Introduction

When my neighbor, Pat Fages, invited me for a week of walking though Northern Spain I wasn't sure what to think.  He became interested in the trek after watching the movie "The Way," starring Martin Sheen.  Pat explained that the walk takes the path of an ancient pilgrimage known as the Camino.  The only Camino I knew was the Chevy pick-up car of fifty years ago, but because I have always enjoyed my visits to Spain, I thought perhaps a walk through the Spanish countryside might provide  me a unique cultural experience.  On second thought; walking for days, over hill and dale, through farmers fields, past flocks of sheep and herds of cows - a cultural experience?  I wasn't quite sure, but I was intrigued.   Why not?, I concluded and told Pat to count me in. 

I have since learned a great deal about the Camino.  Translated to English it's the path or the way and the Camino de Santiago, as it is known, is a pilgrimage through Galicia, a region in the northwest corner of the Iberian peninsula. It purportedly follows the path of the apostle James, who walked through Spain preaching the gospel and evangelizing. The Camino terminates in Galicia's capital city, Santiago de Compostela where the body of St. James is said to be interred. The Way of Saint James has a long, rich history and is based on an incredible story.  It's a fable, a miracle or a fabrication, depending upon your interpretation, but in the annals for history, it's had monumental religious and political implications. The story is so compelling, it has motivated the faithful from across Europe for the past thousand years to journey the Way of Saint James.  The Camino has become so popular that in 2012 it is reported that 192,488 pilgrims from around the world trekked through Northern Spain to Santiago de Compostela.  

MY CAMINO

I read that walking the Camino is a simple, straight forward proposition; walk the trail each day, going as far as you like, find lodging, nourishment and rest.  Repeat the sequence until arriving at Santiago de Compostela.  You carry with you only what you need and there are plenty of food and lodging options available in the villages along the way.   There are numerous Camino routes to choose from with the most popular being the "Camino France."  It begins in the French town of Saint-Jean-Pied-de Port, 800km from Santiago.  That won't work for us, as we don't have a month to Camino.  So, Pat, Mike and I will walk the final leg of the Camino Frances covering 111km. That's about 70 miles and exceeds the minimum distance required to earn the compostela or certificate of accomplishment.  It will be a mini Camino.

The Camino is a very individual experience.  For many it is a pilgrimage, so deeply religious that some pray the rosary or recite novenas while walking.  Others find it to be spiritual, a time for reflection or introspection.  Yet others see it as nothing more than a healthy life experience.  I have no expectations for my Camino and will just take it as it comes. The only thing I know for certain is that I will take the opportunity in Santiago de Compostela to thank God for my life and the opportunities given me.

Getting ready in Sarria

Friday, September 20

Mike, Dave and Pat

Together, three of us will walk the last section of the Camino Frances; Pat Fages, my neighbor, his long time friend Mike Z and myself.   We began our trek from the town of Sarria on a Saturday in September and walked for six days, reaching Santiago de Compostela the following Thursday.  Three of the six nights we lodged in private rooms and the other three nights in albergues.  Albergues are like hostels or dormitories and are found in most towns along the Camino.

Sarria is about 300 miles from Madrid.  We travelled first by auto from Madrid to the city of Lugo.  Enroute, I read that the town of Ostorga is on the Camino and historically has been a center for Spanish commerce and a stopping point for pilgrims.  So, we decided to have lunch in Ostorga.  It's a beautiful walled town with an almost German looking town hall, Medieval Cathedral and a Episcopal Palace designed by Antoni Gaudi, the architect of the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. A walk down Ostorga's promenade and though it's plazas gave clear indication of the town's historical significance and high stature with regards to wealth and power.  It was a fitting beginning to our trip as we saw our first peregrino's in Ostorga.  They were easily recognized as they passed by, surveying the landscape around them with a look of curiosity and awe.  Many carried mochillas and held walking sticks.

