Day 34: Santiago de Compostela

My body ended it's revolt of the previous night by coming awake to the sound of gulls winging over the city, screaming up my muscles with the promise of the sea. I left the hotel early with the man who had cried last night at the site of his room and tub. He was Polish and we shared no common language, but he held me over the shoulder as we walked to the Cathedral square.

I stopped first at the Cathedral to say some prayers for friends who were devastated by the Brexit vote to leave the EU. It was a shock to colleagues working in education and policy (U.N. and Oxfam), conservation (Rewilding Europe), and climate change policy that demands intra-European cooperation. Ive been keeping in touch with them by email and social media. is important I frame this experience within the context of what is happening in the world.

A long walk finally ends.

My Camino friends from the UK are shocked as well. We live in a global society with interlinkages across economies and climate. Extreme nationalism, especially the anti-immigration fear mongering, has no place in our modern society. After some quiet time, I made a direct line for the pilgrims office to receive my Compostela. The Brits in line were all on their phones texting folks back home. The Scot whose name I've forgotten turns to smile at me. She winked a clever wink. Everyone else was chating happily away.

The line was long, but happy conversations filled the hall.

I received two Compostelas, one the traditional certificate and the other, just as beautiful, noting my starting point in France. Memories of the Pyrenees came flooding back, the hardest but most beautiful two days of the journey. I met my Camino family at St. Jean Pied du Port and Orisson and now I saw a few of them in line, and saw more on the way to pilgrim mass, even some walking the streets of Santiago.

My Compostela!

One of the things we talked about while walking with Frances, was the tradition of walking among all the faiths. All religions have their versions of pilgrimage, she said. Some happen overland and end at a certain place.  Some people walk weeks to bathe in rivers. Others sail around the world. "Jesus walked," said Frances. "When I retired from teaching, my superior handed me my pilgrim's credential and said go study in Santiago! So here I am, a walker, a pilgrim, and a student again!"

Teresa and Frances about to join the que at the Pilgrim Office.

Teresa joined us that day. I was the only one not a religious. Teresa was a sister with the Poor St. Claire's from Brittany. "Poor Calvin, all a crank about pilgrimage. He didn't know what he was missing!" I met up with them at the pilgrim office. Another pilgrim, Cameron, was sporting a volunteer shirt and speaking with pilgrims as they waited in line. Cam walked from Sarria, a theological student and young priest from Kenya. He was to assist at mass a few hours later. He said that pilgrimage today is not what it was in the Middle Ages, and can't be. We've changed the world too much to ever go back to worshipping the grey chips of saints bones and shrivelled black fingers in glass capsules.

A different angle - Museo de Peregrines 

We walk to meet new friends and discover our Creator in the hearts of our companions. We are all immigrants, unsettled, homeless. The bonds formed by pilgrims who are trying to find their center of gravity in new and different situations are strong. It really had nothing to do with St. James for me, really. No treasure chest of remains or splendid golden statues could come anywhere near the Light that pours from the hearts of fellow pilgrims as we walk five hundred miles with such friends. The rabbit, fox, and donkey had the right idea. "You hobble, I'll hop, we'll all stumble along in happy song. Weehaw! Weehaw!"

Jacob the Austrian and wife Britta.

I found my favorite Austrian and his wife Britta laughing in the square, waving and striding big Austrian steps to hug me! He and I played a bit of a fox and hare game on our long days. "Vost took you so long?" will be my favorite memory of Jacob's encouragement as he would hurry ahead and find some place to sit as if he'd been there hours waiting. He schooled me well in how countries like his, with memories of horrific wars, regulate and still enjoy the shooting sports. He could not understand my country's inability to deal with gun violence. I can't either.

Marie, Claire,and Bob - Camino family from Vermont!

I had a happy reunion with my Vermont Camino family with whom I spent many great days hiking, eating, sleeping, and talking with. Hiking with them through mountains and Meseta felt like wandering the Green Mountains with old friends. I didn't have to wait long for others to appear but I did almost trip over the biathalete from Finland! We hugged and laughed about our storming of the Templar castle with Jacob in Ponferrada.

The Biathalete Sprawl.

More reunions!

Milton showed up smiling and together he and I and several hundred pilgrims filed into the Cathedral to attend the noon pilgrim mass. After I recovered from seeing Cameron walking next to the Bishop, the pipe organ boomed, the nun sang her heart out, and Butofermeiro flew high over our heads. Milton cried throughout the service. I will never forget celebrating his 70th birthday on the summit of the Col in the Pyrenees!

