Finally

Home and Final Thoughts (July 6th)

Well, we are headed back home to friends and family and to things that are familiar. We made it through the metro and across the sprint through (seemingly) the entire breadth of the Madrid airport to get to our terminal and gate in time.

Part of me looks forward to somethings and hates to leave behind others. Same with Stella. I suppose that is the same with any trip, and especially a grand adventure. In the last couple of days, starting on the bus back to Madrid, we started keeping a list of things will not miss from here and things we are looking forward to getting back to. I will also add a list of things that I WILL miss.

Things We Will NOT Miss:
Steep inclines and steps, up or down
Heavy backpacks

(I finally weighed mine at the airport - it's pretty equivalent to what I was carrying the days I carried it all, about 2/3 of the time: 23 lbs!)

Bunkbeds
Sleeping with 7 - 119 other people
Push-button showers of varying temperatures
Handwashing cloths (chamois!)
Big plates of french fries
Iceberg lettuce
Lights on timers in toilets
Thick, mucky mud that clings to boots
Fine, dusty dirt that penetrates boots
Blisters on feet
Cow/horse/sheep manure on path

Things We're Looking Forward To:
Loved Ones (including the furry ones)
Hair dryers
Washing machines
Other clothes to choose from
Wider food selections (and healthier food)
Our own beds and sleeping through the night
No leg cramps
Real towels and wash cloths
Clean sheets
Not worrying about bedbugs
Toilet paper, paper towels & soap in public restrooms
Availability of public restrooms


Things I Will Miss:
Being outdoors all day everyday (except in bad weather)
A new view all the time
Meeting new people constantly
Hearing the stories of people and places
Enjoying the moment (it's harder in a daily routine)
Feeling strong
Listening to different languages
Being away from the everyday busyness
Trying new things
Having time just dedicated to resting in God
Meeting a challenge
Alemandrado Blanco and not feeling guilty 'cuz I've earned it!
Sharing an adventure of a lifetime with friends


Finally, thank you to Stella and Mary who said yes to this adventure and who made it possible. Thank you to all of you who followed along on this blog as eratic as it was, given the unavailability of computers and wifi. Thank you to everyone who supported us with your prayers and other kinds of support, and you know who you are. Thank you. This trip is a gift I will treasure always.

Celebrating

Madrid (Saturday, July 3rd - Monday, July 5th)

Saturday, July 3rd
We have slept well in our little Madrid hostal. It almost feels like a tiny studio apartment. We are on the corner, with two shuttered windows and their little iron balconies, opening up to the streets below on either side. It's a shame to have to leave, but we do. We head out to find something to eat at a local place down on the corner across from the Atocha train station plaza. Then we talk about what to do with the day. It's a lovely sunny day. Yesterday's rain had cleared just as we had arrived into the main train station, so now, we have great weather again.

There are lots of wonderful museums in Madrid and the Reina Sophia (Queen Sophia) is right behind us, across the plaza. So we decide to start there. On the way, we stop at a little visitor information trailer set up outside to pick up brochures about the city. There are some interesting and some bizarre things on exhibit at the museum. This museum is dedicated to modern art. Some of it I like and some I do not and really can't consider art at all. This was a mobile out in the courtyard by someone whose name you'd recognize if I could remember! And another piece outdoors that I liked:

There was another exhibit by an artist, Martin Ramfrez, entitled "Reframing Confinement." With a very limited range of materials and supplies, he created an interesting array of work while incarcerated in a hospital for the insane in California. He had been born in Mexico and left his wife and family to come to this country to find work. He had worked on the railroad for several years, but then was picked up as a drifter and diagnosed with some severe mental illnesses. His work was absolutely fascinating, with a lot of repeating and detailed elements. He spoke very little over the decades, so no one is sure what the various things symbolize.

Many of the other displays were mid-century and I didn't consider them terribly enlightening or worth being on display - a pile of tires? For heaven's sake, we have them all over the South! Rags in a pile? Crumpled up and spray-painted newspaper piled up in a heap - and this is an adult? Come on now. And moving, jangling mobiles of mid-century houseware items? Encased (more like embalmed) items from someone's trashcan? Sorry.

So, when we have enough of this lovely stuff, we go in search of our home for the night before going to see the Botanical Garden a few blocks away for things that are actually beautiful and edifying. Just up the street from where we had breakfast, we find the Hostal San Blas. It is partly under refurbishment, with the interior courtyard having construction equipment and scaffolding in it, but it will do. The room is pretty ugly, but it is not very expensive, seems safe, and we're only sleeping in it. And, we can have it for both nights we have left, so we take it!