 

 

We dropped off the rental car in Lugo and arrived early evening in the town of Sarria.   Our rooms are at Casa Matias, a small pension.  It's in a old building with a photography store at street level and the pension on the upper floors.  From the street, an entry into a marbled stairwell leads to the elevator which provides access to the rooms above.  My room was number ten.  It was renovated with a laminate floor, tile bath and flat screen TV hanging from the wall.  The room was clean and quite adequate, although it appeared well used and smelled of smoke. 

After settling in the pension, we explored the old town searching for a restaurant to eat dinner.  We ended up at of all places, a pizza joint. Then, it was back to the Casa Matias to retire for an early Saturday AM departure.  The wifi didn't work in the room, so I went downstairs and sat on a step in the first floor stairwell to gain access to the internet.  The motion sensor turned off the hall light only 30 seconds of exiting the elevator, so the hallway was pitch black except for my computer display.  I was surely going to scare the hell out of anyone entering the hallway to the pension, I thought.  Fortunately, no one came in.

Sarria to Portomarin

Saturday, September 21  

I was up before 5:30am and felt prepared for the start of my Camino. I was not keyed up or apprehensive about the jaunt, but anxious to meet Pat and Mike to begin the journey.  I was first to arrive downstairs and when I pushed open the large metal door and peered outside of the pension, I felt like I had been transported to Cincinnati's west end.  The tired urban streetscape was dark and bleary with street lamps casting a yellowish glow that revealed the heavy haze hanging in the air.  The street was quiet and empty and gave me a feeling of uncertainty as to what might be lurking in the shadows.  It's was a chilly morning and as the entry door closed, I wondered if I would need my jacket. 

At 7:30am Pat and Mike arrived and we began our walk through the shadowy streets.  We definitely needed our torches once we reached the outskirts of town.  Although we didn't realize it, we missed the trailhead off a desolate side street.  Our misstep became clear when we passed Noni from Australia who was going the opposite direction.  Noni was the second pilgrim we encountered that morning and suggested that we were going the wrong way.  Michael, a man from Northern California  who blindly followed our lead changed direction with us.  Gratefully, Noni set us on course and saved our feet some mileage.  

As we reached the trail of dirt and rocks, we were greeted enthusiastically by roosters sounding their morning pronouncement.  Cock a doodle do, to you too, I thought.  The air was cool, but because we were moving none of us felt the need to put on our jackets.  I picked up a quarter sized stone from the ground and placed it in my pocket as a souvenir to take with me to Santiago.  I said goodbye to Sarria and welcomed the light of the morning. 

As daylight took hold, it became evident that we were amongst a continuous stream of pilgrims on the Camino.  Often, a dozen or more "peregrinos" were in our sights and as expected, we met many of them.  Some folks we just traded a passing buen camino, while others we engaged in a pleasant walking conversation.  Where are you from? or How's your Camino going?," I would usually ask them. 

Stopping for coffee, I talked with Anne from Colorado, who Pat and I had seen earlier hunched over and hobbling along the trail.  Pat commented that watching her struggle made him wonder the reason for her camino.  She moved slowly, but appeared so determined.  Did she loose her husband or a child, we wondered?  Anne was walking solo and appeared to be 50-60ish.  Her hair was in pig tails and her skin and facial features were distinctively American Indian. Close up Anne looked much younger.  She told me she was originally from Minnesota and was a hiker. Her legs were hurting badly, but she said with confidence that she would make it to Santiago.
 

Pat introduced Mike and I to Pablo, a 20 something Spanish guy from Seville.  Pablo is accompanying his parents Michael and Maria on the Camino.  He said he is along to keep them on the straight and narrow.  Pablo is university educated and is working on his MBA.  He has spent time in the United States and his English is excellent.  Michael and Maria speak little English, so our conversations were full of smiles, hand gestures and translations by Pablo.

On the Camino we all carry a booklet that is our credencial del peregrino and will record our travels.  We will have it validated in Santiago to qualify for the "compostela", the certificate of completion.  Most establishments along the way will stamp our credencial booklet.  At least two stamps or sellos are required daily.   

