October 22
This post will be very short. Sure, many hours will pass before I arrive home, but most of them are of the usual travel variety. There are only a few things I will bother to mention.
There is awful fog this morning, causing delays and some cancellations. Fortunately, our flights leaving Santiago and then Madrid are unaffected.
My trekking poles made it all the way from Colorado Springs to Santiago, and then Iberia Airlines manages to lose the duffel bag containing them somewhere between our small regional jet and the baggage claim carousel in Madrid. I have to fill out a claim form to have the bag delivered to the US once--I mean if--it is found. (Two days later, Jim finds it hanging from our front door knob when he goes to get the newspaper in the morning.)
Boarding the plane in Atlanta, a man behind me makes a remark about the Camino. In the brief conversation we have walking down the jetway, I learn that he and his wife are planning to do it next fall. We exchange e-mail addresses for future questions/answers. What are the odds?
And what is the first thing I do when I get home? Soak my feet and legs in epsom salts, then fill the tub up with scalding hot water to soak all of me before putting on a completely different set of clothing (flannel pajama pants and a sleeveless T-shirt) and climbing into my very own, Egyptian-cotton-sheets-and-thermal-blanket bed.
Although this concludes the journey, I do have additional photos and random thoughts to post later. I will also check in on the blog itself to address/answer your comments/questions. Thanks for being with us in spirit.
¡Buen Camino!
The Journeyers
Karen, Beth, and Jerri
Showing posts with label Journey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Journey. Show all posts
Monday, October 22, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
To the End of the World and Back
October 21
Our walking days are not quite over. This morning we have to walk to the bus station--a few steps compared to the distances of the past weeks. Only one bus company is open with ticket agents on duty and it is not the one we supposedly want. According to the posted information on the window of the bus company we do want, on weekends we wait by platforms 6-10, and when the bus comes, we pay the driver on the bus. We eat breakfast at the station restaurant to kill some of the time, then sit on a bench by the appropriate platforms.
It's a good thing we have the look of peregrinos about us. As we're sitting there, a woman approaches and asks, "Finisterre (aka Fisterra)?" We tell her that, yes, we're going to Finisterre and, when it's clear we all speak English, she tells us the bus behind us is going to Finisterre, leaving at the time we are expecting. Several people are waiting by the bus and they all have tickets--the bus is operated by the company with the open counters in the terminal. My bad, apparently. On the backside of the bus schedule given to us at the tourism office is a different list of weekend itineraries, run by this Monbus and another company. We trudge back up to the terminal and buy our tickets; I'm extremely grateful that woman thought to approach us.
It's a three-hour ride out to Finisterre because there are so many local stops. Since only about eight of us boarded in Santiago, Jerri and I sit on opposite sides of the aisle so we can each have a window seat. When we get beyond the city, we see water on Jerri's side of the bus. We had remarked earlier in our trip that we had never seen anything bigger than ponds of water on farmland. This looks like a huge lake. It turns out to be a bay. We are driving along the coast. I totally enjoy this trip--it reminds me of the Pacific Northwest: ocean to one side--mostly rocky shoreline, some sandy strands--and pine forests and hills to the other. The villages and towns do not have a beachy feel to them, as if we were in Florida. They are rather more like Oak Harbor, Washington and the San Juan Islands.
During the drive, we start to spot Camino markings. Some part of me regrets not walking this--I'm positive the view alone would be worth it. My feet, on the other hand, are relieved that we're riding. From my side of the bus I miss the highlight of the trip, though--dolphins in one of the smaller bays.
The bus disgorges us onto a street close to the water, surrounded by shops and bars/restaurants. It doesn't take us long to find the Camino markings directing us to the cabo (cape) and the faro (lighthouse).
We are not the only pilgrims making our way there; some have arrived by bus, some are still walking from Santiago, and others have made the town of Finisterre an overnight stop to visit it properly. As we walk, I spot more bits of Ireland here and there. We pass a pilgrim monument--our last--
...as the road begins to climb and wind its way out to the point.
Cabo Fisterra (Cape Finisterre) is more than I expected. There is so much more than the lighthouse. There are various things to see--a cross...
...a peace pole, plaques, the 0.0 km Camino marker...
...art, a hotel and restaurant, and souvenir stalls. The standing mosaics are very cool--my favorites are the mermaids and Sponge Bob.
The souvenir stalls offer practically as much Celtic fare as they do items related to the coast, lighthouse, and Camino. I'm sorely tempted, but I think of how ridiculous it would be to backpack six weeks across Spain without buying anything beyond Camino items that I can wear (bracelets and pilgrim shells), then go home with Irish souvenirs. The lighthouse itself is now closed to the public, but the adjoining building contains a small museum/art gallery (of course we get a sello here). We explore this all leisurely.
The most meaningful part for me, though, is standing at the "end of the world" (Cape Finisterre is the westernmost point of Spain and, looking out at a horizon of water, it is easy to see how people back then would have thought so). By the peace pole...
...I pick my way almost to the edge (I do respect the height of the cliff, the wind around me, and the rocks below me) for a photo.
