El Camino de Santiago de Compostela and Northern Spain

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El Camino de Santiago de Compostela

The Primitive Way

"Two roads diverged in a wood
and I took the one less traveled by__
and that has made all the difference."
Robert Frost
The Road Not Followed

Albuquerque, NM - Sometime near the end of March, 2008 - Two weeks after finding out that a friend of mine was going to Spain, I was planning a trip to that country. I made up my mind almost immediately that it was now or never, no more whining about how much I wanted to do it and no months for preparation. She was going to Spain to walk El Camino de Santiago de Compostela, the Way of St. James. I first heard of this remarkable journey from a teaching assistant in my Spanish language class at the University of New Mexico in the early 1990s. Hardly anyone, religious or not, makes this walk without being affected by it. I was deeply impressed by his story and it remained in the back of my mind until the day I found out that a friend was going to do what I was only dreaming of. So I got busy on the internet, found a ticket I could live with and gave myself two weeks to get ready. Two weeks to condition myself to tackle El Camino - I had no idea.

There are several routes to the cathedral and town of Santiago, where the bones of the apostle St. James are interred. My friend was going to travel the entire 800 kilometers from the base of the Pyrenees, across north central Spain, to Galicia, the original homeland of the Celts of Ireland and the British Isles. These routes have been followed by peregrinos from all over Europe since at least the eighth century AD. I didn't have the endurance or 4 or 5 weeks minimum to complete the entire way, so I decided to walk 100 kilometers from the town of Lugo, which is the least amount required to achieve a "diploma" or certificate of completion from the cathedral in Santiago. I met people who walk a portion of the Camino each year, eventually completing the entire route. My friend and I had hoped to be able to meet at some point along the way, but since I decided to do the primitive route and she the French route, it was not to be. The French route is the one used by most people which is why I chose the primitive. At times I wondered about the wisdom of that choice.

Atlanta GA - April 15 - My trip to Spain started inauspiciously when I misplaced my passport shortly before it was time to board the flight to Madrid. In full panic mode, I scratched madly through my possessions, trying to come up with the elusive passport, which I had shown to TSB personnel 30 minutes previously. I'm in a cold sweat, visualizing my flight leaving without me. The vision became reality when they said they couldn't wait for me to come up with it. Oddly enough, there was another passenger who had also lost hers and missed the flight. I ran madly around the airport trying to figure out what to do. Airport personnel were less than helpful but I finally found out that I could get a new passport if I had a birth certificate, in a week. This was getting worse and worse. I found a kindly Delta ticket agent who got me a room at a nearby motel. The stress had left me exhausted and frustrated so I took a long bath and unpacked everything to try and figure out what happened. I finally decided that the cheapest way would be to fly back to Albuquerque, get a new passport and begin all over again. Just as I had given up on finding it, the passport turned up inside my camera bag in a very dark corner, devilishly, the same color as the passport. I had probably pawed over it several times, in the bad light of the airport. The next day and $200 later for re-booking, I was on my way to Spain.

Madrid - April 17 - Several in-flight movies and very little sleep later, my plane touched down in Madrid. I found out that public transportation is alive and well in Spain. At the airport it is possible to ride the metro into the city center, thereby avoiding a $30 to $40 taxi fare. The metro is 1 or 2 Euro. My destination

Chueca hostal

was Chueca, the gay region of Madrid, where I reserved a room online for 18 Euro. The "room" turned out to be the size of a broom closet but I was too tired to care.

After a two hour nap, I recovered somewhat and went out to join the throngs of Madrilenos during their dinner-time break from work, 2 pm until 4 or 5, during which time many businesses close and reopen in the evening. Everyone walks about, shopping, having their meals at restaurants, playing with children. It's a very civilized way to live. Madrid has many wonderful plazas, around which tapas restaurants thrive. I had planned to have two whole days in Madrid for museum hopping but now I had only hours to "see" El Prado. Before I left home I had booked a flight to Santander on Ryan Air, Europe's answer to Southwest Airlines. I couldn't afford another re-booking fee. A special Goya exhibit had just begun a day or two earlier so I raced through it so that I could see Velasquez and then it was closing time. I never made it to the Reina Sophia museum for Picasso's Guernica, so I guess I'll have to return to Spain to see it another time.