Saturday was a lovely afternoon with temperatures in the upper 80's, no humidity and a gentle breeze. By 2:30pm we made it to our destination of Portomarin.  We walked a distance of about 22 km and I felt like I did a full day's camino.  Mike suggested our first Albergue.  It's called the Mirador and was at the top of the hill, just off the trail at the edge of town.  We were assigned to a room with three bunk beds.  Two of the bottom bunks were already occupied by the Defendis brothers who we learned are graduates of the University of Dayton.  What a coincidence, as Mike and Pat are also UD alumni.  It's a small world and it became a University of Dayton reunion.

The sun shined brightly on Portomarin as we sat at an umbrella covered table outside the albergue Mirador, sipping cold beers awaiting our lunch order.  It was a relaxing afternoon and we were in no hurry for our food.  Mike ordered the octopus and Pat and I the cod.  When the food arrived, Mike refused to eat the octo tentacles, so Pat and I helped ourselves to the morsels.  Life is good, I thought.

Late afternoon I walked a couple blocks towards town and sat atop a stone wall next to a park, making notes on my netbook PC, a lady stopped and said hello.  We exchanged niceties and I learned her name is Gabrielle and she is from Auckland, New Zealand.  She's a 40 something gregarious lady who started her solo Camino in Pamplona.   She was curious if I knew the outcome of the America's Cup.  It's the series finals and the Kiwi's are ahead of the American's eight to one.  Gabrielle was hoping that I would give her the news that the Kiwi's were victorious.  Since I hadn't heard any news for over a week, I wasn't any help.

Pat, Mike and I attended evening mass at Iglesia de San Juan, an unusual Romanesque style church.  It's exterior is very boxy and medieval looking.  Mass was quite a contrast from the Sunday morning service I attended at the Mezquita in Cordoba in February.  There, a half dozen priests and a dozen altar boys officiated.  In Portomarin, Saturday mass was celebrated by one solitary priest.  No music, no lay help and oddly, no collection.  It was all over in about 35 minutes.

I took a top bunk at the Albergue Mirador.  It turned out to be a challenge to contend with almost no personal space.  There was only one electrical outlet in the room and with six residents and it was always in use.  So that evening I went to the lobby to charge my computer and camera batteries.  It was lights off at ten in the room, so when I returned at eleven I made my way quietly through the darkness and climbed the ladder to my personal refuge.  I fell asleep to a chorus of snores.  I stirred frequently through the night and I remember at exactly 3:23am, when I adjusted my pillow, it fell to the bunk below.  For a moment I thought I might feel it being lift up to me, but as I waited patiently, all I heard was a murmuring snores from below. I knew then that my pillow was lost for the remainder of the night.

Portomarin to Palas De Rei

Sunday, September 22 

Our day began early at 6:45am when it was "lights on" and there was little choice but to get up with the others.  We left the Albergue and walked down the hill, crossed the bridge and walked silently into the darkness of the woods.  It was difficult to find the yellow arrows that marked our way as the moon was shrouded by clouds, making it extra dark.  Our hand lights were a necessity and it was a laborious up-up-up, seemingly endless climb.  Finally we exited the woods and looked for the trail to turn at the fertilizer factory.  The air smelled like fresh cow patties, but there was no fertilizer factory in sight.  "Are we there yet?," I thought.  Finally, the morning turned grey, the birds began to sing and we found our turn. A while later we stopped for a morning coffee break at a cafe along the trail.  I washed down my coffee Americano with the Napolitano pastry and banana that I bought yesterday at the Mercado in Portomarin. 

We were definitely in farm country with crop fields segmented by short stone walls that looked to be centuries old. Our path was often bordered by thickets of ready to eat blackberry's that Mike especially enjoyed.  And every few kilometers we would pass through a tiny village with medieval looking solid stone houses and outbuildings.  As I walked along a cobblestoned pathway, I peered inside the dark barn to see a line of dairy cows chowing down their breakfast of hay.  Most villages were full of flowers blooming in window boxes or in pots in front of the house.  Side gardens were full of vegetables.