When we venture to the other side of the museum to view the entire lighthouse (situated behind the museum), I realize the promontory extends farther here.
Also, there is a cross and scorch marks I want to investigate. Apparently, pilgrims burn clothes, boots, or other significant items here. I wouldn't do it myself, but I get it.
I convince Jerri to come out this far so I can take a photo of her for her kids to see.
Then I start picking my way to the point. In my path is a woman sitting on the rocks, what looks to be a bodhrán (Irish frame drum) at her feet, crying; to respect her privacy, I veer away from her. There are more burn spots scattered about among the rocks. I had planned to go to the tippy-tip, but I realize that I'm descending the farther out I go and will soon drop out of Jerri's sight. I would also wind up disturbing a man, not visible until now, who is perched out here, staring out at the ocean. I wouldn't dream of intruding upon him for a photo. So I turn and wave at Jerri until she signals me that she has taken the picture.
On my return, I give the woman an even wider berth and think about her and the man, reminding myself again that everyone has a story.
Before we leave the cape, Jerri stops at one of the stalls to look at postcards and we meet up once more with Linda and Andy. They are the only familiar faces we get to say goodbye to. Seeing them makes me wonder about the other people we met, how they have fared since we last saw them, whether and when they arrived in Santiago, and what tales we would tell each other if we had the chance. A sort of surreal feeling--a bit of sadness to know it's over, this Camino that has been my life for six weeks, and now bumping into the door of my real life that has been there all along, waiting for me to pass back through tomorrow.
The walk back to town doesn't feel nearly as long as the one we took to get to the cape. On the other side of the road, more people are headed out, including a small of group of pilgrims carrying firewood, and a pilgrim family with two donkeys. We speculate about the possibilities--assuming they traveled at least the last 100 km--of what they do with the donkeys when they stop and how they feed them along the way.
Back in town, we can only wander. Our guidebook does not include the trip from Santiago to Finisterre. We see quite a few cats and leave kitty treats for all of them; there is no reason to hoard them anymore. There is an old castle overlooking the harbor, housing a museum that has closed minutes before we discover it.
Below the castle is a tiny sandy beach, where we take photos--again, especially for Jerri's kids to see (the one of Jerri is on her camera, another hole in the blog).
We eat at a seaside restaurant (yep, we get a sello here, too), drafting posts and journaling until it's time to wait for the bus.
Quite a crowd is waiting for the bus to Santiago. The company must be aware of this pattern because a double-decker bus arrives to pick us up. Most of us boarding in Finisterre are pilgrims or tourists. However, at the various stops on the way back to the city, mostly students board. The scenery is just as beautiful the second time.
Back at the seminary in Santiago, the man in the reception office helps arrange a taxi for our trip to the airport in the wee hours of the morning. Then we go to the basement and use a computer to check in online. After that, it's a matter of preparing ourselves and our belongings for a 4 a.m. departure, then climbing between albergue sheets for the last time.
Total distance walked: 8.8 km
Our walking days are not quite over. This morning we have to walk to the bus station--a few steps compared to the distances of the past weeks. Only one bus company is open with ticket agents on duty and it is not the one we supposedly want. According to the posted information on the window of the bus company we do want, on weekends we wait by platforms 6-10, and when the bus comes, we pay the driver on the bus. We eat breakfast at the station restaurant to kill some of the time, then sit on a bench by the appropriate platforms.
It's a good thing we have the look of peregrinos about us. As we're sitting there, a woman approaches and asks, "Finisterre (aka Fisterra)?" We tell her that, yes, we're going to Finisterre and, when it's clear we all speak English, she tells us the bus behind us is going to Finisterre, leaving at the time we are expecting. Several people are waiting by the bus and they all have tickets--the bus is operated by the company with the open counters in the terminal. My bad, apparently. On the backside of the bus schedule given to us at the tourism office is a different list of weekend itineraries, run by this Monbus and another company. We trudge back up to the terminal and buy our tickets; I'm extremely grateful that woman thought to approach us.
It's a three-hour ride out to Finisterre because there are so many local stops. Since only about eight of us boarded in Santiago, Jerri and I sit on opposite sides of the aisle so we can each have a window seat. When we get beyond the city, we see water on Jerri's side of the bus. We had remarked earlier in our trip that we had never seen anything bigger than ponds of water on farmland. This looks like a huge lake. It turns out to be a bay. We are driving along the coast. I totally enjoy this trip--it reminds me of the Pacific Northwest: ocean to one side--mostly rocky shoreline, some sandy strands--and pine forests and hills to the other. The villages and towns do not have a beachy feel to them, as if we were in Florida. They are rather more like Oak Harbor, Washington and the San Juan Islands.
During the drive, we start to spot Camino markings. Some part of me regrets not walking this--I'm positive the view alone would be worth it. My feet, on the other hand, are relieved that we're riding. From my side of the bus I miss the highlight of the trip, though--dolphins in one of the smaller bays.
The bus disgorges us onto a street close to the water, surrounded by shops and bars/restaurants. It doesn't take us long to find the Camino markings directing us to the cabo (cape) and the faro (lighthouse).