Santander - April 18 - Flying within Spain via low cost airlines is the way to go. I flew to Santander, where I stayed in a beautiful, big and inexpensive (18 Euro, what a difference from Madrid) pension, located close to the

Santander hostal

train station. I spent the afternoon and evening hours roaming the pretty coastal city and the next morning boarded the FEVE system of narrow gauge railroads, which traverse the northern coast of Spain.


San Vicente de la Barquera - April 19 - My first stop was the coastal village of San Vicente
de la Barquera. I got off the train and looked around at my surroundings. Gad, I was out in the middle of nowhere and I couldn't even judge which way the town was and no one had gotten off the train with me. I picked a direction and started walking, figuring that I had a 50% chance of being right, as there was only one road running alongside the tiny station (which was closed). After a while I came upon a small cement mixing plant and someone was actually working there. I speak Spanish fairly well and understand fairly poorly but I managed to get directions to the town, which was 3 kilometers from the

Tidal flats at San Vicente
de la Barquera

FEVE station. My guess turned out right. Along the way I met some interesting animal characters. I also passed by some beautiful coastal flats during low tide which proved to make very interesting photos. I had to remind myself that I was in Spain, not Connemara.

My plan was to see as much of the north coast as possible before I headed south to begin my journey to Santiago. My preparation for this challenge had been rather minimal; I'm a walker, tennis player and cyclist but I have never carried a pack, which was what I did the entire time I spent in Spain. I tried to keep the weight to around 12-15 pounds but due to the extremes of weather in April in northern Spain, it was necessary for me to carrying clothing for cold temperatures. My biggest drag was my digital SLR Nikon D200, which weighed in at around 3 pounds. I carried only one lens, a 18-90 mm zoom. I also carried my Canon SD550 which also takes videos. In the end I toted over 23 pounds of gear. That may not sound like much to a backpacker, but I'm unaccustomed to carrying anything on my back and ended up walking for more than 11 hours some days.

I arrived in San Vicente, a very hilly harbor town, with plenty of time to explore, and after finding an hostal, I gratefully left my pack behind and feeling energetic and light, took off with my camera to find the port where the fishing boats dock. Eventually I arrived at the small harbor but the boats were quite sophisticated and somewhat larger than I was expecting. I guess I am accustomed to the fishing villages of Mexico, where they fish from smaller barcas with outboard motors and it's possible to buy fish right off the boat. Undiscouraged I set out to find others things to capture with my camera. While taking photos I frequently stroll rather aimlessly,

San Vicente Fishing Fleet

looking for the emblematic scene of the town I'm in. I always look for the cathedral in a town first because it's usually centrally located and surrounded by other old buildings. In San Vicente the cathedral was up a steep hill on the highest point in town. I came upon the first of the several albergues (inexpensive lodgings for pilgrims) while exploring the town. This albergue is unusual in that it is in the home of Sophie and Jose, who also feed the pilgrims who pay a small fee to cover expenses. Since I was not a pilgrim yet, I decided to stay in a hostal in the center of town, but Sophie invited me to eat dinner with them that night, so I made plans to tromp back up the hill for the occasion. Situated beneath the cathedral, built into the hill, the albergue overlooks the town of San Vicente with a distant view of the harbor. It was here that I met a professional photographer who was suffering from

Di & Antonio Paredes

tendinitis in his Achilles tendon from attacking El Camino too vigorously. He had been at Sophie's for several days, hoping his injury would heal enough to allow him to continue on his way. Dinner

Sophie, Antonio & Jose

that night was a jolly affair, with some folks who happened to drop in as well as a French peregrino we called Bob. He spoke no Spanish nor English, so that's the limit of information I have about him. After dinner Sophie sang a beautiful aria for us. She is an very accomplished soprano, performing with a group of other women in public venues in Europe.