As we are walking up King Alfonso XII Boulevard to get to the gates of the Botanical Garden, there is a young lady decorating fans to sell. I am tempted to buy one, but then wonder, what would I really do with it when I get back? I am long past the point of having to have tangible souvenirs of every place I go.

At the entrance to the Botanical Gardens, there's a nice little gift shop, but again, nothing I have to have (or could get back). There's a nice orientation sign to help us - - this place is much larger than the one I'm used to back home. It's laid out rather formally in sections. At least it will be a shady place to explore for a while. There are lots of roses as we seen all along our walk, although it seems that they are beginning to be past their peak. They also have some dahlias that are gorgeous. And some others that I'm not sure if they are dahlias or something else. I first fell in love with dahlias at a floral exhibition on the Insel Mainau on the Bodensee decades ago, but it is hard to grow them in as warm a climate where I live. We find some furry inhabitants of the garden as well, but they are feral and very shy!

It is a large garden and there is a vegetable and herb area as well as flowers, and some more wonderful tree specimens.


The Botanical Garden is set next to a much larger park, the Parque del Retiro, and we decide we will explore that later. It is late in the afternoon as we finish the garden and we hear very lively music coming from somewhere. As we leave the Garden and head up the street, we discover that on this weekend, Madrid is hosting a very big Gay Pride celebration and people are forming up into a parade with lots of buses and flatbeds full of different groups in support of it. There are a lot of sights to behold!

We enjoyed our dinner so much at Cafe Azul that we return there this evening. It's just as good this evening. And we're only a couple of blocks away from our new hostal. We get back in our room and I try to connect to the wifi that we're supposed to have, but it doesn't work. I try to make the little tv work, but it doesn't work either. Oh well. It'll be a quiet evening!



Sunday, July 4th

Of course, Spain doesn't celebrate our Independence Day, but on the Hard Rock Cafe, there is a string of paper flags that encircles their deck eating area, so we have just a touch of the ol' Red, White and Blue this day!

Well, we really wish that we had read the guidebooks closer yesterday. The Prado and other big museums are closed today and tomorrow (Monday), so we will entirely miss them. I gladly would have traded the Reina Sophia for them, if I had only known! But we've heard of the Madrid Vision bus tours with the big, red, double-decker buses. They have the Route 1 (Historical Madrid) and Route 2 (Modern Madrid) tours, and for one price, you can ride all day long and get on and off as many times as your want. We decide this is a great way to spend the day and see the city!

We start with breakfast across the way again. I have to say, I'll be glad to get back to yogurt and juice, too. Everything here is just so heavy compared with what I'm used to! As we walk towards the Vision bus stop, I notice this little pig's head in the window of a meat shop.

For a good while during the day, we ride around, getting a feel for the city, taking first one tour and then the other. That's when we see the Hard Rock Cafe and cheer a little! We are driven through the area where a number of embassys and posh residences are. One home in particular catches my eye. Remember how few squirrels we've noticed? Well it still holds true, even here in Madrid. But this house has a giant - 2' tall? - squirrel as it's chimney pipe in stone or cement. You can't miss it. It's not a new house, probably 1920's, Tudor Revival, storybook quaint in a wealthy kind of way. Perhaps whoever built it was a fan of Squirrel Nutkins.

We get off at one point near one of their department stores. Stella goes shopping for awhile, but I find that I am completely turned off by everything in there. And there really isn't anything I'm looking for anyway. I think they probably have their security cameras turned on me because of the way that I am dressed and look, but that's okay. I go out and wander up and down the street until the appointed time for Stella and I to meet. We hop back on board one of the big red buses and head back to the more historic area up around the royal palace. This area for window shopping or real shopping is much more to my liking than a regular department store. It has local stores with some artisan wares and more traditionally Spanish items. And also more tourist schlock, but you can sort through that. We find a little outdoor restaurant to eat at. We wait and wait and they never decide to serve us. So, we get up and move next door to another place. No problem, we get served just fine and it's a nice meal. Around the corner, we find our requisite afternoon alemandrado blanco in this beautiful little, park-like crescent area.




From here, we walk up to the Royal Palace. It is the largest palace in Europe (the world?) with 18000 rooms or something like that. The royal family doesn't actually live here though! Right now, they are out of the country. Someone does arrive while we are here though in a royal coach. Surprisingly, we are not privy to who it is! There are formal gardens beside the palace that are open for the public to walk through, though they are mostly geometric boxwood parterres with some reflecting pools and are not all that lovely otherwise.