We are not the only pilgrims making our way there; some have arrived by bus, some are still walking from Santiago, and others have made the town of Finisterre an overnight stop to visit it properly. As we walk, I spot more bits of Ireland here and there. We pass a pilgrim monument--our last--
...as the road begins to climb and wind its way out to the point.
Cabo Fisterra (Cape Finisterre) is more than I expected. There is so much more than the lighthouse. There are various things to see--a cross...
...a peace pole, plaques, the 0.0 km Camino marker...
...art, a hotel and restaurant, and souvenir stalls. The standing mosaics are very cool--my favorites are the mermaids and Sponge Bob.
The souvenir stalls offer practically as much Celtic fare as they do items related to the coast, lighthouse, and Camino. I'm sorely tempted, but I think of how ridiculous it would be to backpack six weeks across Spain without buying anything beyond Camino items that I can wear (bracelets and pilgrim shells), then go home with Irish souvenirs. The lighthouse itself is now closed to the public, but the adjoining building contains a small museum/art gallery (of course we get a sello here). We explore this all leisurely.
The most meaningful part for me, though, is standing at the "end of the world" (Cape Finisterre is the westernmost point of Spain and, looking out at a horizon of water, it is easy to see how people back then would have thought so). By the peace pole...
...I pick my way almost to the edge (I do respect the height of the cliff, the wind around me, and the rocks below me) for a photo.
When we venture to the other side of the museum to view the entire lighthouse (situated behind the museum), I realize the promontory extends farther here.
Also, there is a cross and scorch marks I want to investigate. Apparently, pilgrims burn clothes, boots, or other significant items here. I wouldn't do it myself, but I get it.
I convince Jerri to come out this far so I can take a photo of her for her kids to see.
Then I start picking my way to the point. In my path is a woman sitting on the rocks, what looks to be a bodhrán (Irish frame drum) at her feet, crying; to respect her privacy, I veer away from her. There are more burn spots scattered about among the rocks. I had planned to go to the tippy-tip, but I realize that I'm descending the farther out I go and will soon drop out of Jerri's sight. I would also wind up disturbing a man, not visible until now, who is perched out here, staring out at the ocean. I wouldn't dream of intruding upon him for a photo. So I turn and wave at Jerri until she signals me that she has taken the picture.
On my return, I give the woman an even wider berth and think about her and the man, reminding myself again that everyone has a story.
Before we leave the cape, Jerri stops at one of the stalls to look at postcards and we meet up once more with Linda and Andy. They are the only familiar faces we get to say goodbye to. Seeing them makes me wonder about the other people we met, how they have fared since we last saw them, whether and when they arrived in Santiago, and what tales we would tell each other if we had the chance. A sort of surreal feeling--a bit of sadness to know it's over, this Camino that has been my life for six weeks, and now bumping into the door of my real life that has been there all along, waiting for me to pass back through tomorrow.
The walk back to town doesn't feel nearly as long as the one we took to get to the cape. On the other side of the road, more people are headed out, including a small of group of pilgrims carrying firewood, and a pilgrim family with two donkeys. We speculate about the possibilities--assuming they traveled at least the last 100 km--of what they do with the donkeys when they stop and how they feed them along the way.
Back in town, we can only wander. Our guidebook does not include the trip from Santiago to Finisterre. We see quite a few cats and leave kitty treats for all of them; there is no reason to hoard them anymore. There is an old castle overlooking the harbor, housing a museum that has closed minutes before we discover it.
Below the castle is a tiny sandy beach, where we take photos--again, especially for Jerri's kids to see (the one of Jerri is on her camera, another hole in the blog).
We eat at a seaside restaurant (yep, we get a sello here, too), drafting posts and journaling until it's time to wait for the bus.
Quite a crowd is waiting for the bus to Santiago. The company must be aware of this pattern because a double-decker bus arrives to pick us up. Most of us boarding in Finisterre are pilgrims or tourists. However, at the various stops on the way back to the city, mostly students board. The scenery is just as beautiful the second time.
Back at the seminary in Santiago, the man in the reception office helps arrange a taxi for our trip to the airport in the wee hours of the morning. Then we go to the basement and use a computer to check in online. After that, it's a matter of preparing ourselves and our belongings for a 4 a.m. departure, then climbing between albergue sheets for the last time.
Total distance walked: 8.8 km
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Cathedral of St. James
October 20
What can I say about the Cathedral? It is singularly overwhelming. The architecture, statuary, etc., etc., are more than I can absorb. I'm sure I'm not conscious of everything my eyes see. Some observations: confessionals with signs announcing the language spoken/understood within; all the side chapels are behind locked gates; despite all the grandeur, the pews are still the same plain, wooden benches we've seen everywhere else. Some highlights: descending into the crypt to kneel before the casket containing relics of St. James; ascending the High Altar;...
...touring the attached bishop's palace museum. Some things that disappoint me: I forget that I want to see the Porta Santa (Holy Gate) of the Cathedral, also known as El Perdón (the Door of Pardon); we don't have the opportunity to attend Mass here; and most of all, the Tree of Jesse is entirely inaccessible. I knew that it is no longer permissible to touch the central column like they do in the movie The Way, but now, with a railing all the way round the column...