After mass, special pilgrims are called up to see the Bishop.

Friends from home questioned me before I left:

You are hiking alone? Aren't you afraid? Won't you be a target?
But you don't speak Spanish! Isn't there terrorism there? On and on and on.  I hope some of them have been reading this blog to know the answers. I urge every woman to travel alone in a foreign country on pilgrimage! There are routes to the Camino all over Europe. Pick one. Go. Go see what you are capable of. Go see that despite what you hear on the "news" you won't die at the hands of extremists - but do watch yourself and your pack leaving Logrono.

Plenty of real and art equines in the city.

I'm not in shape. I don't have the money. I don't have the time. I've never walked more than a few miles. These are some excuses I've heard. You get in shape by making walking a part of your everyday life. It cost as much or as little as you wish. You can hike one day a weekend and easily do fifteen miles each time. Do this every weekend, add it up as you go. Make your goal 500 miles for the year. Use each walking or hiking day as a personal pilgrimage experience every week. I know one man who was unable to do the Camino because of health reasons. He built a trail through his woods and walked it daily until he came to 550 miles. Phil's Camino.

Medieval instrument street performers.

But it's not just about going for a hike. An important aspect of pilgrimage is the vulnerability and uncertainty that you must experience in order to understand the capacity of others to demonstrate great compassion. I learned the art of asking for help, of making myself vulnerable to the possibility of being lost, not knowing a language, finding a doctor when I was in pain, asking for food, asking for a bed at night. You can't sign up for a tour or take the American Resort mentality with you. It's you and what's on your back. Take that metaphorically if you want. Get out of your comfort zone and drop the idea that your lodgings must be five-star and your good must taste like what you eat at home. I had ox-tail soup and rather liked it.

Walking sticks left at the Cathedral door.

The most miserable people I met on the Camino were three American women. I'm sure there were others not having the time of their lives from other countries, but wearing a mosquito headnet because you are afraid of catching the zika virus then sweating under it so badly you almost pass out is really being quite stupid. Having a childish tantrum because your bestie is walking with someone else today is not very attractive either. I ran away from that one! And, oh dear, oh my. YELLING louder at someone does not mean they will understand English any better. I hope these women came around to understand that Spain is not a Mexican country and that Jesus and Trump will not make America great again.

Heading in for Pilgrims Mass.

There lots of Americans. Everyone showed proper respect to their host country,  had bothered to learn some Spanish ( in my case, Basque and Galician too) beforehand, and who brought such joy to their walk. They were great embassadors for our country. I'm afraid, though, that any discussion of American politics and policy were not what my American friends wanted to discuss with curious Europeans. I was one of those . And who could blame us? I stopped introducing myself as from the USA and said instead Pennsylvania. The crazy talk of anti-science, anti-immigration, anti-immigration, isolationist politics confounds me. Though the Brits, Scots, and Welsh do have some ideas about that.

Market day!

Market day some more!

Wandering the streets of Santiago, even those far from its historic center, I found markets and shops bursting with good things to see and sample. Customers are spoken to, not waited on. Conversation and service is warm and friendly. I was offered so much free food to sample that I couldn't imagine sitting down for dinner. I will never forget the market in Sahagun where the grocer , on siesta time, sat with me and my cold milk, and told me about the Civil War. I never did meet up with Alise who's grandfather spent time in a concentration camp as a Republican fighter. I can never come to grips with the Church's alliance with Franco and the unopposed use of mixing Spain's great faith in Catholicism with the repressive and violent dictatorship of forty years.

The remains of St. James carried pompously by Church-supported thugs.

The mixing of religion and politics is what should worry us the most. Our political system at home does so in order to attract the votes of people for whom their religious beliefs are tangled with ideas of freedom, rights, and authority. We parade our crosses and bibles with political promises . It's all bunk to me. The Church treads carefully here, the current Pope acknowledged as much and tries to make amends. He said so in Philadelphia. He warned us in Washington. History of mixing politics with religion is Spain. We best pay attention and learn from it lest we repeat it across the pond.

Piping pilgrims through the gate to the square.

For now my time in Santiago is finished. I've left some things with Ivar at the University and will carry a much lighter pack to the coast. I am longing to spend some time birding, sketching, wandering the cape at Finnesterre and Muxia. One more hike to go to look out across the Atlantic and imagine the old ways before the Church, before inland roads, before Spain was Spain.