From here, we walk into the shopping area. We find a lovely kitchen store (I love to cook, Stella's not as big on it.) The store is called La Rebleion de los Mandiles, "The Rebellion of the Aprons" and yes, there is a story behind that! It has artisanal products from around Spain and it is also a wine school. I pick up some olive oil to take back with me and an apron (!) for Laura. I enjoy talking with the owner and finding out about their cooking school. Maybe someday I'll come back for that!

We continue down the street and find a sort of arcade of stores on an old plaza. They are fun to explore, but we are getting tired. It's funny. On these days when we haven't walked anywhere near as far as we did on the Camino, we get tired more easily it seems. Perhaps it is a tiredness of all the visual and audio stimulation of the people and the products and the signs and the streetlife. We find a big red bus to carry us back home for the evening. As we ride home, we sit on the top level of the doubledecker. Lights are beginning to come on. Madrid is filled with a wide variety of architectural styles, depending upon the neighborhood.

Once back in 'our' neighborhood, we go to a little Asian restuarant near us for something completely different. It is very good. And nice to not have more than a few doorways to go home. Our next-to-last night in Spain.


Monday, July 5th

It's another gorgeous day and we begin with breakfast in a different little cafe across and down the street. We walk up the pedestrian mall alongside the Botanical Garden and Public Park. It is sort of a flea market for book sellers. They are, of course, mostly in Spanish, but it is interesting to look anyways.

From here, we enter one of the side gates into the very large public park. It feels deep and cool under the large trees. It's sort of like Central Park in NYC, where paths go out in lots of directions - it's hard to know where to head first. We choose a direction off to the left. It takes us to an interesting place. It is an island (almost) with a moat around it, with a path up to the top. There are 192 olive and cypress trees. It is the memorial for the 191 people killed and the 1800 people injured in the bombing of the Atocha train station on March 11, 2004 (and a police officer who died later). We are silent for long moments. It has only been 6 years since this massive tragedy. No wonder everything in the station looks so new. The living trees are a symbol of life ascending amidst the destruction and death. It is called The Forest of Remembrance. There is such peacefulness here. I wonder if any of the family members ever come here, or if they avoid it.

The rest of the park is just beautiful. There are tennis courts in the park and some other recreational areas. There are also a lot of acres of just woods with walking trails and benches. Then there are grassy lawns and sidewalks. People choose to use some of these for sunbathing. There's a large rectangular 'lake' with cafes and refreshment stands. People can rent paddleboats here or feed the waterfowl that congregate. On one side of the lake is a large war memorial to one of the many Alfonsos. Here and there, there are big splashes of color where they have flower plantings around fountains or along walkways. All in all, it's a lovely public space for the people of Madrid (and those of us who come to visit!)


We leave the park and look for a place for lunch. Unfortunately, we don't make a good choice. We end up at a touristy place across from the Prado and the food is not good. We head homeward. Near the hostal is a toy store. I spotted something in the window of the store that I've been looking for for Mom for awhile, so we go inside and I get it. It's a small yellow convertible roadster. She always wanted a real one - I can't do that, and well, she couldn't drive it anyway, but I can get her a little one!

I think that we ought to make a dry run to the airport this afternoon to see how to do it and see how long it takes. So we use the metro and experiment. It's probably a good thing we do. It's a couple of line changes on the metro from Atocha and then it's a long way from the airport metro station to our terminal and gate. It's late by the time we get back to our hostal again and we're tired (again). But we feel like we know what we're doing in the morning, which is good!

Riding

Travel Day to Madrid (Friday, July 2nd)

It is gray and drizzly as Stella and I rise early. We've chosen a good day to spend mainly on the bus back to Madrid. We will be flying back to the States on the 6th and so this will give us 3 days to look around the city. Because there's a heavy cloud cover, it is still pretty dark as we leave the seminario menor, trekking down the long flights of stairs inside and out for the last time. We walk up the long hill toward the city, but instead of walking into the city itself, we wait along the ring street for the city bus to take us to the intercity bus station. We checked yesterday to see which line we need and where we need to wait. It's all very convenient - oh that it was this easy back home! All the cars have their headlights on in this early morning drizzle. A lot of buses come by, but they are different lines. At last, it is ours. We double check with the driver to be sure and also to be sure he knows where we want to get out so he can let us know. There aren't that many folks riding this bus. We get to see part of the city we haven't been in before.