...I can't do the other ritual either, head-butting the saint: touching your forehead to that of the saint whose kneeling figure is carved into the back of the column, facing the altar. All I can do is take photos of the column, the shiny spot worn into the marble by millions of hands...
...and the kneeling saint. Not even close to a consolation prize.
Back outside, we look down on the praza, taking in the surroundings, pilgrims lounging against their backpacks in the sun, and groups who appear to be meeting at this prearranged spot as they arrive from the Camino. I feel surprisingly detached, numb even. I suppose that, even though I didn't expect any great revelations or profound spiritual experiences, I believed having gone on this significant, challenging journey would have affected me in some way. Yet, standing among all the history, all the magnificence, aware of the joyous, celebratory atmosphere, I feel unchanged. I have no new insights to life or myself, no paradigm shift, no new awareness or growth. I wonder how anyone could live through the past six weeks and not be a different person. What does that say about me? It is a depressingly anticlimactic moment.
We descend and ask a passerby to take a photo of us together.
Then we drift through the streets. We pass two closed (of course) libraries; get excited upon finding an open church, only to discover it is a museum; browse through a couple of shops; and tour the Museo das Peregrinacións, pilgrimage through the ages.
We head generally toward the street leading back to the seminary while we look for a place to eat dinner. We have two criteria: food available now (we're too hungry to wait until 7:00) and WiFi. I want to at least send a short post saying we have made it and received our compostelas. We inquire at two or three places before we find a bar that has both. I'm lucky enough to even spot a table next to an outlet. The meal is very good but we have to laugh that I purposely order a small dinner (a wedge of tortilla) to save room for a piece of Santiago cake, but I am served a whole tortilla the size of a personal pizza. I don't quite finish it. Suspecting the portions of everything are large here, I order one piece of cake for me and Jerri to share. The serving that comes proves me right. Through the entire meal, though, I am unable to connect to the Internet. The man who serves us, who seems to be either the owner or manager, fiddles with the router a couple of times without success. I give up on it and settle for composing some drafts.
On our return to the seminary, we see evidence of roommates who are currently absent. After preparing for tomorrow and setting the alarm, we turn in for the night. Despite the void--or perhaps because of it?--I'm physically and emotionally wrung out. Sleep, I hope, will be a welcome escape.
What can I say about the Cathedral? It is singularly overwhelming. The architecture, statuary, etc., etc., are more than I can absorb. I'm sure I'm not conscious of everything my eyes see. Some observations: confessionals with signs announcing the language spoken/understood within; all the side chapels are behind locked gates; despite all the grandeur, the pews are still the same plain, wooden benches we've seen everywhere else. Some highlights: descending into the crypt to kneel before the casket containing relics of St. James; ascending the High Altar;...
...touring the attached bishop's palace museum. Some things that disappoint me: I forget that I want to see the Porta Santa (Holy Gate) of the Cathedral, also known as El Perdón (the Door of Pardon); we don't have the opportunity to attend Mass here; and most of all, the Tree of Jesse is entirely inaccessible. I knew that it is no longer permissible to touch the central column like they do in the movie The Way, but now, with a railing all the way round the column...
...I can't do the other ritual either, head-butting the saint: touching your forehead to that of the saint whose kneeling figure is carved into the back of the column, facing the altar. All I can do is take photos of the column, the shiny spot worn into the marble by millions of hands...
...and the kneeling saint. Not even close to a consolation prize.
Back outside, we look down on the praza, taking in the surroundings, pilgrims lounging against their backpacks in the sun, and groups who appear to be meeting at this prearranged spot as they arrive from the Camino. I feel surprisingly detached, numb even. I suppose that, even though I didn't expect any great revelations or profound spiritual experiences, I believed having gone on this significant, challenging journey would have affected me in some way. Yet, standing among all the history, all the magnificence, aware of the joyous, celebratory atmosphere, I feel unchanged. I have no new insights to life or myself, no paradigm shift, no new awareness or growth. I wonder how anyone could live through the past six weeks and not be a different person. What does that say about me? It is a depressingly anticlimactic moment.
We descend and ask a passerby to take a photo of us together.
Then we drift through the streets. We pass two closed (of course) libraries; get excited upon finding an open church, only to discover it is a museum; browse through a couple of shops; and tour the Museo das Peregrinacións, pilgrimage through the ages.
We head generally toward the street leading back to the seminary while we look for a place to eat dinner. We have two criteria: food available now (we're too hungry to wait until 7:00) and WiFi. I want to at least send a short post saying we have made it and received our compostelas. We inquire at two or three places before we find a bar that has both. I'm lucky enough to even spot a table next to an outlet. The meal is very good but we have to laugh that I purposely order a small dinner (a wedge of tortilla) to save room for a piece of Santiago cake, but I am served a whole tortilla the size of a personal pizza. I don't quite finish it. Suspecting the portions of everything are large here, I order one piece of cake for me and Jerri to share. The serving that comes proves me right. Through the entire meal, though, I am unable to connect to the Internet. The man who serves us, who seems to be either the owner or manager, fiddles with the router a couple of times without success. I give up on it and settle for composing some drafts.
