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.

Brink

Santa Irene to Monte de Gozo (Tuesday, June 29th)
An 18 km day, but it was enough. We stand on the heights that overlook the city of Santiago, our goal!!! We are 4.5 km away from the Cathedral, but we do not want to enter until tomorrow, so we can celebrate Stella's birthday in style. It has been a good day and we have chosen to stay in the Xunta (municipal) Alburgue, that rather resembles military barracks. They are 30 cinder block buildings built on a sloping hill with a plaza half way down that has a couple of cafeteria restaurants and a souvenir store. Surreptitiously (and at the risk of his job), the hospitalier at the reception desk strongly urges us to go back up past the monument to the local restaurants and bars for better food. So we do and go to O Labrador, apparently a very popular place with the locals. We have a wonderful meal of fish, salad, fries and ice cream. And wine. It's a "we're almost here!" celebration and the anticipation and excitement is palpable in each of us.

This morning has been a bright, sunny morning; a fairly easy walk with a lot of other pilgrims through somewhat industrial surroundings on the outskirts of Santiago and its airport. We started off quietly enough from the woods of Santa Irene, but that eventually gave way to more scraggly growth and openness surrounding highways and development. Here and there, we have seen some more enormous trees, especially in the little city of Arca.

We pass through the village of Lavacolla, an attractive little town with lots of little ornamental horreos in peoples' yards. Lava, as in lavatory, to wash. This used to be a very ceremonial stopping point for pilgrims to prepare themselves for reaching Santiago. Back in the Middle Ages, Christians didn't wash as often as we do now (and actually ridiculed Jews and Muslims for doing so!), but it seemed a right and good and proper thing to do, to have some sort of ritual purification before entering such a holy city and pilgrimage site. So, Lavacolla, which is blessed with a small river (now not much more than a trickle), became the occasion to do that. According to the guidebook, Lavacolla has also long had a reputation as a 'tourist trap' - even in the Middle Ages! Inns, restaurants and the like from Compostela would do advance advertising here. Rumors about scarcity would be put forth, forcing vulnerable and bone-weary pilgrims to pay in advance for lodging and meals they hadn't even seen yet! Some things don't change much over the years!! There really isn't an opportunity for us to do any ritual 'cleansing' (and I don't know what that would have consisted of anyway in our case), nor is there even an open cafe to get some caffeine at the time we are coming through in the very early morning, so we just admire the village and keep on going.

At last we begin to ascend the last hill before Santiago, Monte de Gozo, or Mount of Joy, or Monxoi in the local dialect. It is named so because of the euphoria all of us pilgrims have for reaching the height and catching our first glimpse of the cathedral's towers in Santiago. Although, let me tell you that Stella and I never do that while we are on the hillside - perhaps we just don't know what direction in which to look, or the haze isn't favorable, but we really never locate our goal visually. It DOES NOT however take away from our euphoria. We, along with all the others, including several families, wind our way up the hillside. There is an area that the Camino goes through that is part industrial park and part camp/resort/horse training area. Even though our whole journey is only 18 km, it seems to stretch out. Perhaps it's becase we've noticed that they quit putting kilometer markers up in the last few days. I have wondered if it is because the actual path of the Camino has changed so many times (and keeps changing) that this is to account for slack. So we don't REALLY know exactly how far we come this day. Or maybe it's like a small child waiting for Christmas or their birthday, the closer it gets, the slower the days seem to go. Anyway, even though it is supposed to be a shorter day, the walk does seem to take awhile.

Finally, near the edges of the Santiago airport, I pass this stone marker, making it all feel very real. Can you tell by my smile how excited I am? I take several other pilgrims' pictures by the same marker for them. We are all so happy to be where we see Santiago "carved in stone." Soon, we are moving out of the more industrial park area and into cottages and residences. We are beginning to come to the crest of the 'hill.' Here's another Camino kitty, taking it all in. I wonder if the animals watching us compare notes about the pilgrims they see?

Someplace up at the top of the hill, there is a little parklet where I rest for a moment and wait for Stella, which is not a long wait. Her smile and eyes are as bright as mine - we are so excited to be this far!!! We continue to walk through Monte de Gozo, which is still actually climbing in altitude a bit. Along the way, we spot this "Easter Island" design for clipping hedges. Perhaps Edward Scissorhands lives in this village! I wonder how many pilgrims are plodding by here, head down, focused on reaching the top, never noticing the gardening and smiling at the gardener's sense of humor?