The bus station is 1970's modern. We get our tickets for Madrid and find that we have about an hour's wait. The trip will take most all of the day. We find a little cafe to get something to eat. There are some other pilgrims, and there is a small youth group with a couple of adult chaperones. Been there and done that! After we have our fill of caffeine and pastries, we go out into the waiting area. We check out the little newstands, but there isn't much in there. So we just sit down to wait. In some ways, this seems anticlimatic. It is as if our great adventure is already done and we are just killing time until we go home. We're interested in Madrid, but it isn't what we came for; that's already behind us. We're both a little sad I think, grieving in a way. The weather isn't helping.


Finally, our bus comes. We get out on the road. Santiago is in the northwestern portion of Spain; Madrid is fairly central and hence, southeast of Santiago. I say this because a little while after we begin the journey, I realize that we have headed either west or north or both, out to beach communities, definitely NOT in the immediate direction of Madrid. Then, we begin to retrace back through towns that Stella and I have walked through, so we are basically heading eastward, but not southward! No wonder this is going to take hours! Part of the trip is on the autopista, that engineering marvel way high up in the air that does not appear to have adequate guard rails in the event we should require them! I try to look off in the distance and not downward. Ignorance can be bliss.

After several hours of riding, we pull into our very least favorite city, Ponferrada, to take a 45 minute break at their lovely (not) bus station. Like everyone else, we take advantage of the facilities, but there really isn't much else to do with that time. They sell a little bit of everything, including gardening plants! Eventually, we reboard the bus and continue on. From here, we seem to start heading southward at last. It is still a few hours before we begin hitting the outskirts of Madrid. We have no idea where we are coming into in Madrid, but it turns out to be this huge combination train and bus station with many, many levels. We meet this really nice, young couple who are very much in love and hanging all over each other. They are very conversive and tell us that we need to stay in Atocha. We don't know what that means, but we take their word for it. You would think that a large bus/train station would be more informative about the city with maps and all, but it is not. So Stella and I end up getting tickets for the local train into the Atocha station from a not terribly friendly or helpful train agent. When we get off in the Atocha station, there is a bell going off in the back of my head about the train station bombing in Madrid several years earlier. A friend of mine was leading another church's youth group here about the same time. I think this is the same station, but I'm not sure - I look around for some kind of indication, but I don't see anything. It is a very attractive station and seems rather new, though. We find our way outside, but that doesn't really help us much because we don't know where we are going except to find a hostal.


It looks like a rather toney section of the city - majestic, 19th century imperial looking buildings, big fences, a lot of flags here and there, boulevard kind of streets with lots of trees. We just start walking. It's late in the afternoon, really, early evening, so we need to find a place soon. We start winding our way up a major street and then realize we probably need a side street. As we turn off, I notice this "alive" building - the side of it has been planted like a garden! We find a building advertising a hostal that doesn't look too bad and we ring the bell. We are admitted through the iron gate and go up. Looks fine and won't break our budget completely, the only down side is that we can have it for only one night as it is booked after tonight, so we will have to find another place tomorrow. But for tonight, we've got real beds again, with our own bath. And a TV! Not that we care much, except maybe for the World Cup. We get settled and cleaned up and head out to find a restaurant. Just down our little side street a block or two is the Cafe Azul - the Blue Cafe. It's tiny, but great food. I have the best salad I have had since arriving in Spain! Real lettuces and other greens, not that iceburg stuff. The wine is good, the appetizers are good. The decor is Spanish beach with lots of soothing blue. It's obviously an after-work crowd who comes here regularly. It's a fun little place with a lot of character. We stroll back up the cobblestone street to our hostal. Like any big city, there is always a siren or two coming from somewhere, but we don't feel unsafe. The streets are narrow, the old buildings closing in at 4 or 5 stories tall. Footsteps echo off all the hard surfaces, but people are out everywhere still. This is just going out time here.

Terminus

Finisterre (Thursday, July 1st)

It took Stella and me exactly 5 weeks to walk from St. Jean Pied-du-Port to Santiago. So this morning is the first time in 5 weeks that we are getting up and not having to repack our packs. We can simply get dressed and leave our packs in the locker provided. This is the first time in 5 weeks that we are not going to be walking kilometer upon kilometer. We are going downstairs to wait for a bus. It all feels very strange. We have gotten rather accustomed to the nomadic life and suddenly, it has all come to an abrupt, yet not unexpected, end.

