It's now been five months since we (my wife and I) returned from our Camino, and I still spend more time than I should doing things like prowling this forum, poring over Google Earth and tracing my path, enjoying our photos, etc. It's a good thing I'm retired since I'd never get anything done if I still had a job. But to answer the question about how did I feel when I reached Santiago, I'm still not sure I can adequately explain my feelings, or more properly, my emotions. To start with, it's not just reaching Santiago, because I recall the last couple of days leading up to standing before the Cathedral, and the next few days we spent hanging around Santiago and bussing out to Finisterre and back, were unlike most of the rest of the Camino. Let me back up a bit...
As moving as reaching Santiago, attending the Pilgrims' Mass, and watching the butafumeiro swing were, as I look back I have to say that the Cruz de Ferro was the spiritual highlight of my Camino. That was not my expectation when we started out, but in fact its import soon became obvious. Our Camino was a pilgrimage, and our goal was to dedicate our walk every day to God in thanksgiving for the blessings in our lives, with the reaching of the Cathedral of St James being the ultimate offering. This we did, but the importance of the Cruz de Ferro to our journey immediately became apparent as soon as we took our first step through the Spanish Gate in St Jean Pied de Port, when we paused to draw a small pebble from a sack of pebbles I was carrying. Before we left home, I asked friends and family if they had someone or something they wanted us to pray for as we walked. The prayer requests came in, and as I received each one, I wrote a name on a small pebble which I would leave at the Cruz de Ferro along with my own stone. We soon had almost fifty pebbles, which I kept in a small cloth bag in the pocket on my backpack's hip belt. Each day, as we began our walk, we would say a brief prayer of thanksgiving and ask for God's guidance and protection over us a we walked. We would then draw a random stone from the bag and pray for that person or for his/her prayer request as we walked. The pebble would then go into another bag so we would be sure that every pebble got its prayers. Because there were so many pebbles and a limited number of days before reaching the Cruz de Ferro, we would repeat the process as we began walking again after our lunch break. The immediate effect of this was that I soon realized that I was walking two Caminos -- one for myself and one for those for whom I was praying. The Camino became more about doing something for others than about doing something for myself, which of course is as it should be if I am living according to Christian principles.
We were fortunate to reach the Cruz de Ferro just as the sun was rising above the horizon on a clear, crisp September morning. It was very dramatic as the sun hit the cross at the top of the tall wooden shaft while my wife and I knelt at its foot, taking each pebble from the small sack, saying a final prayer for that person, and placing the pebble gently on the mound of stones left by those that preceded us. There were only a dozen or so people there, and I am grateful to them as they patiently waited while we completed this ritual. Finally, it was time to place our own stones and begin what we now call the second part of our Camino.
Being able to focus on "my" Camino the rest of the way into Santiago was now more important than I realized. It became a lesson in pain management as the effects of the plantar fasciitis that started back around Leon became more and more bothersome each day. I learned a new gait technique that put less strain on the tendons of my foot, I started using a brace on my arch and ankle, I started taking Spanish mega-ibuprofins to reduce the inflamation, and I met a wonderful Irishman named Maurice who had the gift of healing touch and was able to bring at least partial relief. Somehow, I was able to stumble along by telling myself that the pain in my foot was nothing compared to the pain Christ endured on the Cross, and realizing that this pain was just another stumbling block that the evil one had placed in my path to discourage me from completing this pilgrimage of thanksgiving to God.
As we approached Santiago in the final days, I realized how driven I was to complete this journey. For me, the final days were more intense as I found myself focusing on reaching Santiago, reaching Santiago. We spent our last night of the Camino in Lavacolla, only a couple of hours' walk from Santiago. On the last morning, we rose early and entered the city in the first real rain we had experienced for the entire six weeks of our journey. But that failed to slow us down as we pushed our way through the crowds. I would not even allow myself to be distracted to look around and enjoy the city -- that would come later. Our first glimpse of the Cathedral tower as we looked up a narrow street was like a porch light for a moth, I was inextricably drawn closer and closer, walking faster and faster, the pain in my foot forgotten. And finally we were there, gazing in awe at the massive Cathedral, tears streaming down both of our faces as we hugged each other, saying over and over, "We made it, we made it." The next morning we took a bus out to Finisterre, enjoyed the sunset at the end of the world, then came back to Santiago the following day in time for the swinging of the butafumeiro at the 7:30 Friday evening Mass. We spent two more days in Santiago, sightseeing and shopping, and reliving old times with Camino friends we had met along the way.
So yes, when we reached Santiago, all the usual emotions were there -- relief from the physical pains; joy that we had, at ages 68 and 70, completed this 800 km journey; sorrow that it was over; and of course, thanksgiving that we had completed our pledge to our Father; and a renewed awareness of the blessings that we had received throughout the six weeks of our pilgrimage. Some of these blessings came later, after our backpacks were stolen while we enjoyed a last meal in Santiago before catching the train to Madrid and our flight home. This could have been a terrible ending for our Camino, but by the grace of God and the amazing efforts of everyone's Camino friend, Johnnie Walker, and the volunteers of the Amigos del Camino, the backpacks were recovered almost totally intact and shipped to us back in the USA a few days later.
Ultreia,
Jim