As I walked, I saw familiar faces from yesterday and met some new folks including Irene from Sydney, Australia.  She's a petite lady and has a natural fast pace to her walk.  Irene's age is hard for me to peg.  She's not a youngster and has a  conservative and grandmotherly appearance.  Later, when I saw her without her hat,  I noticed her short straight blond hair with highlights of purple in her front bangs.  Perhaps she's not so conservative.  Irene said she became interested in the Camino after watching an Australian documentary that chronicled a number of individuals walking the way.  She was candid to share that she went through a long period caring for her terminally sick mother and while she loved her mother dearly, she came to resent all the burden that was placed upon her.  She said she hoped the Camino would clear her mind and help to refocus her life.  "We won't really know what we'll get from the Camino until we return to our regular life," she added.

Our day of walking concluded about 2:15pm in the town of Palas De Rei.  We travelled about 15 miles, a challenging day for us. Mike developed a small blister on his toe and my feet are tender. Mike suggested an albergue, the Buen Camino and as we checked-in, there sat the Defendis brothers having lunch.

After all that walking it was time for a Estrella Galicia, the local brew.  We ordered at the cafe and the barman who spoke little English ask if we wanted a large or a small.  Pat answered mucho size and the man smiled and gave a hand gesture as if he were swimming.   The beer was cold and tasted extra good.  Pat and Mike had two.  For me it was one, but it was good swimming.

That evening on the patio outside the Albergue I met Mick from Ireland.  You couldn't meet a person more Irish than Mick.  He began his Camino about three weeks ago in Saint Jean.  "There were twenty-two of us and now we're down to four;  Elaine and Vicki from Australia and Quan from Korea," he said in his thick Irish brogue. "Your gonna have some casualties," he added.  Mick is 58 and a postman by trade.  He thinks he'll retire in a year or so, but "I'm not letting them know when," he added.  As the sun went down and the young Spanish children ran around Palas De Rei's central plaza, I learned a lot about Mick.  He is certainly a conversationalist. Mick has a spiritual philosophy about life and talked about the importance of giving back. "You can't just be a taker", he said.  Mick is an AA vet and has been off the juice for twenty-seven years. As proof, he showed me his ring.  Mick seemed to be having the time of his life.  "I got Quan off cigarettes and I'm helping Elaine and Vicki through the Camino," he said.  "I've been planning this trip for the last 27 years," he added.  I asked Mick about Mary Black, an Irish singer that I follow.  He knew all about Mary, her sister Frances and the Black Family.  He went on to mention Jimmy McCarthy, a writer of many of Mary Black's songs.  Then, out of his shirt pocket, Mick pulled a harmonica and played a few bars of a song.  "Do you know that song," he asked? Of course, it was one of Mary Black's songs.  Mick finished the song and I asked him to play one more.  He played "How Great Thou Art," a fitting end to a nice Sunday evening.  He dedicated the song to my wife, Kim.

 

                           Mick from Ireland 

 

 

Palas De Rei to Melide

Monday, September 23   

I did not sleep well. Pat said it was because we were at the busiest corner of Palas De Rei.  All night there was a Camino of cars, trucks and motorcycles rumbling through the main city street, down the hill and around the corner past our Abergue.  The roar of their engines reverberated through the open windows of our room on the third floor. For me, it was like spending the night on the berm of I-75. 

We were on the trail by 7:15am, headed for the town of Melide   It wasn't as dark as prior days, as a full moon helped light our way.  With the morning rush out of town, the trail was loaded with pilgrims.  At times I counted three dozen in my sight.  After a couple hours of easy walking we stopped at a trail side coffee bar for our morning break. The coffee americano was strong and hot.  When we departed the cafe, Pat and I pulled ahead of Mike.  We each walk different speeds, at different times, so this was not atypical.  The unsaid rule is at some point, the person ahead will stop and wait for the others to catch up.  As we walked, Pat and I passed a picturesque village church  where groups of pilgrims were congregated outside.  We decided to stop and entered the small church where a priest was stamping  credencial del peregrinos.  The priest stamped our credentials and I took a few pictures and we moved on.  When we reached the 55.5 km point monument Pat and I stopped for another photo.  This marked the half way point of our Camino.