After a breakfast from the fare provided out of the machines in the basement of the alburgue (not so yumm or so fresh, but high on calories and fat), we go back up to the first floor and down again to the driveway to wait on the bus. There are a fair number of pilgrims going on the trip to Finisterre today. Among them are our friends Kim and Lynda, both from England. They are grandmothers-in-law. Kim's son and Lynda's daughter (or maybe the other way around) are expecting a child together in a few months! The two only live about 60 miles apart in England. Kim, I think, wanted to walk the Camino, and asked if Lynda wanted to join her. Lynda said yes, thinking it would be a great way to get to know her better! Perhaps like us, many of the other pilgrims have time deadlines that don't allow for hiking that far, or perhaps walking to Santiago is all the hiking they really want to do. Lynda is going on from here to visit with family someplace else in Spain.

Finisterre means "land's end" and is a spit of land about 3 day's hike or a couple of hours by a not-so-fast bus. As the wheels on the bus go round and round, we can periodically see parts of the Camino that extend out to this little fishing village. Our friends, Ale and Charlie, have decided to walk out to Finisterre and I look for them, both as we head out and later in the day as we are coming back, but don't see them anywhere. Their journey will be hot because the weather has turned decidedly warmer and there is much less shade along this route, even though the sky is partly cloudy today. The vegetation along much of the way is mostly scrubby and sparse. After so much walking, even though we have taken a bus a few short times, our sense of speed, our sense of the pace of life has changed. It seems like a time warp that kilometers should pass beneath us so quickly, even though this is not a fast bus. It is a reminder of how much of our lives back home is a blur on a daily basis as we zip back and forth on errands or commutes or other travels. It is, perhaps a moment to re-appreciate the conveniences that we have, or a moment to reconsider how much of the faster, non-human paced life we should learn to live without again.

We stop in one town on the way for a break. It looks like a nice fishing village with a pretty little harbor.


Then we are on our way again. We finally arrive at Finisterre and drive past the village on out to the lighthouse area. The bus parks and we have a couple of hours to spend here. It's really too long because there isn't that much to do here unless you've brought a picnic lunch or something, which we haven't and it's too early anyway. But we get out of the bus and start to look around.



If you could see past the horizon from this point, that is, if the curvature of the earth wasn't a problem, the next thing you'd see would be America from this point!


I turn away from the view across the Atlantic and head towards the lighthouse and come across this marker that I find poignant. Let it be so. Amen.


Nearby, on a tower, there is yet another example of what I have found all along the way, but haven't been taking pictures of - God's little messages in the form of human signs, sometimes handwritten sometimes machine done. This one is in someone's handwriting, but it is still God speaking through them -- One of the machine ones was on the end of every slat of one of the bunk beds we stayed on: "Relax" "Relax" "Relax" ... Another handwritten one was scrawled on the back of a traffic sign facing the opposite direction shortly before we came to Castrojeriz, although at this moment, I can't quite remember how it was worded, but it was what I needed to hear at that moment. These little messages have happened on perhaps at least half a dozen occasions. Others might not see them as God speaking, but I do.

The messages have all been in the oddest places that one might just miss, unless...



I continue down around to the other side of the light house. There is a tradition among some pilgrims that when they reach this point, they burn everything they have with them, setting themselves free, I suppose. There are several piles of charred remains of clothing and other items giving credence to that tradtion. I can't really understand doing that unless perhaps your stuff is thoroughly infested with bedbugs. Mine isn't at all, and personally, I've invested too much in my backpack, boots, clothing and other items to just burn them all up. Perhaps it is my Scottish or German frugality! (Or just good ol' common sense!)





Behind the lighthouse, the land ends steeply, rockily, like pictures of the coast of Maine (I haven't been there). I climb down part way, but given that, while I am nimble, I am not so sure footed, I am very careful which little worn path among the rocks I choose. Some of the folks have chosen to (bravely or foolishly, you decide) go down much further on little, tiny outcroppings. I watch the waves crash far below. I am almost afraid to watch these people sit here and walk on these paths, as if by being here, I will somehow be responsbile for their untimely demise as they pitch headfirst into the sea when they lose their footing! Watching them move about makes me that nervous. It is that dangerous of a cliffside. I wonder if anyone has ever fallen off - I'm not sure what this cross is for. I move to a place where I feel perfectly secure and enjoy the sun for awhile. There is a plane doing loop-de-loops in the air overhead and occasionally not quite buzzing us. I haven't heard sea birds squawking and listened to tides and winds or smelled salt air in quite awhile and it is wonderful. I haven't been this still for awhile.