April 20 - Llanes - With my head full of advice on places to visit along the coast from my new friends in San Vicente, I walked back to the train station renewing my acquaintance with my old pony friends along the way. Trains seem to arrive on time in this part of the world so I made sure to leave with 1 1/2 hours to spare and soon I was on my way to Llanes. The ride was pleasant and thankfully, I disembarked in the center of town. My lack of real planning meant that I had to look for lodging each time I arrived in a new town, but in the north and before the real season it presented no problems and is a sure way to avoid staying in a place not to your liking.

I liked Llanes immediately, from the friendly way the sweet little train station was located in town, to the pastry shop I encountered within a block, to the wonderful, old Victorian era hostal I discovered within 3 blocks of the train station. It

Llanes Harbor

looked as though all the woodwork, light fixtures, banisters and wood floors were original. My room was huge and decorated with antiques. Like many hostales in Spain, most rooms are without bathrooms, however they usually have a sink and sometimes a shower. The bathrooms are shared but I never saw evidence of having shared my bathroom with anyone the entire time I was in Spain. Rooms are usually available with bathrooms in them but they are most expensive.

Llanes resides in Eastern Asturias high on dramatic cliff over the ocean. It is a popular place for Spanish tourists in the summer and I hear rooms are hard to come by then, however, April in Northern Spain is not exactly high season, thankfully. There is a wonderful walk high above the ocean atop the cliffs which heads west for quite a long way.

While strolling through town I recognized a familiar figure: Bob from Sophie's albergue. After expressing surprise at seeing eachother, the rest of the conversation was: Bonjour, Bob. Adieu, Diana. I thought I'd not mention my only other holdover from high school French: Je t'aime. I hardly knew him.

I decided to stay an extra day in Llanes and ride the bus to Nuevo Llanes to visit a beach called La Playa de los Cuevas. I left fairly early for Nuevo, expecting to find some tacky suburb of Llanes, but I was pleased to find a nice little town with nothing much to attract the tourist. The Playa was 2-3 kilometers from town and a very lovely walk through the rural countryside. I met some interesting animals along the way and was rewarded for my persistence with a very pretty beach with a cave in the

La Playa de los Cuevas

ocean and waves of the sea pounding all around. I had to take my shoes off and wade to get some photos and after the shock of the icy water, it was divine to my poor, tired feet. The cove is surrounded on both sides by high cliffs and is both a dream and a nightmare for a photographer. The difficulty is in making it look in a photo as grand as it really is, a problem of scale, really.

The cliffs on either side of the cove support gorgeous farms with healthy cattle and emerald fields, the Picos de Europa in the distance completing a dramatic picture. I really love traveling solo, for the events of this particular day could only happen spontaneously. On the way back to Nuevo I happened upon a man riding a lovely young gelding. I stopped to talk to him and take his picture because I was intrigued by his saddle which looked like a jumping saddle, but he claimed that it was for dressage. As I continued on my way, shortly I came to a little site where a group of men were playing a game that appeared to be a combination of bocce and lawn bowling. I watched for a while and wondered why only men were present and playing but then I figured that was a question better not asked in the north of Spain. I went to the ubiquitous Wikipedia and this is what I found:

The tirobolo palma

Bolo palma is a variant of bowls played throughout the north of Spain. Although played a lot in the Basque Country, it would appear that the game originated in neighbouring Asturias or Cantabria. Records of the game go back as far as the 16th century. The basic aim of the game is the knock over as many pins as possible with a wooden ball.

The ball is held and thrown like a bowling ball that has been lobbed around 15 feet in the air and comes down on top of the 9 tall, skinny pins. I couldn't figure out the scoring system but it was fun to watch.

When I returned to Nuevo to get a beer and something to eat, I spied a poster for an event that was going to happen that afternoon at 4 pm. It was advertising a horse fair or feria, of the kind where draft horses pull sleds with weight in competition. I got directions from one of the locals; it was nearby, as is everything in this little community. I had some time to kill so I ate, drank beer chatted occasionally with fellow imbibers and took pictures of my surroundings.

