
Around that sign there are many green mountains, and a lot of humidity. And there are sheep.
In addition to mountains, sheep and stone houses, and people sitting drinking something, there is a path, or a way, as my dad told me.
My Dad points me to that road and says: “There at the end is Santiago de Compostela. From here you do not see it, but a few months ago we were there. Do you remember about the people we interviewed about the way? ”
The truth is that I do not know what Dad is talking about. It’s hard to remember those things at my age. But I do remember the word “way”. And I remember that at the end of that street there were people smiling, celebrating having arrived. But now, next to that sign, I see serious people. Some are already tired. But their shoes are new, and if there is one thing I remember, it is an old worn out shoe I had seen at the end of that road.
So I think maybe it’s the shoes that lead the walker and not the other way around. Maybe they are the soul of the walker and as long as they do not break, they are going to get to their owner to where he wants to go. Maybe Santiago de Compostela is the end of the road. What I do not understand is why they walk so far and do not go by car. Suddenly a lady walks past me and tells another person that passes by: “Good way”. Is it then that the end of that road is just that: the end? Perhaps the important thing is everything that separates this sign from that old worn out shoe.
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