Eventually, I get myself up and climb back up to the lighthouse. There are a couple exhibits inside - a local art exhibit and a historical exhibit about the lighthouse and the Finisterre area. They're both interesting, but neither takes that much time. There's another building that has a restaurant, but it's too early for lunch. Up near the bus, there's a stand with lots of seashell touristy schlock. And restrooms. Some of us are done long before the appointed time to leave, so we just sit around waiting and waiting.

In due time (or longer), we all get back on the bus and we drive the short distance back into the village of Finisterre. There isn't actually that much there, either! Stella and I decide to have lunch at a little German-run restaurant right in the center of the village. We have a wonderful lunch with an Indian flair to it. Very different from what we'd been having. Our waitress is a lady from Germany who comes down several times a year just to work in this restaurant and take a break from her normal life. She's very pleasant and friendly. We dine al fresco on their porch and enjoy a nice glass of wine with our meal. From our table, we can watch the small harbor with the little boats bobbing up and down.

After our lunch, we explore Finisterre. There isn't a lot to explore. There are very few shops and what there are are closed now. Down along the waterfront, we head left first and find that there isn't very far we can go without climbing over an obstacle course. In the distance, we see a beautiful, long beach in the NEXT village! There's a "Pirate Bar" that I take a picture of for my cousins, the Smitties, who have an annual pirate party. Then we work our way back across the rough path and rubble and head the other way across the waterfront. They have a bit of a fishing industry and working waterfront. We get alemandradro blancos and sit down on a bench to watch for a little bit. The screech of the gulls and the briny water, the wet, slimy kelp and barnacled little boats are somehow all etched into a video memory, replete with the bereted little man, not this time on a bike, but in his little skiff. After the ice cream, we continue walking. We find a small beach where all the village children play with abandon, and we discover that sea glass, in blue and green and a little aqua, washes up here. We collect a little to take back with us. There is a man who is collecting a lot of it, especially the green. Eventually, we start back, and run into Kim and Lynda. We join them in a glass of wine at a little cafe before heading back for the bus. Finisterre has been interesting. Less than what I thought it would be, whatever that was, but still interesting and worth the trip - but I'm glad we didn't spend all that time walking here!

We get back in the late afternoon. I decide to wander down from the seminario menor into Santiago to see about getting some mementos of the journey. Stella wants to stay in the alburgue. It is a hike just to get into the city. Down five flights of stairs out of the building and another long flight (about three or four floors worth) down the hill, then a hike over to the city wall and a climb back up as far as I've dropped down! But then I wander through the interesting little stores on the old city streets. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, but I have in mind a piece of jewelry, probably earrings, with stars (Compostela, field of stars) to remind me of this trip. I look and look and really don't find anything. I'm not sure what time stores close, but this will really be my only chance. We have heard that tomorrow it will rain and so we have decided to use it to ride the bus back to Madrid and take advantage of a rainy day that way. While I'm going up and down the streets, I come across a small orchestra completely filling one of them, playing classical music. It is the tail end of their concert, with people standing all around them, but it is lovely! Shortly after this, I find my two purchases - a neat little music store where I find a CD with interesting Celtic inspired Spanish music, "Lulavi", lulabies, in a sense, and in a funky, sort of newly vintage style clothing, a pair of dangling, handcrafted star earrings. Perfect! The man in the clothing store is so apologetic that the earrings are missing one of the backings that he knocks a euro off the price. They are wrapped up like a little gift. And they are, to me! I get a couple of other little things for people that can fit into my pack, and find a nice little place to cash in a coupon we got on our last day before reaching Santiago for a free glass of wine. It's an interesting little bar. It's a shame to have it all by myself, but that's the way it is. Then I begin the trek back to the seminario. Tomorrow morning we will say goodbye to the place that has been our destination for so long!

YEA!!!!

Monte de Gozo to Santiago (Wednesday, June 30th)

We are here. Only 4.5 km into the city this morning, and we are here.

I woke up and said "Happy Birthday!" to Stella first thing. I know she will never have another birthday quite like this one! We left Monte de Gozo by 6:20 am, even as the sun was just beginning to rise and give the city it's first pinking glow. In the blackness, we started downhill. We knew we had about an hour's walk. We cheered when we came to this sign: It was along a busy highway area that we had to cross over on a bridge. Once over, we began a long, what else, up hill climb through the city to our final destination. But it's our last!