I arrived early for the feria and watched as the horses arrived in little horse boxes pulled by cars. When the horses were unloaded I discovered that they were quite small measured in hands but very robust in body, like little draft horses, and they were drop dead gorgeous. I just couldn't get enough pictures of them. The pull was conducted differently than we do it in the States. The horses are hitched to the sleds by two straps which are buckled to a horse collar and that's it. In this country we have very elaborate harness for our competitions. It's much simpler the Spanish way. After hitching them up, the handler leads the horse around a small circular dirt path pulling a little sled with concrete bars on it assigned to the horse according to his weight, which is determined by means of a portable scale just before the competition. The event is a timed one, I think five minutes, and a measured one. The winner is the one which completes the greater number of circuits around the track in the five minutes. Each horse starts out strong and fast but but is soon laboring around the track dragging the weight, nostrils flared, flanks heaving. There is a lot of noise and encouraging yells from the leader and the driver but no striking of the animal is allowed. I was having so much fun I forgot to take pictures at times.

It seems every good thing must end and so the rains came in earnest before the end of the feria and I had to get out my rain gear and walk back to the bus stop in a downpour.

By the time I got back to Llanes it was late on a Sunday evening, rain coming down at a steady rate and all the restaurants were closed, but a lovely woman in a small hotel took pity on me and fixed me a plate of eggs and toast. So sweet! Cold and soggy but with a full tummy, I walked back to my room and a warm bed.

April 21 - Aviles - I've learned the hard way to take recommendations with a grain of salt: Cudillero was supposed to be a lovely little coastal town. I went out of my way by bus to get there only to find that it just wasn't my kind of place: It was expensive, scarce on the kind of lodgings I found elsewhere and I thought not very attractive, a touristy kind of town. So I hopped back on a bus after a long walk back up a steep hill and rode to Aviles to spend the night, hoping to reach Lugo early enough to begin El Camino the next day. My night in Aviles was less than remarkable, except for shopping for gobs of salad stuff and canned red beans for dinner. I had been living on ham, sausages, bread and cheese. Really good quality but nothing green or fibrous. The seafood from this region is outstanding but quite pricey.

April 22 - San Roman. Up early, march to bus station, arrive in Lugo 11 am. The old part of Lugo is surrounded by an old Roman wall, with around eight entrances into the interior. I hoisted my goods onto my back and hiked off to find El Camino. The hour was late for starting so I hurried along failing to get my passport stamped at the albergue which might have taken another hour to find. I had to be in Santiago in five days and I had 100 kilometers to go.

I was excited to be finally walking this ancient path, The Primitive Way, which was the original El Camino, but now not used any where nearly as intensively as the French Way, and I was about to find out why. I passed the cathedral in Lugo at 12 pm, got directions to El Camino fro a priest and breathed a long sigh to be finally reaching for my goal of

Leaving Lugo
99K to go

Santiago de Compostela. My first stop on El Camino would be San Roman, a new albergue, usually not even mentioned on the descriptions of the Primitive Way. Thank God for it though, with my late start I couldn't have made it all the way to Palas de Rei because it would have been a walk of 38 kilometers. I kept my Nikon in its case except when actually taking photos and that was probably a mistake as it took me many minutes that I really couldn't afford to get it out and check all the settings before releasing the shutter. I treated it like a snapshot camera in that I only took one shot of most things, otherwise I never would have gotten anywhere. However, I did take special pains in composition and settings, ISO, aperture, etc. This day the rain hampered my efforts but the colors turned out great and the clouds were always wonderful.

My husband and I are pastoral people so most of the photos I took were of rural places, wilderness, small villages and churches. The rock walls are very old, beautiful and covered with the most fascinating mosses, lichens and ferns. The steeples and bell towers on the tiny village churches beckoned me to take a photo in every village even though they all started to look alike after a while.

