Monday evening, Peggy and I walked down to the RENFE station, and caught the night train to Madrid. The train was completely full. (Peggy had been unable to buy a second-class ticket, so I had changed my ticket to first class.) In the old days, once a pilgrim reached Santiago, he would have turned around and walked back home. But today, it's a one way trip, with the pilgrims returning on public transit.
In Madrid, we parted company, with her heading for her hotel, and me going to the airport. I had carefully spent all of my cash, saving a 10-euro note to spend on a fine farewell breakfast. But there had been a power failure in Madrid, and the subway had not resumed full service yet. (And neither the elevators nor the escalators were working, so I had to hump my bag up the stairs.) I did make it to the airport in time to catch my flight, but had no time to spare to stop in a restaurant. (I eventually mailed the 10-euro note to Ginger, asking her to have breakfast on me the next time she was in Europe.)
Entered the States and went through customs in NYC. And, when I got dinner while waiting for my flight to Portland, I suddenly realized that I didn't have to speak Spanish anymore. And that was a relief.