Pablo, Pat & Michael

Pat and I reached Melide, our destination for the day just after noon.  Mike was nowhere in sight.  After thinking about it, we deduced that Mike thought he was behind us and expected us to stop and wait for him at a point along the way.  However, because we stopped at the village church, Mike was actually in front of us.  As we walked through the streets of Melide searching for Mike, out of a shop walked Michael, Maria and Pablo.  We hadn't seen them for a few days and  because of our itinerary, we were surprised to see them again.  Michael was distinctively dressed in a non matching patterned shirt and shorts accented with bright orange knee socks.  A slender man with a beard, he appeared today as if he was a left over from the 1960's.  Michael smiled when I told him that he would win the contest for most stylish pilgrim on the Camino.  We explained to Pablo that Mike was AOL and he said they would watch for him.  After snapping some photos, we said our goodbyes. 

How are we going to find Mike, Pat and I pondered? Pat decided to phone him and dug into his mochilla for his phone and Mike's cell number.  Mike answered directly when Pat asked, "Where are you?"  "I'm in Melide with Pablo, Michael and Marie, he replied.  As I looked up the street, I could see Michael standing a couple blocks ahead.  Pat and I joined the group and had an encore goodbye with the mother, father and son from Seville.   

We checked in early at the albergue O' Palpador, where we were the newest occupants of the room on the second floor.  The room contained twelve beds in an area about the size of the family room at home.  We were happy, as each of us had our pick of bottom bunks.   After getting situated, we returned to the city center in search of a cafe  for lunch. It was an extended lunch at a sidewalk cafe.  I ordered a large salad and paired it with two bottles of Estrella Galicia.  The cool breeze was relaxing as we sat watching the world go by around us.

When we returned to the Albergue a number of beds were now occupied.  On the bunk above mine, I noticed a plastic mask with tubing extending from it.  I hoped it didn't mean I was to be sleeping to sounds of an iron lung.  Our room mates included some young Italians, including three college aged girls.  The cute Itialan girl in the bunk above Pat shared that she was on the Camino in part because of boyfriend issues and also from rejection to a college medical program she had aspired for.  As it ended up, our quarters seemed like a coed college dorm room that included three old guys; Pat, Mike and me.

We left the Albergue seeking a restaurant for our evening meal.  We stopped at a restaurant down the lane and as we pondered whether or not to eat there, in walked Noni, whom we met on our first morning in Sarria. We were surprised to see her, as most of the pilgrims walking on our schedule had moved to towns further along.  Noni accepted our dinner invite and we had a nice time together. Noni is a young 75 year old and is a professional masseuse.  She resides in Bondai Beach, just outside of Sydney, Australia.  It was a treat to learn more about her and her travels.  She's especially fascinating to me, as she has travelled all over the world.  A few years back she won an award as the most active senior in Australia.  In our short time together we learned just a sliver about her.  She has a blog and I hope to learn more.  For dinner Noni and I had the octopus or pulpa as it is known in Spain. It's a specialty of region and the town of Melide.  The pulpa was slightly greasy, but well seasoned and flavorful.  The taste and texture reminded me of scallops.

We were all back to the albergue sometime after 9pm and I took a quick shower.  Shortly thereafter the youngsters returned and by 10pm all twelve beds in our room were filled and it was lights out.  I awoke abruptly sometime after 3am. The room was dark and my bed was shaking like I was a part of the movie "The Exorcist."  The metal bed frame was shuttering and the bedsprings were making a loud creaking noise.  Momentarily, I concluded the man above me was having some kind of episode, but it turned out, he was just debunking.  He finished his climb down and the commotion stopped. Laying there, I became aware that my stomach was quesy.  I could hear the pulpa stirring within me.  As I wondered what to do next, I listened to the sounds of continuous snoring in the background.  They were low and guttural, with a peaceful cadence and a certain harmony and rhythmic quality.  As I listened  closely, I determined that Mike in the bed in front of me and Pat, in the bed behind me, were leading the chorus. Otherwise, the room was quiet as a church mouse.  