It's hard to describe how difficult this trip was for me but it was ultimately incredibly rewarding to have attempted a long-time dream. I arrived at the town of San Roman feeling like an exhausted, starving, drowned cat. I stopped at a little bar and ordered a sandwich and a beer and wolfed them down, barely chewing. I bought some nuts and was carrying museli bought in Aviles for the morning. I inquired about the albergue, got directions and dragged my tired body to the albergue. When I arrived, I found the place dark and the door locked. I looked around at my rural setting and wondered if there might be a barn nearby that I could sneak in to sleep. Then, my first milagro; someone opened the door. It wasn't vacant. The most beautiful person imaginable was standing there with an inquisitive look on his face. He spoke only Spanish but I conveyed to him that I was walking El Camino and needed to sleep there. He was also a pilgrim and was going

Tomas Santos

to be in Santiago in two days. Two days; I would need another 4 to get there. His name was Tomas Santos but I called him my Saint Thomas. There were simply no other options for me if this one had failed.

Tomas explained to me that we needed to be out of the albergue by 8 am. I slept until 9 am and he was kind enough not to disturb me be cause I needed that extra hour. I hoped the new day wouldn't be quite as much of a challenge.

"May all your trails be crooked,
winding, lonesome, dangerous,
leading to the most amazing
view... where something strange
and more beautiful and more full
of wonder than your deepest
dreams waits for you."
Edward Abbey
"Benedicto"

Mental Hospital - April 23 - This day I would try to make it to Palas de Rei, around 20 kilometers from San Roman. I shouldered my pack and took off - in the wrong direction. I probably didn't walk more than 2 or 3 kilometers before I figured it out, but of course, I had to walk the

Ancient Stone Slabs
and Blue Gate

same amount back to get on the right path. The farther west I went on this walk the sketchier the trail markers became. At first, after leaving Lugo, there were concrete signposts with the blue and yellow shell symbol on them. Frequently a building or house at an intersection had a yellow arrow painted on it; often the arrow was painted on the road. Numerous times I had a feeling that I was going in the wrong

Flecha Amarilla

direction and I back-tracked a way and found a faint mark indicating the way, sometimes showing that I was on the right track and sometimes not. I had a crude little map given me by Tomas Santos showing the villages that I would pass through, but the actual signs on the villages bore little resemblance to the map, so I would stop people walking beside the road to ask the way.

Around six or seven that evening I was still trudging along. I was still taking photos but I had abandoned dragging out the Nikon and just had my Canon point and shoot so that I hardly had to break stride to snap a picture.

Several hours earlier I had thought I couldn't go any farther, but there was no other option but to go on. It's amazing to me now that when I thought I had dug deep, I could still find something inside to make me put one foot in front of the other and continue on and on. I know there are many, many pilgrims who can identify with this feeling.

The paths I walked today were varied: Rocky and muddy; hilly and steep; over brooks and rills; along village lanes with dairies everywhere. I saw village women

Cheese Shed

making cheese; men bringing in the cows; women pushing wheelbarrows full of vegetables for the week's stew and everywhere, green, green, green. Even though my brain had stopped most of its functions, the beauty of the place overcame the barrier of exhaustion.

Village Church

Being alone, I had plenty of time to examine my life and my relationship to the members of my family. I prayed for them and for better understanding of what they feel and think; for more compassion for them when they do things I don't agree with. I considered the paths we have all taken and tried to forgive myself for not having done things differently, in some cases. I hoped by this trip to lay all grievances I hold against myself to rest and to leave them in the unchangeable past.