On our return to the seminary, we see evidence of roommates who are currently absent. After preparing for tomorrow and setting the alarm, we turn in for the night. Despite the void--or perhaps because of it?--I'm physically and emotionally wrung out. Sleep, I hope, will be a welcome escape.
We're Official
October 20
As it turns out, we spend hours in the old quarter (one could spend days here).
From the seminary, we make our way, without backpacks (not only does walking minus my pack and poles feel weird and off balance, it feels like cheating to not carry the load all the way to the Cathedral), to the Camino and follow it to the old town. We enter through the famous Porta do Camiño (Gate of the Way), which we either miss or don't know what to look for because, frankly, neither of us notice anything impressive. The quarter is a warren of narrow, crooked streets connecting numerous plazas, in no orderly pattern. All sorts of shops, restaurants, albergues, and businesses crowd together in the streets, offering an abundance of input for the senses. The area is bustling with people--tourists and pilgrims--and we encounter a jam on a staircase leading down to an arch, under which street performers have drawn a crowd. Other street artists we pass are a mime, head-to-toe in white and posing as a statue of Ghandi, and a bagpiper (yep, I walk most of the way across Spain to keep bumping into lovely bits of Ireland).
Kiosks dot the squares; statues, architectural features...
...and the almost unconscious watchfulness for familiar faces vie for attention. None of this prepares us for the Praza Obradoiro, the plaza in front of the main entrance to the Cathedral.
Using the limited and somewhat inaccurate map in the guidebook, it takes us awhile to find this praza; but, as the Cathedral is the center of the old town, we realize that finding it, and the praza, will make it easier to find the other places we're aiming for--the pilgrim office and the office of tourism. Our approach to the praza is from the back of the Cathedral. This view whets the appetite for the main course.
Entering the praza is overwhelming.
I know immediately that I will take only a few photos here. I could never do it justice, nor would I know where to begin. There is simply too much to take in. I do take a pair of pictures from the front steps of the Cathedral, looking down on the praza, to represent how futile it would be to try to capture this place. In the second photo, there is a huge chartered coach to the right and it looks like a toy.
Although the Cathedral, and so much more, is temptingly right in front of us, we had decided on our way here that the pilgrim office would be our first stop. Upon arrival, and with great anticipation, I climb the entrance stairs with Jerri. We enter a waiting area. As the clerks (I don't really know what their title is) become free, they come for the next in line. Jerri and I get escorted to the counter at the same time. We hand over our credencials and fill in our information and signatures in registry books. Then we wait while our compostelas (religious certificates of completion) are prepared.
It's very moving when the clerk hands me mine and points out my Latin name (Catherinam Mariam) and today's date handwritten into the original Latin text of medieval compostelas. I place my pilgrim offering in the box on the counter and ask if they sell tubes for the compostelas. The clerk tells me they are available at most souvenir shops. Sure enough, directly across the street, we pop into a shop where the saleswoman has a supply of them right behind her counter. Our compostelas safely tucked into tubes in our bags, we venture off to find the office of tourism.
As we wend our way in the direction the map indicates, we bump into Texas Girl. She walks with us a bit. I ask where she got the tourist map she's holding. She got it at her hotel, but she says that she's seen them in stores, etc. It seems reasonable that we'll be able to get one in the tourism office, which (practically pulling my hair out now) is closed. The only thing that keeps me from screaming is that, according to our map, there is another tourism office in the area. Indeed, as we're standing there, referring to the map for directions, a woman stops and tells us the other office is pretty much just down the street. And it's right where she said it would be. Inside, we get a much better city map, information on taking a bus to Finisterre, and have our map marked with directions for the easiest route to the bus station. We also get a sello. No, we no longer require them, but to us, our Camino is not finished yet. Besides, we like collecting them.
Guided by our new, improved map, we return to the Cathedral.
As it turns out, we spend hours in the old quarter (one could spend days here).
From the seminary, we make our way, without backpacks (not only does walking minus my pack and poles feel weird and off balance, it feels like cheating to not carry the load all the way to the Cathedral), to the Camino and follow it to the old town. We enter through the famous Porta do Camiño (Gate of the Way), which we either miss or don't know what to look for because, frankly, neither of us notice anything impressive. The quarter is a warren of narrow, crooked streets connecting numerous plazas, in no orderly pattern. All sorts of shops, restaurants, albergues, and businesses crowd together in the streets, offering an abundance of input for the senses. The area is bustling with people--tourists and pilgrims--and we encounter a jam on a staircase leading down to an arch, under which street performers have drawn a crowd. Other street artists we pass are a mime, head-to-toe in white and posing as a statue of Ghandi, and a bagpiper (yep, I walk most of the way across Spain to keep bumping into lovely bits of Ireland).
Kiosks dot the squares; statues, architectural features...
