For weeks, maybe even months, you have walked. Step after step, through rain and sun, over mountains and plains, through exhaustion and joy, you have followed the yellow arrows. And now, at last, you are here, Santiago de Compostela, the end of the Camino. But as the spires of the cathedral rise before you, as you take those final steps into the Plaza del Obradoiro, something unexpected happens. Instead of feeling finished, you feel something else. A mix of relief and disbelief, joy and loss. After all this time, after all these miles, the question forms almost immediately, what now?

For many pilgrims, stepping into the Plaza del Obradoiro is one of the most emotional moments of their lives. The cathedral stands before you, grand and weathered, its stones holding centuries of pilgrim stories. Some pilgrims rush forward, arms raised in celebration. Others fall to their knees, overwhelmed by the journey’s end. Many simply stand in silence, staring at the cathedral, unsure of what to feel. It is a moment too big for words, a moment that does not unfold the way you imagined. You expected closure, a clear sense of completion, but instead, something lingers, an awareness that the Camino is not so easily left behind.

There is no rush now. After walking so far, you have earned the right to pause. Find a spot to sit, lean against your pack, and watch as others arrive. Some have been walking for weeks, others just a few days, but here, in this moment, everyone shares something unspoken. If you have walked with others, now is the time to celebrate together, hugs, laughter, maybe a few tears, perhaps even an impromptu bottle of wine passed between friends. Eventually, you take the classic pilgrim photo in front of the cathedral, but more than the snapshot, it is the details that stay with you, the faces of fellow pilgrims, the quiet smiles of those who understand exactly what this moment means.

Before long, you make your way to the Pilgrim’s Office, a short walk from the cathedral, where you will receive your Compostela, the certificate marking the completion of your journey. It is just a piece of paper, yet it carries the weight of every step, every challenge, every moment of doubt and perseverance. The line may be long, but that too is part of the experience. You wait among fellow pilgrims, swapping stories, sharing reflections, knowing that this gathering is one of the last before everyone disperses, each returning to their own lives.

For many, the true ending comes not in the plaza, but inside the cathedral itself. The Pilgrim’s Mass, held daily at noon, welcomes all who have walked the Camino, regardless of faith. As the names of newly arrived pilgrims are read aloud, their nationalities listed one by one, a quiet recognition settles over the room. You are part of something larger than yourself, something that has existed for centuries and will continue long after you have left. If you are fortunate, you may witness the Botafumeiro, the enormous silver incense burner that swings across the cathedral in a breathtaking arc. Once used to cleanse medieval pilgrims of the dust and sweat of the road, it now serves as a symbol of the journey’s history, a final moment of awe before you step back into the world beyond the cathedral doors.

Beneath the altar, many pilgrims visit the crypt where the remains of Saint James are said to rest. Some touch the statue of the apostle in gratitude, while others kneel in silence, reflecting on all they have carried, physically, emotionally, spiritually. Even those who do not come for religious reasons often find something deeply moving in this space. It is a place to say thank you, to acknowledge the journey, to recognize that, in some way, you are leaving a part of yourself behind.

And then, suddenly, it is time to celebrate. The first meal in Santiago is unlike any other. Wine flows freely, plates of pulpo a la gallega and Padrón peppers fill the table, and voices rise in laughter and storytelling. You toast to the miles walked, the friendships formed, the lessons learned. This meal is not just about the food, it is about the shared experience, the knowledge that everyone at the table has walked the same path, endured the same struggles, and arrived here transformed in ways they may not yet fully understand.

But even in the midst of celebration, there is a strange feeling, one that no one warns you about. For weeks, every day had a clear purpose: to walk. Now, there is no next stage, no yellow arrow pointing the way. A restlessness stirs, a feeling that something is missing. Some pilgrims revel in the freedom, while others struggle with the sudden stillness. What do you do when the Camino is over?

For many, the answer is simple, they keep walking. Some continue to Finisterre or Muxía, following the ancient tradition of walking to the coast, where the land meets the sea. It is a three-to-five-day journey to what was once thought to be the end of the world, a place where pilgrims historically burned their old clothes or boots as a symbol of leaving the past behind. Standing at the ocean’s edge, watching the sun dip below the horizon, many find the closure that Santiago did not provide. Others stay in the city for a few more days, unsure of what comes next, reluctant to step back into a world that now feels too fast, too disconnected from the simplicity they have come to love. And some head home, only to realize, not long after, that the Camino is calling them back.

Because here is the truth, the Camino does not end in Santiago. It stays with you, woven into the way you see the world, into the choices you make, into the way you carry yourself each day. The question is no longer about where you are going, but how you will bring the Camino home with you. Will you slow down, as you did on the trail? Will you let go of what no longer serves you? Will you be more open, more patient, more grateful? The Camino is not just a walk; it is a way of being. And when you return home, you will realize that the journey is never truly over.

At some point, after the excitement fades, after the last hugs and goodbyes, after the final sip of Galician wine, you will feel it, that familiar pull, that quiet voice reminding you of the road. And one day, almost without realizing it, you will start planning again. Because the Camino never really ends. It is a path you will carry with you forever. And maybe, just maybe, you will find yourself, once more, at the starting point, tying your boots, ready to walk again.

Buen Camino.