Santiago

We are here! Here in Santiago! In Santiago de Compostella. Saint James in the Field of Stars. The goal at the end of our road. Eight hundred kilometres from Saint-Jean, our starting point in France.

The city is familiar to us as we listen to the chatter in the square, admire its monuments, and wend our way through its streets.


The skies that held back their tears as we made our way through Galicia now open up and cry with abandon. Wind gusts tug at umbrellas. In the plaza in front of our hotel we encounter Gillian who arrived two days earlier; this evening her husband will join her if the weather allows his plane to land. The cathedral becomes the focus of our attention and the target of repeated visits to its vast interiors and its museum.

Cloister, Santiago Cathedral

Tapestry Based on a Cartoon by Goya

We are in the cathedral for noon mass on Saturday, when we are lucky enough to see the giant botafumeiro, the incense burner, in action.

Botafumeiro

That evening a repeat performance by this enormous dispenser and its team of eight handlers will be in store for us. (To witness click the small arrow in the lower left corner of the picture.)

Botafumeiro in Action

That afternoon we present at the church office our pilgrim's passports containing the stamped symbols of churches, hostals, restaurants and bars from all across the north of Spain, several from every day of our Camino. This testimony to our pilgrimage leads to the issue of our Compostela, the document in Latin that attests to our having completed the Camino. At the Sunday mass when the list of pilgrims by country will be read out, the four of us will make up the majority of the six Canadians reported as having completed the Camino.

Our hotel, the Hostal de los Reyes Catolicos, a place where pilgrims have found repose ever since the middle ages, attends to us when we want rest. Its dining room elevates our physical condition to an exalted level.

A Pilgrim's Rest

Hostal de los Reyes Catolicos - A Hotel with a Pedigree

Yet our mood is not in the ascendant. It is anti-climactic. Why?

Afterwards I wondered about this gap between what I expected to feel, and what I did feel. Why were we not as excited as we should have been during those first days in Santiago? We had completed the Camino. Certainly the city offered the visitor treasures beyond the cathedral itself.

Monastery of Saint Martin Pinario

Altar, Saint Martin Pinario

Banquet Hall, Palace of Archbishop Gelmírez

We had arrived in a city with many treasures. Right in front of our eyes was an important foundation block for the Christian faith?

Saint James Standing Guard at the Cathedral

Could it be the weather, which had turned miserable?

Could it be that one can experience the thrill of the Camino only once in one's lifetime? But Encarnita felt the same way as I did and this was her first Camino.

Certainly our entry into the cathedral was disappointing. The Puerta de la Gloria, one of Europe's most important medieval heritages, was dismantled and under restoration. Nor could we reach out and touch that entrance pillar, grasped by pilgrims completing the Camino. By so many and for so long that indentations had been worn into the marble. Restoration efforts had put it out of bounds. In the scale of Santiago time, all would soon be back in place, but for us it was out of reach.

Figures on the Puerta de la Gloria (photographed on a previous visit)

Even so, the cathedral constantly absorbed our attention. The south door leading onto the Plaza de las Platerías, was still there with its familiar faces.

Arch over the Puerta de Platerías

Stone Figures, Puerta de Platerías

Medieval Musician

Concert Goers

I believe the answer to this puzzle is to be found in the message left by so many pilgrims:

The Camino is not the goal, the Camino is the journey.

The memories we carry with us are memories of the days on the paths, of the people we met, and the sense of history at our side. Santiago de Compostela, the city is important and we would again enjoy its beauty. It was the Camino, however, that would remain strong in our minds.

Arca do Pino to Santiago de Compostela

Our last three days on the Camino. Two and a half, really, as we retargeted our resting places in order to arrive in Santiago in time for noon mass on Saturday.

Lunch Break

The weather has definitely changed. Grey skies with the constant threat of drizzle if not rain. The countryside surrounding us is a green mosaic, thanks to the moist Atlantic winds. The eucalyptus trees reach up, tall and slender, to the sky above. The flowers thrive.

Eucalyptus

While our eyes were fixed on the remaining kilometres, our thoughts were on those we had accomplished. Constant reminders of experiences from this year and from the year before. A cross. A kilometre stone. A resting pilgrim. A stone heart created by a reiki healer--or by a follower.

Could It Have Been Brian's Work?

On the Trail

We enjoyed our final casa rural at Arca do Pino, where we took advantage of its washing machine and dryer to process our clothes. All our clothes, as we wanted to explore Santiago in a state of cleanliness, although we would not be prepared to engage in the tradition of Lavacolla, our next port of call.

Our way led us over gentle slopes and through shallow valleys. Galicia was comfortable and easy, not spectacular.


Approaching Lavacolla we found Santiago's international airport blocking our way. At the very least the powers that be could have given pilgrims a right of way across the tarmac, interrupting flights when necessary. Instead we were forced to march several kilometres out of our way around the end of the long runway.