...and the almost unconscious watchfulness for familiar faces vie for attention. None of this prepares us for the Praza Obradoiro, the plaza in front of the main entrance to the Cathedral.
Using the limited and somewhat inaccurate map in the guidebook, it takes us awhile to find this praza; but, as the Cathedral is the center of the old town, we realize that finding it, and the praza, will make it easier to find the other places we're aiming for--the pilgrim office and the office of tourism. Our approach to the praza is from the back of the Cathedral. This view whets the appetite for the main course.
Entering the praza is overwhelming.
I know immediately that I will take only a few photos here. I could never do it justice, nor would I know where to begin. There is simply too much to take in. I do take a pair of pictures from the front steps of the Cathedral, looking down on the praza, to represent how futile it would be to try to capture this place. In the second photo, there is a huge chartered coach to the right and it looks like a toy.
It's very moving when the clerk hands me mine and points out my Latin name (Catherinam Mariam) and today's date handwritten into the original Latin text of medieval compostelas. I place my pilgrim offering in the box on the counter and ask if they sell tubes for the compostelas. The clerk tells me they are available at most souvenir shops. Sure enough, directly across the street, we pop into a shop where the saleswoman has a supply of them right behind her counter. Our compostelas safely tucked into tubes in our bags, we venture off to find the office of tourism.
As we wend our way in the direction the map indicates, we bump into Texas Girl. She walks with us a bit. I ask where she got the tourist map she's holding. She got it at her hotel, but she says that she's seen them in stores, etc. It seems reasonable that we'll be able to get one in the tourism office, which (practically pulling my hair out now) is closed. The only thing that keeps me from screaming is that, according to our map, there is another tourism office in the area. Indeed, as we're standing there, referring to the map for directions, a woman stops and tells us the other office is pretty much just down the street. And it's right where she said it would be. Inside, we get a much better city map, information on taking a bus to Finisterre, and have our map marked with directions for the easiest route to the bus station. We also get a sello. No, we no longer require them, but to us, our Camino is not finished yet. Besides, we like collecting them.
Guided by our new, improved map, we return to the Cathedral.
Seminario Menor
October 20
Once inside the wall, one look at the building facing us has us second-guessing that we have reached the right place.
We enter through the open main door (note the shells)...
...and ask a girl coming down the broad staircase if this is the albergue and she affirms that it is. Our pictures cannot begin to capture the seminary. The grounds are gorgeous, the building regal. The albergue occupies just one wing and yet is beyond spacious. The rest of the building is still, at least, a functioning seminary. It may serve other purposes as well--I cannot imagine there are enough students coming through anymore. Another thing I'll have to check up on when I get home.
In the registration office, we are delighted to learn that we can stay for more than one night. We do have to vacate the building during the hours that they clean and prepare for the next night, but we have plans for tomorrow anyway. We also ask about transportation to the airport. There is a bus but it doesn't start running until long after we will need to depart. However, taxi service (a flat rate to the airport) is available that will pick us up right outside the gate.
Having settled some of our plans for the time before we leave, we plod up the magnificent wide marble staircase to find our beds.
We first cross the common room (with vending machines!)...
...then pass by and through several large dormitories (one on each of three floors) with long rows of beds divided by a wall of lockers...
...arriving at a room that is nearly the farthest place from the front door. The room contains eight beds, each beside its own locker. We have no idea why we are in this cozy room instead of one of the wide-open, many-bed dorms, but we're not about to question it. If your bed is against an interior wall or divider, the locker is more like a small closet. Beds by the windows have more of a free-standing cabinet. The lockers are big enough that Jerri and I can share one (they require coins to release the key). The plastic packet of sheets contains a flat sheet as well as a fitted one--that's a first. And there are blankets. Oh, and there are no bunk beds here.
There are three separate rooms for sinks, showers, and toilets. They are unremarkable except for how many there are--many more than any other place we've stayed. The shower is the push-button kind and, much later when I use one, I can't get any hot water from mine. I haven't taken any long showers on this entire trip, but this will be by far the shortest. You can't have everything, I suppose.
The basement has a kitchen, laundry room, computers with Internet access, and more vending machines. I don't personally see all of these, but we are informed they are there.
Considering this is supposedly the main city hostel, it isn't anywhere near full when we check in. In fact, we are the first assigned to beds in the small room. Maybe it's more important to secure a bed early during the high season, but I'm relieved that we're set. Who knows how long it takes to get your certificate or visit the Cathedral?
Once inside the wall, one look at the building facing us has us second-guessing that we have reached the right place.
We enter through the open main door (note the shells)...
...and ask a girl coming down the broad staircase if this is the albergue and she affirms that it is. Our pictures cannot begin to capture the seminary. The grounds are gorgeous, the building regal. The albergue occupies just one wing and yet is beyond spacious. The rest of the building is still, at least, a functioning seminary. It may serve other purposes as well--I cannot imagine there are enough students coming through anymore. Another thing I'll have to check up on when I get home.
In the registration office, we are delighted to learn that we can stay for more than one night. We do have to vacate the building during the hours that they clean and prepare for the next night, but we have plans for tomorrow anyway. We also ask about transportation to the airport. There is a bus but it doesn't start running until long after we will need to depart. However, taxi service (a flat rate to the airport) is available that will pick us up right outside the gate.