Around 8 pm I came to a small house be the side of the road and a young man sitting in front working on a laptop computer. I asked him which way to Melide (by now I had given up on Palas de Rei) the nearest village with an albergue or hostal. He replied that it was 15 kilometers down the road. I almost fainted. I had been on the trail for 11 hours and apparently had been taking a serpentine path to my destination which is why I completely by-passed Palas de Rei. I just turned without another word and moved out at the quickest pace I could muster. I walked for a way and thought I'd better ask again. The old woman I talked to said that Melide was 15 K back the way I had come from. Oh God!!! Would this day never be over! I started crying because I couldn't think what else to do. Then the second milagro of the journey happened. I heard someone calling from the bottom of the hill - Hey. Heyyyy. Hello. Yoohoo. I turned and saw a slender woman waving at me and beckoning me to come back. She was driving a white van and when I reached her she said in English, My boyfriend said an exhausted peregrina passed by and

Carlos & Mapy

I told her how to go to Melide but I think she went the wrong way. She took my pack, put it in the van and told me she was just about to give up on finding me, because she didn't think I could have gotten so far, when she saw me on the road while she was turning around. This turned out to be a 30 kilometer day and in my wildest dreams I wouldn't have thought I could carry a pack that far. I was saved, at least for now.

Her name is Maria Pilar, and she calls herself Mapy. She took me to her tiny home, which she calls the Mental Hospital Refugio, beside El Camino and welcomes travelers on the way to come in for coffee, tea and a bite to eat. She gave me food, a delicious soup

Di & Maria Pilar

with vegetables and chicken and a place to wash up and to sleep. I will never be able to express my gratitude to her for her generosity and kindness. She literally saved me. We spent a lovely evening chatting and listening to music and I promised I would send her a CD of Milladoiro, a group from Galicia which plays Celtic music.

Melide - April 24 - After two days of misery interspersed with moments of beauty, of both spirit and landscape, I decided to give myself a break and spend the night in Melide, a town around 54 kilometers from Santiago. What a good choice! More fun and spontaneity. After checking out the albergue and finding a bunch of squealing teens with sore feet there, I took a room in a nice little hostal down a side street not too far from the center of town. Leaving a burden carried all day is like being given a pardon, a lightness, a joy. I left my pack and went out with my big camera to see what Melide could offer.

I found an internet cafe and let my husband know that I was still alive. Then I heard horses whinnying. I always follow the sound of a horse calling and soon found the source: Little pony stallions, each tethered by a long line to a stake in the middle of a green field. A couple of blocks later, I found some more horses and a mare and foal being walked down

Pony Stallion

the middle of the macadam road. After watching for a while, I walked around town until I heard some familiar music: Bagpipes! I
got out my little Canon and turned on the video. Leaving this scene, I thought I would get something to eat. This area of Spain is famous for cider (sidra) and octopus (pulpo). I just happened to find a really traditional cider house where they were boiling up a batch of pulpo. I went in and right away someone was calling my name. It was a brother and sister duo, Esther and Ismael, Spaniards who were walking El Camino together. I had met them at Mapy's. With them was a young man called Lorenz, from Germany. I was feeling a little queasy, I think from the water, so I didn't eat very much, but I did sample the pulpo and it was delicious, much better than calamari. It's served very simply; boiled, cut into chunks and sprinkled with spicy paprika.

We chatted about some of the youths who were traveling El Camino on foot. They weren't carrying their own packs and they were giggly and loud and they all had bandaids all over their toes. Apparently they were in a group with a van which carried all their packs. Lorenz nicknamed them the "Puppies" and we tried to avoid them at all costs. They were the same group I saw at the albergue in Melide which is the main reason I decided to stay at an hostal instead. The trio had to run back to the albergue before curfew so we said goodbye.

April 25 - Left Melide early, determined to make up for dawdling yesterday. My goal, Arzua, some 14 kilometers from here. Well, the best laid plans, etc. I met up with Lorenz after a while and as we walked along, he told me about the next albergue he would be staying at. It sounded really nice but I had to make up for lost time so I wasn't going to join him. We walked together and chatted and soon reached Ribadiso and the beautiful, paradisical albergue there. We approached it from the road and a medieval bridge under which flowed a quiet dark stream, the River Iso. Across the stream were the grounds and buildings of the country inn-like albergue. I was still determined to continue on but first I would stop with Lorenz and sit on the bank of the stream and dangle my feet in the frigid water. I brought my Ipod on this journey but never used it once, however, Lorenz had his Ipod with him and let me listen to Sting narrate Peter and the Wolf. What a surreal and thoroughly enjoyable experience, sitting on the bank of a little river in Spain listening to a classic from my childhood. Lorenz actually peeled off his clothes and dove in, scraping his chest and belly on the rocks of the bottom of the stream. I was satisfied to splash and take photos of him and the scenery. After about an hour I packed myself up and went to the nearby restaurant to eat something and prepare myself to leave. After a beer and some food, I came to my senses and decided to give myself a treat: Stay in Ribadiso and enjoy myself.