Only Twenty More to Go

The insertion of the airport into that location, however, did lead to one curious outcome. For several days we had become accustomed to encountering stone markers every tenth of a kilometre, with the remaining distance to Santiago shown. On the other side of the airport, closer to Santiago, markers were not to be seen. The markers had been removed. If the markers had been left there they would have shown that the markers prior to the airport no longer were truthful. They should have been adjusted to allow for the extra mileage around the airport. New markers on the Camino on the Santiago side of the airport would have revealed the disconnect with the earlier markers.

In Lavacolla at the Hostal O'Pino the crowds of pilgrims began to build up. The establishment had grown since I was last there, and a new building had been put up just outside the hostal compound. The compound, however, contained a derelict building whose owner was demanding of the hostal owners more than the site was worth. Just because we are on the Camino close to Santiago, there is no reason for everyone to behave as good Christians should.

Breakfast at the first opportunity and an early morning start had us on our way before eight. The rain that had been threatening now came down, but with interruptions that generated rainbows.


Monte do Gozo (Mountain of Joy) and the monument commemorating the visit by Pope John Paul II slid by.

John Paul II Monument

Chapel, Monte do Gozo

We crossed the city limits. A long walk through streets that made one realize how large the city had become. At last a sight of the cathedral tower.

The four of us walked through the Arco Palacio, holding hands, into the Praza do Obradoiro.

Praza do Obradoiro

An about turn and there, in front of us and above us, the baroque facade of Santiago's cathedral.

Portomarín to Arzua

Saturday looms five days away. Our Camino is coming to an end. A slight sigh of relief washed away by a river of regret, regret that an all absorbing experience is drawing to a close. More completely for some than others.


The atmosphere of these final days differs markedly from the freshness of the Navarrese hills and the monumental majesty of the Castillian plains. The Galician scenery is smaller in scale, a monochromatic green. Yes there are Camino markers, chapels, shrines, crosses:











Mary


























Cross, Ligonde










































San Roque, who appeared to be getting more attention in Galacia than elsewhere




























and, of course, the never ending stream of bridges.

None of these Camino campanions, however, came with the pedigree that the churches and towns of Castille and León provide. Yet the desire to include more information, more pictures grows in strength, likely fed by awareness that the opportunities to feed the blog are about to disappear.

Our attempt to take in the sights of Portomarín was frustrated once again by our choice of day: tourist attractions in Spain are closed on Mondays. A visit to the interior of the Templar church will remain on my "to do" list for the future.










Church of San Nicholas, Portomarín


























As we climbed out of the town, however, on our way to Ligonde we encountered our first pilgrim on horseback. He would reach Santiago before us.

Encarnita, on Foot

Joseph, emerged from a farm house in the neighbourhood of Hospital de la Cruz, and informed us of the crash of the Air France flight from Brazil to Paris. That sad news led to a half hour conversation in which Joseph recounted his experience of isolation as a migrant worker in France, his return to take over the family farm when in his forties, his formation of a family, and his desire never to be far from his inventory of animals and equipment and to keep both feet firmly on the ground.

That evening our accommodation would not be located on the Camino. José had spent two years converting an old farm in nearby Monterosso into a beautiful casa rural: spacious rooms, antique furniture and good food.

Casa Rural, Monterosso

The purity of our Camino was not impaired as José met us on the Camino in Eirexe and returned us to the very same spot the next morning.

Foggy Morning, Eirexe

The Camino continues to be populated by people stories, not all of which hung together. Nearing Palas de Rei we met a German and his large black dog walking in the other direction. He had walked the Camino .... He was retracing his steps to meet his wife .... She had been injured on the Camino but was now completing it .... This routine of a couple proceeding in opposite directions, we were told, was completed daily .... No matter how hard we tried, we were unable to fit this gentleman's set of facts to a single, consistent story.

John and Louise were an American and Irish woman who took over our table at a sidewalk café in Palas de Rei where we had enjoyed a very taste snack of octopus. Louise, who had walked the Camino before, was introducing John to the experience. Encarnita, as was her wont, moved directly to the questions that interested her. Learning they were not married and did not have specific plans in that direction, she managed to invite herself to the wedding, whenever it took place, provided it was in Ireland, a country Encarnita always had wanted to see. The honeymoon, in part, would be in Toronto, at our home.











Chorus Line












Poppies










After another night in a well equipped casa rural near Laboreiro, energetically run by Puri, we moved on to Melide, where we said good-bye to Kike, the facilitator of John Anthony's surprise appearance.


A taxi ride back to Portomarín where he picked up his car had him back in Madrid by dinner-time.

Galician Countryside

That evening we reached Arzua. The reservation we had made by phone turned out to be the same pension Bill and I had stayed in five years before. There was Manuel, a familiar face, sitting in his chair on the sidewalk between two doors. One door gave access to the pension, private rooms with baths; the other to an albergue with dormitory accommodation. His recommended route to good food worked well.