Having settled some of our plans for the time before we leave, we plod up the magnificent wide marble staircase to find our beds.
We first cross the common room (with vending machines!)...
...then pass by and through several large dormitories (one on each of three floors) with long rows of beds divided by a wall of lockers...
...arriving at a room that is nearly the farthest place from the front door. The room contains eight beds, each beside its own locker. We have no idea why we are in this cozy room instead of one of the wide-open, many-bed dorms, but we're not about to question it. If your bed is against an interior wall or divider, the locker is more like a small closet. Beds by the windows have more of a free-standing cabinet. The lockers are big enough that Jerri and I can share one (they require coins to release the key). The plastic packet of sheets contains a flat sheet as well as a fitted one--that's a first. And there are blankets. Oh, and there are no bunk beds here.
The basement has a kitchen, laundry room, computers with Internet access, and more vending machines. I don't personally see all of these, but we are informed they are there.
Considering this is supposedly the main city hostel, it isn't anywhere near full when we check in. In fact, we are the first assigned to beds in the small room. Maybe it's more important to secure a bed early during the high season, but I'm relieved that we're set. Who knows how long it takes to get your certificate or visit the Cathedral?
The End Is in Sight
October 20
Although I've missed some of what went on during the night, I do have a vague recollection of another woman coming near our beds, and of more movement by the couple. Again, Jerri enlightens me--that's (perhaps?) the leader of their group waking them to leave. I have no idea what time it is but it seems to me that they must not have slept long. We are up and about around 6:30-ish and they are already gone.
Even though the walk from here to Santiago is relatively short (20.1 km), the guidebook informs us that, if we want to reach the Cathedral in time for the pilgrim Mass at noon, we have to leave early. This would mean at least a couple of hours walking in the dark. Spain is at the farthest edge of its time zone; the farther west we've walked, the later sunrise has come. We don't do dark. Good thing the Mass isn't one of our "have-to's."
It's really good that getting to Santiago by noon is not important to us because we get a late start. The bar we eat desayuno at has WiFi that I can actually connect to and I'm able to send the ten or so posts sitting in my outbox. It does take a long time, but we'd rather send them while we can.
A note about the bar. I neglect to write down the name (it's usually on the sello but this one is not)--it alludes to Ireland. The proprietor is wearing a T-shirt that says "I (shamrock) craic." I'm dying to ask him if he has an Irish background and, if not, does he know what "craic" means. I decide it's too personal, though, particularly since he doesn't seem especially chatty.
Today begins much the same as yesterday. Outside Arca, we are back in eucalyptus forests, foggy and cool, while the sun teases me from time to time through all-too-short gaps. The fog burns off eventually and we have "sun-kissed" sections that I revel in. Coming out of the woods, we walk around the Santiago airport. Somewhere, on a stretch paralleling the road, we come across a pillar announcing Santiago. We actually have to wait for our turn to take a photo with it.
Then we begin the "long slog" (Brierley's words) up to Monte del Gozo, Mount Joy, so called because medieval pilgrims could see the spires of the Cathedral from here and were overjoyed that their journey was almost over.
Monte del Gozo could almost be a side trip. The tiny medieval capilla de San Marcos (chapel of San Marcos) is--say it with me--closed. The chapel is not the only thing to see here, though. From Monte del Gozo we do get our first glimpse of Santiago de Compostela. It looks so much more sprawling than I expected and I can't pick out the Cathedral. Perhaps it is not in my line of sight.
We climb a small rise to a monument, which we mistakenly assume to be to pilgrims but actually commemorates a visit by Pope John Paul II. It's still an impressive monument--each side is worth spending at least a moment looking at--and many people are lingering here.
The peak, "reshaped by the bulldozer," is also home to a 160-acre, 500-bed Xunta complex. Yes, complex--it has its own plaza. There are the dorms, plus campgrounds, recreational buildings, an outdoor concert venue, a pool, a restaurant, canteen, bar, gift shop, gardens, and more. We briefly entertain the idea of checking it out. So briefly that we don't even break stride.
We stop for lunch at a bar when we actually enter the city environs, possibly a suburb of Santiago--we're not sure since we have not passed a sign (that "Santiago" pillar was so misleading; little do we know how many more kilometers we will walk before arriving). We want to check the guidebook to make sure we haven't missed an ancient chapel we're interested in seeing, and to choose an albergue. I show the map in our book to several people, who point out where we are on the map and assure us we have not passed the chapel, and in fact are very close. After lunch, back on the sidewalk, I have to stifle a "d'oh!" The chapel is practically next door to where we just ate. I wouldn't blame the people in the bar for thinking "dumb Americans." Our luck with churches continues: it's closed.
According to our trusty (sometimes) guidebook, it's prudent to find accommodations for the night before heading for the old quarter and the Cathedral. Since we hope to stay at the Seminario Menor, which is slightly off the pilgrim path, we try to find either a tourist information office or a pilgrim office for directions or a map, or even to find out if it's already full. A friendly dancing starfish (I have to take his photo because he reminds me of Patrick Star from SpongeBob SquarePants; we later learn he's the tourism symbol for the area)...