We traipsed across the city, following the last of the yellow arrows. At one point, we glimpsed a spire through a narrow street. "Do you think that's our first view?" one of us said to the other. "Just in case, let's take a picture!" It turns out it wasn't; we still had a good ways to go. But, it was a nice looking church in kind of an upscale neighborhood, anyway.

When we did finally reach our goal, it was rather by surprise. The first thing we noticed were the beautiful parterre gardens at what we found out was the Bishops' House next door. After walking through so much concrete, this patch of patterned green jumped out at us. This building faces the left-hand side of the cathedral (if you're looking at the front of the cathedral), and sits at the corner of the large plaza in front of the cathedral. So it wasn't until we passed this building and turned around that we realized that we were standing in the plaza in front of the cathedral. Woooohoooooooooooo! We did it!


We were the first (and only) pilgrims into the square at about 7:25. Stella called her husband and daughter (both asleep back in Georgia!) to tell them the news that we had arrived. We had to tell someone! The cathedral has a huge edifice (though I have yet to locate the hurdy gurdy player that Jean Paul Carton promised!). It is hard to put into words the feeling of reaching such a goal. It's one of those things that you really have to do to understand what it feels like. It isn't exactly comparable with being Neal Armstrong or anything, but it is still powerful and deeply meaningful and hard to take in all at once.

Shortly afterwards, we ran into some folks we had met earlier in our journey (it happens often on the camino, but it is always grace), Charlie and Ale, among others. Then we got at the beginning of the queue to get our Compostela, the certificate, for completing the walk. We had to wait outside for quite awhile since we had arrived so early, so we took turns going to have coffee and tea with some folks we met from Australia. The line continues to grow and gets quite long while we are waiting, so we feel very fortunate to be in the first half dozen or so people. Finally, the doors to the old, dank building are opened and we ascend this creaky, wide, wooden staircase in the middle of the building that has seen many pilgrim feet. By this time, the line of pilgrims will extend back down the stairs, out through the building and yet still out onto the street.


The office is still not quite ready for this day's onslaught of pilgrim's and so we wait for just another bit inside. I'm not sure what I'm expecting for this Compostela, but the experience itself is rather like going to the DMV. There are perhaps 6 or 8 young men and women sitting behind counters like bank tellers waiting to speak to the (from their perspective) never-ending line of pilgrims. Fortunately, they are used to speaking to people from everywhere and are quite fluent. Every Compostela awarded is duly recorded in a handwritten ledger. Someplace, there must be a huge archive of these big green books. Everything is very precise. Remember when we first came to Roncevalles, and they asked us where we were from and what our mode of travel was - a pie, a bici or a caballo? The lady I have asks those two questions again. She also asks where I began (SJPP), and she looks at me quite intently when she asks whether I have indeed walked the last 100 km (yes!). There are also questions about my occupation (clergy - she didn't bat an eye) and my reason for doing this - religious, spiritual but not religious or other (religious). I actually wondered whether I would be allowed to say both "clergy" and "religious" because of my gender in this mostly RC country, but she didn't care at all. If you say "religious," then your compostela will be in red (actually it looks like brown). If you say "spiritual" or "other," it will be in black. It is all in Latin, including my handwritten name, Ioannam Mariam, and it is also dated with today's pilgrimage completion date and the fact that this is an anniversary year. I pay the extra 1 euro for a cardboard tube to protect this document that is very precious to me!






Then we walk around a bit before getting our seats in the cathedral for the noon mass. There will be lots of shops to look in later for mementos of this place. I don't want anything major - and certainly can't fit much into the backpacks! What a tasty looking window!

We're glad we get to the Cathedral early so we have good seats. Apparently one mass has just finished as the clergy are just departing and there are already hundreds of people, although they look like they, too, are headed out. The sanctuary appears to be in constant flux as tour groups pass through, so it is hard to tell. We look around in the huge space a little and then take seats in the front row in the right transcept. Even though we're over to the side, we'll have a good, close view of everything. The service itself, though it is in Spanish, is still meaningful. Just as in Roncevalles, they read off where all of the pilgrims who have checked in that day have come from by nationality, and whether they have travelled by foot, or on a bike or on horseback. It seems like bookends on the journey. It is also powerful (except apparently for some of the tourists whom seem to have no respect for either place or event) because it is the culmination of the our journey and an acknowledgement for me personally that this has begun and ended in God. I wish that there was a way for it to be a communion service for us, but with so many people present, many of whom would not understand or appreciate it, that isn't going to be possible. At the end of the mass, if you're lucky, they swing this huge thurible, an incense burner (see video below - it's sideways, so you have to turn your head to the left). It is 2 - 3 foot tall. It takes a team of 6 -8 men to swing the ropes and they swing it so high that it swings out over the people in the transepts (us) and up towards the ceiling (easily 25 feet or more high). It is truly something to see. And it fills the cathedral with the incense! I was warned before I left on this pilgrimage to watch out for sparks and falling charcoal from this thurible, but it seems to be safe today. It is such a large thurible that the thurifers use a small d-handled shovel to put in the charcoal and incense!

