It was the 10th of March, my birthday when I had to fly to Santiago de Compostela. A city I knew well as I had been on the Camino several times along the years. I had walked the Via Tolosana from Arles to Santiago, verging around 1500km - a great experience and challenging walk. Last November I did a shorter route - the Camino Portuges do Costa from Porto, very pictoresque and less challenging.

In Santiago, I had to sing the role of Sharpless in Puccini's famed opera Madama Butterfly and later would have the opportunity to photograph the city again. On my second day all was cancelled along with my return flight from Santiago as Malta closed all fights to several countries including Spain. That evening I walked in the historical centre and headed to a favourite bar and whilst sipping my favourite cerveza 1906 along with a delicious pincho of tortilla de patatas I decided what my next move should be. I was toying with the idea to walk again towards Finisterre, but that would take me only four days, whilst the Camino do Norte was impractical. I had a flight from Porto on the 19th of March so that left me ample time. I remembered a few weeks earlier I had laughed by a prospect passed by a friend who said I might not be able to return upon mentioning I was headed to Spain.

I finally decided I would head to Porto, on the familiar Camino Portuges and complete the last bit by transport. The next day I eagerly took the route out of Santiago. Destination was the small town of Padron. Some friends of mine hearing the news and knowing I was in Spain called me to check I was fine. As I had left Santiago around noon I only managed to hit Padron at around seven in the evening. I met loads of pilgrims going my opposite direction. The majority were young Germans, but I remember there were Spanish, Portuguese, French, Russian and an Italian. I remember vividly earlier that day meeting briefly three young Germans who were amazed I knew Giessen, the town they came from as I had visited thanks to a friend who was a lead opera singer at the theatre. We took a picture together for memory and I had continued on my journey.

I walked to the historical centre of Padron to buy a raincoat and some food for the next day and was pretty excited to be on the Santiago route again. After speaking to several pilgrims of their journey and the situation in general I slept soundly and the day after was fresh to get back on the route. It was an even more interesting day, as the route by then becomes more rural and isolated. I remembered a bar on the way from which I sent some pictures to Miguel, a Spanish hiker I walked with the last few days on my last Camino. Destination was Caldas de Reis, a pretty town with thermal fountains dating back to the Romans. One of the pilgrim’s hostels which I tried to check in was closed - I found it a bit strange and upon inquiry, I was told the Spanish government was closing anything related to the state in that area. I had checked two days previously at the pilgrims’ office in Santiago if everything was normal on the route and they were positive. Thus, I headed to the albergue I had known from last time. All was normal there and I hanged out with several pilgrims. Due to this, I missed going to a favourite bar I had discovered on my last Camino, at a refurbished mill on the river. The following morning whilst checking the news on my laptop in the patio of the albergue, the owner, an elderly Spanish lady, told me all would be closed from that day onwards. Initially I thought she meant the albergues, but she said only food shops and pharmacies would be open and there was a decision pending on closing the borders. I immediately changed plan again and decided to head to the bus stop, where I met around ten German youths waiting to get to Porto - the majority seemed pretty nervous and didn’t take my jokes very well. They also heard that the Spanish border was to be closed soon. My aim was to arrive at Tui, at the border with Portugal, hoping all would be fine on the other side. I had to take three buses, initially to Pontevedra and another to Vigo from where I would head to Tui. It was around one o’clock when I arrived there. From the Bus I could see deserted streets and shops with closed shutters. Upon arriving close to the border I could see a policeman outside the police station but I was not stopped. I crossed the bridge, usually very crowded and only met what seemed to be an elderly pilgrim from America headed to Spain. I told her all was closed there, but it seemed she did not understand me.

I was in Portugal. I ascended the stairs to the historic fort of Valenca hoping nobody would stop me. And nobody did. It was pretty surreal. The churches and all the places in the fort which usually cater for tourists and pilgrims were open and their owners and workers outside. But nobody was inside. I was the only outsider around. Only at the other end of the fort I met four Spanish Pilgrims returning home from Porto. Two kilometers later in the scorching sun, I stopped at the first bar I found, and got a refreshing Super Bock - I spoke a while with the owner and the three people inside and it seemed all was pretty normal there. I had intended to go to a place I stayed in last time, a lodging at Vila Nova de Cerveira, a pictoresque area of Portugal. I phoned Margot, a German who lived in Portugal for some twenty years and who had made a career as a composer specialized in New Age music, who remembered me from the last time I was there. I had anticipated five hours on foot and my calculations were precise. I remembered almost all details from the route and was delighted to re-visit a lot of places along the way. I was the only pilgrim on the road, though Portugese people were around, sometimes glancing at me rather strangely as I presume they thought nobody was on the Camino any longer. That evening was a memorable one. Not only Margot was very welcoming, against all odds I met a German couple, Jonathan and Sussana who also offered to share their very abundant and delicious meal with me. Despite this, more unwelcoming news came forth as Margot told me that next Monday all would be shut down alongside transport - and there was a pending decision if other airports would be closed. As I had no tent and was several days away from Porto, I wasn’t left with many practical options. Against my will, I thought the most practical would be to try to catch the flight the following morning which left at 10.20. The only available transport was a bus which arrived at 9.45 meaning I had to literally get through the security gates in no time. I presumed the streets would be empty being a Sunday and the airport not too crowded and the worst thing which could happen would be missing the flight and therefore would have to improvise how and where I will stay. I know Porto pretty well so it would be all fine. I managed to get the flight tough.