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.