After the mass, we go to have a celebratory lunch. We wander down one of the many pedestrian shopping streets in the old part of town. There are lots of choices, and now that we are here, we seem to be completely incapable of making a choice! At the end of the street, we finally choose a place that has outdoor tables and sit down to enjoy! I give Stella her birthday/end of pilgrimage gift. It is so lovely to just sit and take it all in that we have at last made it (I call Mom, now that it is a better hour, but she's not available!) We are so tired and so happy. There is some kind of appetizer. I get a sweet, ripe melon wrapped in some of their delicious ham. And yes, cold beer to celebrate!


As a pilgrim, you are also supposed to go and hug St. James, whose head (yes) presides over the altar area and whose crypt is below the altar (they do things a little differently here). So after lunch, we go back to give James a hug. We enter through the special Puerta del Perdon that is only open in anniversary years (when St. James' feast day falls on a Sunday, which 2010 is one of these). St. James' statue is above this doorway. We wait in line during the late afternoon when the line is shorter to do this. When I climb the little stairs to hug St. James, I am struck by two things. First, my ring inadvertently clanks onto the brass of his armor and it sounds rather tinny, so I'm not too impressed. Pilgrims are also supposed to say whatever they want to the saint. I'm not quite sure what to say to him via this empty-sounding bust, so I just say, "Thank you." The second thing I am struck by is how distracting all this must be to the people out in the congregation because yet another service is going on. From where we were sitting at the noon mass, the bust above the altar was not visible and we could just barely see the continual line of visitors filing down from having hugged the bust and on their way further down to the crypt. But for those in the congregation sitting straight out in front of the altar, this must be at least a little more noticeable, as one set of hands and arms after another reaches around this bust. From hugging the bust, the line goes back down a little flight of steps, turns 180 degrees and descends to go under the altar to the crypt where St. James' bones are reportedly interred. As I reach the area, there is a priest on his knees praying and several other people. I pass on through, giving a quick glance at the reliquary. From here, you exit the building and end up in the square behind the cathedral. At some point, after we are both outside again, Stella asks me why I didn't bother to stop at St. James' crypt. She stopped and prayed. I told her it really had no meaning for me, and I think that took her aback a little. I didn't come on this pilgrimage because of the legend behind it, and truthfully, it's a little too much legend for me. It could be his bones, but there's a lot of convenience in the story! Does it matter to me whether they are or they aren't? No. What matters to me is responding to God's call to come aside for awhile and rest, and journey. We stay in the large plaza for a little while in the late afternoon as the sun hits the front facade of the Cathedral. I've looked all around the exterior of the Cathedral and still haven't found the hurdy gurdy. But the Cathedral looks golden with the sun upon it.

We are staying at a large alburgue known as Seminario Menor (minor seminary) that sits on a hill overlooking the old part of the city. It's great except that we are on the fifth floor (no elevator) and to even get up to this building is a serious climb up a hill. But, for every uphill, there is a downhill. We are here. This is
good. It's more than good, it's fabulous.

When we check into the alburgue, we find out that for 25 euros, we can take a bus trip to Finisterre tomorrow. It will take us to the lighthouse for awhile, then to the downtown and then bring us back, door to door. We know we won't get there any other way as it is about 3 days of walking from Santiago. So we get tickets. We also find out that, unlike most other alburgues, we can spend a second night in this one, so we go ahead and reserve another night.

Dinner is out of the little convenience store in the basement of the alburgue. It's funny. Reaching our goal has suddenly sapped any remaining strength that we have, so to go back down all those stairs, inside and outside of this building, down the long hill, up the hill into the city area, look for a restaurant, and then retrace all our steps to come home is just out of the question. It has been a big day and we are exhausted. Our bunkroom has 118 bunks in it! Fortunately, we have lockers for our valuables for a change, so tomorrow, we don't have to take everything with us. The bathrooms are unisex and the water fluctuates from cold to scalding in the shower, but you know what? It's all okay. We have reached our goal. Thank you, St. James. Thanks be to God.