We continue up through the center of the town and a few hundred yards further up, suddenly we arrive at an open area up to our left. A wide gravel path leads up to the very summit of Monte de Gozo, where a large monument crowns the 'hill.' From our vantage point, it looks rather like a truncated pyramid with a bit of Stonehenge on top. There are dozens of pilgrims just milling about - some sprawled on the grassy hillside, some getting refreshments from a beverage cart, others taking pictures for posterity, others simply marveling that they are here. We wander up towards the monument to get a better look, and the closer we get, the more obvious it is that the top is NOT like Stonehenge. We aren't quite sure what the symbolism of the sculpture does represent, but it is interesting. When we get up to it, we can see that the base has four sides. The first one we come to commemorates Pope John Paul II as a pilgrim before he became pope. The opposite side is St. Francis. I decide that his pocket is the perfect place for the second of my two little stones that I have brought all the way from Jerry Hall Rd. near my house. Somehow, putting the stone in Francis' pocket already gives me some sense of completion, of coming full circle on this trip; I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it is knowing that the Camino has changed me irrevocably, and in this little way, by bringing these two small stones and leaving them on the Camino, I have changed it by my presence. Maybe it is just being on this "mount of joy" and my joy already overfloweth.

We go down over the crest of the hill to find the military-looking alburgue, but we are early for check-in, so we just find a bench in the shade to wait. Eventually, we get checked in, get the advice about where to go and eat and go have a wonderful lunch. We slowly wander back to the alburgue, exploring the little chapel up by the monument as we come back. We check out the guidebooks about Santiago for tomorrow. I go walking down the hill through the rest of the huge alburgue. Despite the large number of spaces, many of the buildings are not even open, because they aren't needed. Perhaps in a couple of weeks, as it gets closer to St. James' feast day, and there are more pilgrims, they will be used. I wander down to the common area. There is a wonderful pilgrim fountain in the middle. And at the far side, the Rotary Club of Santiago has a stone marking 4 km to the cathedral! It is the first kilometer marker I have seen for a while. A couple of cafeterias are open, but they have been invaded by some children's soccer teams that are apparently staying here. There are a couple of little touristy stores, but it is all cheezy stuff that I have no need of. I get a beer and settle in to people watch in the very large plaza.

Eventually, I wander back up to our bunkroom to find out what Stella wants to do about dinner. She is deep in conversation, or rather, she is deep in listening to Grace, the young lady from Alaska, whose main gift is talking and talking, who has arrived. I stay for a little while, but find that I am far too antsy to listen much and prefer the solitude of being outside. Stella isn't up for dinner anyway, so I go back down to the cafeteria and grab a salad. Even when I return and hour or more later, Grace is still talking! I find a little library in the building across the way and kill some time. I return and Grace is still talking. No wonder Stella is such a good deacon! Finally I give up and get ready for bed. Some other folks in the room do, too. At some point, Grace finally gets the hint and either goes somewhere else to talk or gets into her bunk - by then, I am asleep!

Peaceful

Melide to Santa Irene (Monday, June 28th)
Thirty one kilometers today! Our record for the trip and it will stand because we don't have that far to go any more!

We leave Melide walking back up through the city. It isn't long before we're out in the country again, though. There are many more pilgrims now and we have lost sight of anyone that we have known along the way. There is a greater police visibility. All the guidebooks warn about watching out for pickpockets and petty thieves on this part of the Camino. We haven't had any problems, but perhaps that's because the police are present. In only one or two instances prior on this trip has there been just a moment when I have felt a little frightened and vulnerable. Once, when I was walking by myself and for just a couple of moments, the Germans a couple hundred yards ahead of me were out of sight and whoever was behind me were out of sight and I was going under an overpass. I remember thinking, "If there were still bandits wishing to do harm to a lonely pilgrim, this is where they'd be!" and looking over my shoulder for a few moments until I got in sight of the Germans again. The only other time was walking through all the drunks in Sahagun. But on this day, another couple of strange incidents occur.

First, we are walking in a rural stretch with some fields and woods when a couple of military or police looking humvees drive very slowly up the road where we are headed. Who are they? Why are they here? Are they just patrolling or is something going on? We don't find out. A little later, while climbing up a small hill in a wooded stretch, we come across a small forest fire that doesn't seem like it is being attended. Was the earlier patrol looking for more signs of fire? Later yet, we are walking through a pine forest, thick in shade, and silent with a deep blanket of needles. Again, Stella and I are headed up hill with only a few other pilgrims within shouting distance. Suddenly, several men in green jumpsuits, black skimasks and helmets, gloves, boots, the whole works, with little black leather nametags, come zooming into our woodsy retreat. They come riding by looking at us. It's unnerving to say the least. Their outfits look like the flightsuits I was used to in the Navy with the little leather name tags, but who are they - paramilitary, police - are they good guys, bad guys, what? They don't stop; they don't say anything; they don't take our picture! It just feels very strange. We are told later that they do actually have Camino police making sure that people don't cheat (this seemed a little heavy-handed for that!). I think (hope) they are just regular police making sure the pilgrims are safe and protected, but it is an odd feeling to want to be protected from the very people who are there ostensibly to protect you!


