Day 33: Santa Irene to Santiago de Compostela!

After a pleasant stay at the public albergue in Santa Irene, François and I decided to hike together again, but since she was going as far as Mont de Gozo, only ten kilometers away, she would hike slower today. I had already booked a room in Santiago so no rush for me either. It was another foggy, somewhat drizzly day, but not hot and comfortably cool. Perfect day for a stroll!

City limits!

Our first milestone came quickly and was a little misleading if you weren't following your map. The city limits has a handsome stone marker, but you still haven many miles to go before you can see anything of the city. We skirted the Santiago Airport. I got a little sad and a little excited by the prospect of flying home in a week! The fog was dense, however, so even though a large jet went right over heads, we didn't see it. I thought about the ways home, how route-finding became pathways. Ships follow navigation markers when close to shore and port, but on the open sea the path is followed differently. Compostela, the path of stars.

Scallop shell is everywhere on the approach .

One of the symbols of the Camino is the scallop shell. it's everywhere and part of the legend of St. James, but it isn't strictly a Christian symbol of pilgrimage, and like many symbols co-opted by one religion or another, it's roots pre-date the Christian use. We've been hiking through lands long ago settled by Celts, seafaring folk who were pretty damned brave to climb aboard their open boats and follow the stars, at the mercy of wind and wave. The scallop shell, or cockle shell to the Irish, represents to Celtic cultures the interface between land and sea, where we plant ourselves with one foot on the coastal soils and one foot in the bottom of a boat. St. James, the fisherman, by today's reading, has more in common with the oilskin-caped coastal wanderers than his later apparition as a slayer of invaders.

In the city proper.

We hiked up and down the hills before Monte de Gozo and suddenly there was Francoise's hotel! We were a little surprised. But a half day rest was well earned. We said we'd see each other at mass the next day ( we did!) and I went off for the final five kilometers into the city. I made a short stop for a stamp for my credential and a man in a bright shirt came running up to me. It was Milton! One of my original Camino family with whom I'd crossed the Pyrenees and started together with a dozen others in our first night stay in St. Jean Pied du Port . A happy reunion! We made our way across streets, overpasses, down sidewalks. All the landscape of a bustling city. We took each other's pictures at the city sign along a large traffic circle. It began to rain. Milton found the road leading to his seminary albergue and I walked into the old city alone. I found the Cathedral, draped in scaffolding and dust cloth. After days of hiking partners and people to share the pain, joy, and laughter with, it was me and an almost empty plaza and this Big. Church. I didn't feel overwhelmed or teary, in fact I just wanted my hotel room. But I hadn't eaten so I thought about what I had missed the most - and found it on the way to my lodging!

Me and this big church, alone in the rain.

Fruit sherbet and chips and Coke. Perfection!

I found my hotel easily and checked in. The staff clapped for me when they opened the door to my room. They did the same for another pilgrim checking in after me, and he cried! People thought something was wrong! I went into the hall to check. The head of service smiled and said the pilgrim was overwhelmed by the sight of a real bed and a tub! He had stayed in albergues the whole way from St. Jean! I would have cried too! I showered and settled in for a nap with the sounds of a festival happening in the old city, a few blocks away. I thought about going up to see, but my body, back, feet said NO YOU WON'T! So I didn't!