The bathroom attached to our room contained two small porcelain sinks spaced about six inches apart. Partition walls surrounded a single toilet and a shower area.  Any sound in the bathroom could be clearly heard in the sleeping room.  I decided to ignore the churning of my stomach and soon fell back asleep.  Sometime later I awoke briefly to an Italian voice murmuring through in darkness.  It was the young girl in the bunk above Pat, talking in her sleep.  I conjectured that she was talking to her boyfriend in her dreams.  Who knows? 

 

Melide to Aruza

Tuesday, September 24   

Just before six am there began some activity in the room.  I could hear people getting up and using the bathroom.  I needed to get up, but my stomach was ready to erupt and I was fearful of a blowout.  By 6:30am us old guys were up and I spent several sessions in the bathroom.  As we were ready to leave the albergue, nature called me upstairs for one more use of the facilities. I did my best to maintain the peace.

It was a nice morning walk from Melide to Aruza.  The temperature was cool and we were pleasantly surprised when the sun broke through the grey sky contrary to the weather forecast.  There were lots of hills, up and down, then up again, walking through the beautiful Galacian countryside.  The villages were ever so very charming with their blooming flowers contrasting with the grey and tan of the stone buildings. Gardens with many varieties of vegetables looked ready for harvest.  As we passed, I watched a farm family, the father, mother and children digging potatoes from their private plot.  

 I walked ahead of Pat and Mike and came upon a couple walking hand in hand.  "How long have you been married," I asked.  "44 years," the man responded.  We talked a few minutes and I learned that the couple resides in Queensland, in Northern Australia.  Further along, I came upon a woman accompanying four children ages ranging maybe 7-14.  "Are these your children," I asked?  "Yes", she replied with a smile. "They seem to be enjoying themselves and it's nice to see you walking with them," I added.  She nodded and gave me a big grin.  As I walked on I heard the voices of the children laughing and singing a song. I decided to remember them as the Oz Family.  

 



We made it to the town of Aruza before 1pm and stopped for lunch at a cafe in the main square. A mixed salad with tuna hit the spot for me.  Our accommodations were about ten minutes outside of town at Casa Lucas.  We telephoned the Casa and in short order Pepe arrived by auto to shuttle us to the casa.  Pepe's English was as minimal as is our Spanish, but we still managed to communicate.  Casa Lucas sits in the countryside, on a hill overlooking a reservoir.  The lake is sizable, perhaps ten miles long.  The Casa is a small family run bed and breakfast and has only six units; two apartments and four single rooms.  Each unit has its entry from the outside.  The main building has a beautiful common room for eating or relaxing and also houses the residence of Pepe and his wife.  Casa Luca dates back to the 1700's and has been skillfully restored, expanded and updated.  The attention to detail is impressive with cathedral ceilings with dark stained rustic timber beams and old world stonework.  Rooms have a country cottage feel and are stylishly furnished and decorated to maximize their Spanish charm. Pat stayed in one of the apartments which we called his "villa", while Mike and I each had a private room.  Except for us, there was a group of Philipino's staying at the casa. They live in Switzerland and are also walking the Camino.  If you want to get lost from the world around you, Casa Lucas is the is definitely the  place to go. 

After check-in we decided to walk down the hill to the lake.  We were accompanied by the resident Mastiff who twenty days ago delivered a litter of eight puppies.  The dog led our way down the path to a boat dock at the lake's shore.  I watched as she waded into the chilly waters to a depth that covered her underside and swollen teets. She stood still, eyes surveying the landscape around her.  I think she enjoyed the cool waters.

 

Dinner was home cooked and  began with a dish of pasta with mussels.  It was followed by the main course , a pot filled with monk fish atop slices of potato and onion.  It was exceptionally good. 

