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.

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!