We woke up this morning in London, a quick overnight stay to stage ourselves for a flight back to the United States. Yesterday we left Spain after finishing our 500-mile walk at Santiago in Galicia, the culminating highlight on the Camino.
Our arrival in Santiago brought us to the towering cathedral, where pilgrims have ended their journey for a thousand-plus years. In centuries past, the pilgrims arrived dirty and smelly. So bad was their stench, the church configured procedures to cleanse the travelers before entering the cathedral, including an outside fountain and a change of clothes.
But we smelled good. Staying the night before in a small community of Lavacolla, we were positioned just six miles from Santiago so we could arrive early and fresh before the city got crowded with other pilgrims.
We left before dawn. On some stretches, trees covered the path, and it was so dark we could see nothing. I was thankful for the flashlight on the Apple iPhone.Then I started trailing others with head lamps.
The sky was still golden when we came upon a hill with a massive monument on top. Some friends were content to look from afar because getting closer meant climbing another hill. But I saw a photo opportunity and moved up with my camera. The sculpture commemorated the mass officiated by Pope John II for World Youth Day in 1989, when more than one million people gathered on the Monte do Gozo hillside, making it the largest-ever mass celebrated in Spain.
I started taking pictures of the monument when another pilgrim who did not speak English started motioning me to move southward. I thought he wanted me to take a photo of him and his wife, but he said, “No, no.” Instead, he pointed and prodded me farther toward the edge of the hill. Then he laughed. He was joyful and jubilant. His enthusiasm was contagious, his smile wide.
Turning west, I discovered his motives. In the valley below, the landscape of Santiago came into full view, the cathedral towering above all the other buildings. I grinned. The early-morning sun gave the sandstone cathedral a red-clay colored hue.
We laughed together, this stranger and I. My sudden surprise fastened my smile as I yelled to others below to make the climb. “It’s the cathedral,” I shouted. “It’s the cathedral.” No wonder that hill is named “The Mount of Joy.”
The others hiked up. Nancy used the opportunity to leave her shoes behind at the base of the monument, joining dozens of other pairs left by pilgrims approaching their final destination.
Santiago is a big city. Before we reached the ancient core, we passed all the modern businesses: banks, veterinarians, laundries, and kitchenwares — until the buildings became older and the streets got narrower.
Under a small tunnel, bagpipes played, a continuing tradition out of the ancient Celtic culture that distinguishes northwest Spain from its southern and eastern regions. It would be a day before I realized I had, at that moment, just passed the northern gate of the cathedral — the Portico de Gloria — where pilgrims of old used to end their journey. Being the travelers of 2018, we had to go a bit farther. The tunnel opened into a large square. Turning left, we caught the view of the twin towers of the church.
We were there. Thirty-eight days since our start in St. Jean Pied de Port, we had walked our way to a massive square where familiar faces of other pilgrims displayed the satisfaction of a walk well done.
Two tasks remained: presenting our pilgrim-passports to receive our compostela and attending the traditional pilgrim’s pass at noon.
At stops along the 48-day journey, I had collected stamps from businesses, hotels, churches, and museums. I filled three books with the impressions of 139 stamps. In return, the church in Santiago presented me with a compostela in Latin and a certificate of distance.
Mass is always beautiful. Even though I am not Catholic and do not speak Spanish, I find it meaningful and beautiful. In Santiago’s cathedral, the sound of voices echoed through up through the towering ceilings. And from our seats in the second row of the massive church, we let no detail go unnoticed.
To end the service, we were treated to the swinging of the botafumerio, not an everyday occurrence in Santiago. It’s usually reserved for holy ay observances. Filled with incense, the silver-coated botafumerio is attached to a pulley system (built in 1604) in the church tower. Eight robed men held separate ropes and propelled the giant thurible so that it swang laterally across the church. The drama drew murmurs and applause throughout the congregation, one thousand strong.
Nancy let out a little gasp because the speed and height of the censer was somewhat intimidating to us.
While symbolizing praises and acting as an oration, the botafumerio also served a practical purpose in older times: the incense deodorized the cathedral from the stench of those weary pilgrims.
Nancy and I were not necessarily weary. Yes, our legs were ready for a rest, but the trip ended with great satisfaction and reward. Five hundred miles and a million steps was a small price to pay.
Oh you two! Im so proud of you and happy for this accomplishment. I’ve read so many stories of other pilgrims, but now I actually know two personally! Seriously, Im all choked up reading your finale. I can only imagine the feeling of accomplishment, along with relief and the huge urge to get home! Congratulations and as we are just leaving for Greece, we hope to catch up with you sometime soon. Much Love John and Marsha
Congratulations to both of you. There is nothing quite like walking through the tunnel and then turning to see the square and then the cathedral. Look forward to sharing stories when you return.