Aruza to Arca

Wednesday, September 25   

Pepe dropped us off in Aruza about 8:30am and we joined the stream of pilgrims heading west.  We made use of our rain gear for the first time today as the sprinkling rain intensified.  After an hour or so the rain stopped and I was happy to take off my plastic poncho.  Along the trail, I took notice of trees, tall and thin with smooth white bark and pale dusky green elongated leaves.  I learned that they are eucalyptus trees and are farmed for their wood pulp

Pat and I met Vivian from Cape Town, South Africa.  She's on the Camino with her sister who was walking somewhere ahead of us. Vivian is personable, easy going and pleasant to talk with.  She told me that the eastern coast along the south of Africa is beautiful and great for hiking.  I pushed on, walking by myself and for a time lost track of Pat and Mike.  

I caught up with them at Casa Verde, the most unusual café so far on the Camino.  Although it was only mid morning,  lively music was sounding from outdoor speakers energizing the peregrine's who were taking their morning break.  As I walked up the steps the bar was crowded with people.  The decor included t-shirts hanging from the ceiling and graffiti covering just about every square inch of the interior.  While there are many types of bars, I'd say this one is an authentic Camino bar. 

By early afternoon we made it to O'Pedrouzo, our stop for the night.  We stayed in a triple room at the Pension Arca.  It's modern, clean and Manuel, the owner was most hospitable. The hotel definitely exceeded my expectations.  We took a short walk to the main drag of town and had a nice two course dinner at a local restaurant.  An entre with bread, dessert and wine was 28 euros.  The meal seemed a bargain. We all did our laundry, relaxed and it was early to bed, so that we would be ready for a our final 18.5km to Santiago de Compostela.

  

Arca to Santiago

Thursday, September 26   

We were up at 5am.  As we hurried to make an early departure, Mike's alarm sounded on his telephone.  It was more like a high security alert and based on the decibel level, I'm sure all the other occupants of the building got the wake up call!  By 5:30am we were out the door, walking the final stretch of our Camino.

The last kilometers of the Camino were more challenging than I expected, especially with two hours of walking in the dark, much of it uphill.  It was a chilly morning, possibly the  coldest so far.  When we passed along the perimeter of Santiago's airport I knew we were approaching the suburbs of the city and the end was coming.

Mid morning, we stopped at an outdoor stand for a cup of coffee.  As I looked up the hill, a large monument stood out, clear and bold with the morning sky as it's backdrop. I later learned the hill is Monte Do Gozo or hill of joy in Spanish. It is the place where pilgrims get their first views of the three spires of the Cathedral of Santiago Compostela.  I didn't see any of them.  Traditionally, Monte Do Gozo is also where  pilgrims cry out in rapture at finally seeing the end of their path.  I heard no cries of rapture. What I did see was an impressive sculpture that commemorated the visit by John Paul II and his celebration of mass here on World Youth Day in 1989.

My entry into Santiago was not monumentus.  Partly because I felt hurried, my mind preoccupied by not wanting to miss the pilgrim's mass at noon.  Also, as I walked through Santiago, I had no gauge as to exactly where I was and how much farther there was to go.  The approach to the Cathedral is from the rear and I didn't realize that I was coming upon it.  From a distance all I saw was a single spire, until I walked though a passageway, turned the corner and there it was -  the facade of Santiago's Cathedral - in it's full glory.  When I stepped back and got a full view of this magnificent structure,  I just stood staring, wide eyed, in awe.

Although standing in front of the Cathedral was quite extraordinary, I didn't get the emotional rush experienced by many as they complete their Camino.  Somewhat, because I was not amongst a large pilgrim group, but, more so, I think, because my Camino was just a short six days, rather than the journey of thirty days or more travelled by those who begin in St. Jean.  I didn't experience periods of loneliness or suffer fatigue like many pilgrims do over the course of a month.  However, it was definitely a moving experience for me to watch the emotions of others as their Camino came to a conclusion.  Witnessing the hugs, kisses and cries of joy as pilgrims entered the Plaza del Obradoiro was my reward. 