...is along the sidewalk near a tourism office, which is--I am so tired of writing this--closed. We plow on through the outskirts of the city into the city proper until we find a signpost pointing the way off the marked Camino to the seminary. After that, unfortunately, we're pretty much on our own. Brierley's map of Santiago is primarily the old quarter and very few of the surrounding streets are labeled, if they are represented at all. We have to ask for directions multiple times, but at last we find the seminary.
I feel so relieved...until we pass through the gates of the stone wall surrounding it.
Although I've missed some of what went on during the night, I do have a vague recollection of another woman coming near our beds, and of more movement by the couple. Again, Jerri enlightens me--that's (perhaps?) the leader of their group waking them to leave. I have no idea what time it is but it seems to me that they must not have slept long. We are up and about around 6:30-ish and they are already gone.
Even though the walk from here to Santiago is relatively short (20.1 km), the guidebook informs us that, if we want to reach the Cathedral in time for the pilgrim Mass at noon, we have to leave early. This would mean at least a couple of hours walking in the dark. Spain is at the farthest edge of its time zone; the farther west we've walked, the later sunrise has come. We don't do dark. Good thing the Mass isn't one of our "have-to's."
It's really good that getting to Santiago by noon is not important to us because we get a late start. The bar we eat desayuno at has WiFi that I can actually connect to and I'm able to send the ten or so posts sitting in my outbox. It does take a long time, but we'd rather send them while we can.
A note about the bar. I neglect to write down the name (it's usually on the sello but this one is not)--it alludes to Ireland. The proprietor is wearing a T-shirt that says "I (shamrock) craic." I'm dying to ask him if he has an Irish background and, if not, does he know what "craic" means. I decide it's too personal, though, particularly since he doesn't seem especially chatty.
Today begins much the same as yesterday. Outside Arca, we are back in eucalyptus forests, foggy and cool, while the sun teases me from time to time through all-too-short gaps. The fog burns off eventually and we have "sun-kissed" sections that I revel in. Coming out of the woods, we walk around the Santiago airport. Somewhere, on a stretch paralleling the road, we come across a pillar announcing Santiago. We actually have to wait for our turn to take a photo with it.
Then we begin the "long slog" (Brierley's words) up to Monte del Gozo, Mount Joy, so called because medieval pilgrims could see the spires of the Cathedral from here and were overjoyed that their journey was almost over.
Monte del Gozo could almost be a side trip. The tiny medieval capilla de San Marcos (chapel of San Marcos) is--say it with me--closed. The chapel is not the only thing to see here, though. From Monte del Gozo we do get our first glimpse of Santiago de Compostela. It looks so much more sprawling than I expected and I can't pick out the Cathedral. Perhaps it is not in my line of sight.
We climb a small rise to a monument, which we mistakenly assume to be to pilgrims but actually commemorates a visit by Pope John Paul II. It's still an impressive monument--each side is worth spending at least a moment looking at--and many people are lingering here.
The peak, "reshaped by the bulldozer," is also home to a 160-acre, 500-bed Xunta complex. Yes, complex--it has its own plaza. There are the dorms, plus campgrounds, recreational buildings, an outdoor concert venue, a pool, a restaurant, canteen, bar, gift shop, gardens, and more. We briefly entertain the idea of checking it out. So briefly that we don't even break stride.
We stop for lunch at a bar when we actually enter the city environs, possibly a suburb of Santiago--we're not sure since we have not passed a sign (that "Santiago" pillar was so misleading; little do we know how many more kilometers we will walk before arriving). We want to check the guidebook to make sure we haven't missed an ancient chapel we're interested in seeing, and to choose an albergue. I show the map in our book to several people, who point out where we are on the map and assure us we have not passed the chapel, and in fact are very close. After lunch, back on the sidewalk, I have to stifle a "d'oh!" The chapel is practically next door to where we just ate. I wouldn't blame the people in the bar for thinking "dumb Americans." Our luck with churches continues: it's closed.
According to our trusty (sometimes) guidebook, it's prudent to find accommodations for the night before heading for the old quarter and the Cathedral. Since we hope to stay at the Seminario Menor, which is slightly off the pilgrim path, we try to find either a tourist information office or a pilgrim office for directions or a map, or even to find out if it's already full. A friendly dancing starfish (I have to take his photo because he reminds me of Patrick Star from SpongeBob SquarePants; we later learn he's the tourism symbol for the area)...
...is along the sidewalk near a tourism office, which is--I am so tired of writing this--closed. We plow on through the outskirts of the city into the city proper until we find a signpost pointing the way off the marked Camino to the seminary. After that, unfortunately, we're pretty much on our own. Brierley's map of Santiago is primarily the old quarter and very few of the surrounding streets are labeled, if they are represented at all. We have to ask for directions multiple times, but at last we find the seminary.
I feel so relieved...until we pass through the gates of the stone wall surrounding it.
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