The grounds of the albergue were divided into a building where the bunks were housed, an administrative building, both of stone, and a newer open-air style bathhouse with showers, sinks and toilets. Inside, the dormitory style rooms had around 4-16 bunks in separate rooms and different levels, giving a feeling of being smaller than it actually was. I'm told that this served as a hospital in ancient times. There was plenty of hot water for a blissful shower and for washing and drying underwear outside on the lines set up for such things. The rain disappeared and the sun was glorius and warm. Afterward, we all sat around the river, talking, laughing and doing absolutely nothing but soaking up the rays of the sun. The mayflies were hatching and fish were rising continuously all afternoon. Even with people splashing in the river, the fish kept rising to the heavy hatch. After dinner, I strolled out on the road and found a little dairy bringing in the cows for milking. I must have been a dairy woman in a previous incarnation because the sight of cows being milked always gives me a sense of peace.

April 26 - A few of us were up by 7 am and on the road by 7:30. We organized our stuff using small flashlights in the dark rooms, trying not to disturb those still sleeping. I never quite got used to never having coffee until I could get to a cafe on the road, but it's just one of the things I had to accept. I will always remember Ribadiso as one of the highlights of my trip.

I was happy to enjoy the rural atmosphere leaving Ribadiso but due to my indulgence of staying short of my daily mileage, I had set myself up for another difficult day. Around nine, Lorenz caught up with me and we walked

Leaving Ribadiso


together for a while and stopped for a pastry at a wonderful shop in Arca. As we walked, I knew I was holding him back so I suggested that he go ahead and he gratefully accepted the invitation. He would be staying at an albergue 15 to 20 kilometers from Santiago but I needed to get closer to be sure of accomplishing my goal of attending the Sunday Pilgrim's Mass.

This would turn out to be another 30 kilometer day, unintentionally. One foot in front of another, over and over, ibuprophen, chewing gum, dreaming of a hot bath. I got into a zone where pain was in another place and just slogged on. I was four hours without water because there was no place to buy any. I met two men from Mexico who were talking about taking a taxi but I was determined to make it on my own. Finally, I stopped with them at a cafe for some food and when I left they were still there drinking beers.

The trail was along an area where there were no accomodations of any kind so I finally had to leave it and find the highway. After much discouraging trial and error, I found a small motel and thankfully booked a room. After hurriedly grabbing a bite in the restaurant of the motel, I dragged my self back up to the room, arranged my things so that I could leave in a hurry in the morning. I soaked for a long while in the tub and before bed dressed in my clothes to sleep, which was my habit throughout the walk. I figured a would be able to make Santiago with time to spare. When I looked at the maps before going to sleep, I discovered I had walked 34 kilometers. No wonder I could barely walk the next day.

April 27 - Santiago de Compostela - Nine kilometers to go. I'm living on ibuprophen, chewing gum and gel soles in my shoes. My shoes are a bit too short and the weight of the pack is beginning to take a toll on my hips. This is the cruelest joke of El Camino; the last 9 kilometers is very hilly and looks like a weird moonscape, not at all picturesque. The sun is quite hot and I have to sit in the shade for a while. I'm determined to get to Santiago before the pilgrim's Mass at 12:30. On the way I pass through the albergue at Monte do Gosso, a facility with 800 beds. Boy, am I glad I'm not staying there. I guess I don't have the spirit for that kind of accommodation. At my age I like comfort, a soaking tub and quiet when I sleep, but for most pilgrims it's a good, inexpensive (three to eight euro) option.