We found the Pilgrim's Office and stood in line to tender our credencial del peregrino to prove our Camino.  Each of us received our compostela.  It's written in latin and mine translates as follows:

  The Chapter of this Holy Apostolic Metropolitan Cathedral of St. James, custodian of the seal of  
  St. James' Altar, to all faithful and pilgrims who come from everywhere over the world as an act
  of devotion, under vow or promise to the Apostle's Tomb, our Parton and Protector of Spain,  
  witnesses in the sight of all who read this document that:  Davidem W. Whikamp has visited
  devoutly this Sacred Church in a religious sense.  Witness whereof I hand this document over to    
  him, authenticated by the seal of this Sacred Church.  Given in St. James de Compostela on the
  26 day of September 2013.  Signed: D. Segumdo L. Perez Lopez, Chapter Secretary, Cathedral
  de Santiago.   

Fortunately, we arrived back to the cathedral at noon, just in time for the Pilgrim's mass. The church was packed and it was a  fitting conclusion to our Camino.  It was a joy to be amongst the pilgrims. According to the pilgrim's office, we were three of the 1207 pilgrims arriving in Santiago on Thursday, September 26, 2013.   Buen Camino!

                                                                                                               The Long & Winding Road    

                                                                                              (My Camino in 4 minutes)

                                                   

Santiago de Compostela

Friday, September 27  

 After breakfast Pat and Mike departed for the airport.  They booked an early flight and spent the day in Madrid.  I have an evening flight, so I have one last day in Santiago de Compostela.  About 9:30am I checked out of the Hotel San Lorenzo, stowed my mochilla and headed for the Cathedral.  The streets were wet from overnight rain and the grey morning looked like more rain was on the way.  

As I entered the side door of the Cathedral, I discovered a mass in process with the priest in the midst of his homily.  There were no seats available, so I stood behind the pews with a clear side view of the altar. It must have been a children's mass as there were school groups in attendance and the music included a chorus of children singing to a folk guitar. It was my good luck that after communion I had the experience of witnessing the Botafumerio.   It's a ritual that dates back to the 12th century.  An urn like container is suspended by rope from the cathedral's ceiling.  Fully loaded with incense and coal, the "the smoke boat" weighs over 200 pounds.  It takes eight people to set the container in motion and the pendulum swings high above the worshipers, traversing from one side of the cathedral to the other.  It's a real spectacle.  A poem recapitulates the passio magna and addresses St James in words that are used every time the botafumeiro is swung in the cathedral in Santiago: “Oh most worthy and most holy apostle, shining golden chieftain of Spain, be our protector and patron on earth, warding off all ill, be our celestial health...”.

After mass, I visited the tour office and purchased tickets to the Cathedral Museum and a rooftop tour at 4pm. Then, I stood in the Plaza del Obradorio watching the arrival of the pilgrims. Some arrived by foot and others by bicycle.  Yesterday I met Cornelius from Holland.  He traveled for 16 weeks walking 1360 miles.  Today I met Danny who just arrived by bicycle from Brussels, Belgium.  I asked him how far he travelled and he showed me his odometer.  A journey of 2,906km or about 1,806 miles.  What an accomplishment!  I watched a group of people arrive with great joy including some Italians whose hugs and kisses included the dog that accompanied them.   



 I visited the museum and wandered the streets of the old town.  I arrived back at the cathedral in time for my 4 o'clock tour where the guide took our group up a set of steps and onto the roof of the cathedral.  The views of the town were fantastic.  I snapped a lot of photos even though the rain was pouring down on me. 

After a dinner of paella at the historic Casino Cafe, I returned to the hotel, picked up my backpack and took a taxi to the airport.  I had a couple hours before my flight and as I was walking along the concourse I heard a voice say "hey."  I looked over and a guy was smiling at me.  It was Mick from Ireland.  He was also waiting for the flight to Madrid.  Mick and I talked all the way up to boarding time.  We stood in the boarding line, talking and not paying attention and almost boarded a flight to the Canary Islands.  Mick is something, a unique character.  By the time we climbed aboard the Ryanair flight to Madrid, I  think I was speaking with an Irish brogue.