At some point, we walk separately again, Stella listening to her music and I go on ahead a bit. I stop in one small village, Santiago de Boente, for a mid-morning break and, as usual, there is a little church open for visiting and for prayer. I go in. There are little prayer cards available in a number of different languages. On one side is a picture of the colorful little statue of St. James they have in their sanctuary. On the reverse is this prayer:

O Apostle Saint James, I am here, as thousands of pilgrims have been all through the centuries, offering Our Lord the tiredness caused by following the Way of Saint James. I have come here to learn how to walk through the way of Life, which is Christ. Help me O Saint James, thou, who followed the Master to the point that thou gave your life for Him. Give me a big and generous heart, as thy heart, so I can also be an apostle of Christ. O Blessed Virgin Mary, Queen of the Apostles, let me feel thy heart's love and affection. May thy smile and Maternal love help me to walk the way of life with the happiness of the sons of God.
- Pray for us, O blessed Saint James,
- That we may be made worthy of the promies of Our Lord Jesus Christ.

Let us pray. O Lord, accept our pleas to Thee, through your Apostle Saint James, and make that the pilgrimage to his Sepulchre, beacon light of Christian unity, lets us get ready to follow together the path which leads to eternal glory. Through our Lord, Jesus Christ, Amen.

From there, of course, I head to a little cafe for the aseo and my regular tee con leche. There's a nice little table and chairs on the sidewalk to enjoy it. Just as I'm finishing, Stella arrives. I wait for her and we leave Boente together. The towns are beginning to run more and more together as we get closer to Santiago, and oddly enough, the alburgues, despite more pilgrims, are getting further and further apart. We will have to adjust our walking accordingly.

We stop in Arzua for lunch. It's a mostly modern, not terribly attractive, town, set in the middle of dairy country, known for it's cheeses - apparently, people from the Basque region (remember their sheep cheese?) came and settled here sometime after the Christian reconquest of Moorish territory. I continue to have my egg sandwich, however, instead of the heavy cheese.

There is not much in the afternoon except a few little villages that string along our way. I am a little ahead of Stella and reach the top of the hill just before Santa Irene, our destination for the evening sooner. There is a bar/cafe on either side, so I pick one, get a cold drink and sit outside to wait for her, since I am not exactly sure where to find our alburgue. It's been a long, hot afternoon, and it feels good to sit down for a while.

There are a few rowdy folks inside, but they're just having a good time. It's only about ten minutes before I flag Stella down on the opposite side of the road. After a brief break, she and I are ready to find the alburgue. We have a bit of trouble, as it isn't quite where we expect it to be, but we finally get there. It's very attractive, but as we've found, the closer to Santiago, the more the price. It's upscale country Spanish in furnishings, with a pretty courtyard outback. The bunkroom downstairs isn't too huge; upstairs seems to already be claimed by a family of clompers, but perhaps that can't be helped.
We're right by the front window, so we get a bit of fresh air. There are a few sort-of familiar faces which is nice. Dinner is a traditional Spanish meat stew.
There is Santiago Cake for dessert! The cake is a one-layer cake made mostly of ground almonds. It has powdered sugar rather than icing on top. It is dense in texture and rich.


For us, it is a quiet evening afterwards, though apparently the locals are having some festival because it sounds like a combination of canon fire and fireworks someplace and the people running the alburgue have disappeared!



We´re starting to think about the end of our adventure. It is with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction and accomplishment that we approach Santiago. Tears start to form everytime I think about it. It has been a part of my thinking and then planning for a long time and now, soon, it will be a part of my past, though, of course it will always be a part of me. I still don´t know exactly why I have come and I still feel that I don´t need to know. It has certainly been an adventure in every sense. Stella and I have talked about journey stories - Wizard of Oz, Forrest Gump and others - what the journey means, what coming home is about, does it change us, does it change how we see things, both, does it help us change the world, just exactly what difference does the journey make and do we ever understand the difference fully? Perhaps not. It will unfold in a much longer period of time than what it took to make the journey. For tonight, we are ´home´ here in Santa Irene. Soon, we will be home with our loved ones.