Soon I meet up with Sedat and Vanessa on the highway, whom I first became acquainted with at Ridadiso. He's a Turk and I think she's Italian. Vanessa is still wearing her yellow crocs as she was when I first met her swimming in the frigid stream. I wonder how she manages in her crocs. Our first view of Santiago was of a modern, large city; broad avenues crowded with cars, taxis, buses and filling stations.

As we walked toward the Cathedral, pilgrims were converging from different parts of the city onto the same avenue. Many of the people I met were repeat pilgrims, having done El Camino at least once before, in part or

Peregrino Durmiendo

entirely. I saw one pilgrim asleep on the pavement on his rolled up sleeping bag. As we drew nearer our goal, the streets became narrower, the buildings darker and closer together.

The Cathedral is, simply, magnificent. The plaza in front was filled with pilgrims and tourists,

the air on this day, clear and bright. We took pictures of each other before entering the darkness of the interior. I walked around inside gazing in awe at this barrel-vaulted structure built so long ago, beginning in 1075 AD, with it's statues of saints, the Virgin and Jesus. I saw pilgrims I had met on El Camino, including Esther, again. We hugged and then I sat in a pew and just marvelled at being there. I got on my knees to say a prayer of thanks and out of nowhere great sobs and tears welled up. I tried to be quiet but my shoulders were heaving. After a while I calmed a bit but tears still flowed down my cheeks. I felt so grateful to have reached this point. I thought about my family and what they mean to me and I wished they were sharing the moment with me. I prayed for them and for all my family and close friends who have died.

Catedral de Santiago
de Compostela

Botafumeiro

The celebrant called for quiet and soon the Mass began. I was in a trance-like state compounded by exhaustion and amazment and hardly remember it but I walked up to receive communion and returned to my place to await the incense ceremony. It was a spectacle worthy of such a grand place. My memory card on my small camera was full so I couldn't take a video, but there are many sites on YouTube which record the several minutes of the botafumeiro flying through the air high above the celebrants.

The busker tradition is alive and well in Spain and nowhere more so than in Santiago. I came across a very competent violinist playing the Carmen Suite which was well worth a listen. In Madrid they play in the underground quite a lot.

Busker in Santiago


The balance of my trip was really anticlimactic and I wished I could have been transported home at that moment. Instead, I wandered the streets of Santiago and out of nowhere, heard my name

Lorenz & the recruitment team

being called. It was Lorenz. We greeted each other like long lost friends and spent some time together buying gifts for people back home and looking for a supermarket. We asked people along the way but seemed to be getting farther away each time we asked. Then came along two young priests from the seminary where the albergue is located. As they studied the map, trying to figure out where the market was, they were casually quizzing Lorenz about his age, religion, etc. I didn't get it but Lorenz did. He told them he wasn't interest in studying for the

Free tapas in Santiago

priesthood. Finally, Lorenz spotted a German pub and we forgot about the market and went in for some real beer. The free tapas they served us were fantastic: marinated mussels and some kind of little vegetable salad. After a while we went our separate ways, promising to e-mail.

The morning of my departure for Madrid, I went to a market where they sell all kinds of food, from vegetables, pastries, fish, sausage and hams, to take pictures before boarding the bus to the airport and Madrid.

Back in Madrid, I was fortunate enough to find the Plaza Santa Ana, recommended to me by a friend who travels to Spain frequently. It's a very lively place any time of day or night with lots of events, wonderful little restaurants and many things to see nearby. I liked it a lot more than the better-known Plaza Mayor. I liked Madrid very much, with its walking culture, small shops with crafts like tatting (look it up), great underground system and wonderful plazas.

I made the trip back to New Mexico uneventfully. My toenails are turning blue and falling off but the trip was worth any inconveniences suffered. If I had to offer one word to describe this trip it would be: restorative. I hope I can return, ideally with a grandchild and by the Grace of God.


Link to slide show, many shots, some repeats:

http://picasaweb.google.com/navrivran/Spain?authkey=ZXVifhSm5V8