O'Cebreiro to Portomarín

Now we are three on the Camino--plus Ludwig, our new mascot.

Leaving O'Cebreiro

The first half of the walk to Triacastela follows the crest of the ridge, with alternating views into the valleys far below to the north and to the south. We crossed an asphalt road and were following a dirt track when a man came running up to us in the opposite direction. Hair dishevelled, panting and out of breath, he shouted at us to turn around and follow the road. The track would become intolerably steep, and our faces would be pressed into the dirt of the hill. It was not a climb to undertake. Ignoring him, we pushed on. At no point was the Camino ever that challenging. Yes, we did find a steep climb for a few hundred metres, but the track provided the appropriate zigzags to help us to the top, where there was a bar. As we rewarded ourselves with a beer, we wondered what could possibly have led to such a panicky reaction.

St. James on the Lookout

On the Way to Triacastela

On our way down to Triacastela we could see a major quarry on the other side of the valley. In the middle ages it had been a source of limestone which the pilgrims would carry to Santiago as a personal contribution to the building of the cathedral. We found our packs quite sufficient and we had no idea how the medieval pilgrim managed to carry a meaningful amount to his ultimate destination.

We debated which route we would follow from Triacastela to Sarria: the shorter, but higher San Gil path, or the longer, lower route that took the pilgrim through the monastery town of Samos. We opted for the latter, although eventually forged an even longer but thoroughly delightful itinerary which took us from Samos over to the San Gil path before reaching Sarria.

The Monastery at Samos

The monastery's existence goes back centuries and its role in the history of Spain is extensive. Its buildings, however, are of recent vintage as a result of serious fires. Only half the enormous library was saved.

Camino Village

Teresa and Encarnita

On the Camino six degrees of separation are more than needed. Most of the time only a couple are needed. Encarnita met Teresa from Zamora. Teresa lived in Oslo, Norway, and was friendly with the small Mexican community. She did not know John Anthony's sister-in-law Tanía, but I am certain she would within a few days of returning to her home.

Roadside Shrine

Sarria on a Saturday night is lively. The town sits on a hill that lies between two rivers that come together a short distance below the town. One of the rivers, Rio Sarria, parallels the main street and the promenade that follows its bank is lined with bars and restaurants. Across the river a wedding celebration underway. As Encarnita, Sara and I were enjoying dinner, the guests were between ceremony and reception and enjoying a stroll along the promenade. The dresses were lavish in colour, adornment and length. One could easily see the difficulties one has in satisfying the requirements of good taste in the shops of a relatively small city.

The walk from Sarria to Portomarín took us past farm field after farm field. Grain. Potatoes. Sometimes we were in the open, sometimes under the shelter of stately trees.


At Barbadelo we decided not to visit the farm where I had stayed five years before. Instead we visited with a neighbour of Carmen, an older gentleman who was tending to his cows. Or at least, who should have been tending to his cows, according to his wife who instructed him from a distance to get on with it.

Self-service Convenience Store for Twenty-first Century Pilgrims

On the Way to Portomarín

Only 100 kilometres more to go

Hórreo, or Raised Granary

At last one gains the view of Portomarín crowned by its Templar church on the other side of the Rio Miño, which at that point is dammed up to form a long, winding lake. The descent to the bridge across the lake is long, as is the climb up to the town on the far side. At this time of year the water level of the lake is high; by fall it will be down to a point where the foundations of homes that had to be abandoned when the dam was built can be seen.

Portomarín and the Church of San Nicolás

Our home for the night would be what is termed a Centro Turistico Rural, 800 metres outside town in the direction of the lake. A large stone building that had likely at one point been a combined home and barn, and now served as a lounge and restaurant drew us like a magnet. The main lodge with half a dozen bedrooms and separate cabins spread around the fields were all made of logs, North American in design. A few couples had pitched tents in the field. A variety of recreational activities were offered including horse back riding.

Centro Turistico Rural - Portomarín

My interest, however, was focused on my watch. The last surprise, surprise for Encarnita, was about to unfold. She knew that Kike, the son of a very good friend from her childhood in Granada was driving up from Madrid to join us for a few days on the Camino. The relationship goes back even further, as Kike's grandfather and Encarnita's father were best friends. What had been arranged, however, was a flight that would bring John Anthony from Mexico to Madrid. We had done our best to keep Encarnita unaware of this added touch.

Encarnita was suspicious about Kike's driving six hours to join us. There had to be more afoot than two days on the Camino. She remembered how John Anthony, with her help, had surprised me in Leon the first time I was on the Camino. A number of times during the past three weeks she had asked me if John Anthony would be joining us. I did the best I could to deflect the notion, but Encarnita intuitively was certain that at some point her son would appear. That intuitive foreknowledge, however, did not in any way diminish the embrace they gave each other when at midnight he appeared from Kike's car. Now we were four on the Camino, five for a few days.