Memories from first arriving in Santiago de Compostela, November 16, 2004. --
Up before dawn for this conclusive day I hoisted my pack and excitedly set off to cover the final 18 k. The camino led through the woods and on country lanes. Villages appeared more frequently and grew larger. At Lavacolla the pilgrims’ world and the contemporary collided. Named for the act of washing one’s bottom, during the Middle Ages this riverside was the last cleansing place, before entry into the great city. The obligatory stop was a pilgrim rite, both physical and spiritual. Today the trail still passes the river, but both abut one runway of the international airport! Culture shock!
At Vilamayor two teenagers tended an information bureau. Noticing my bruised forehead and broken glasses they asked “how long have you been walking?” “Seven weeks exactly” I replied. Delighted, they smiled broadly, clapped hands and said “Oh, happy, happy day! You are almost there! Buen Camino!”
I climbed the last hill, Monte del Gozo or Mount Joy. Across the centuries pilgrims arriving here with great happiness saw at last the cathedral towers on the horizon. Sadly what had been a verdant hillside is now a giant complex with 3000 beds for pilgrims. Quickly rushing past in search of my first view of the city I was chagrined to realize that today this eastern approach is filled with post war construction, hardly a legendary ‘city on the hill’.
The Camino followed the calle de los Concheiros (after conca or shell), rua de San Pedro and finally entered the medieval city through the Puerta del Camino. My heart beat faster as I hurried along the narrow pedestrian lanes, rua Casas Reales, rua das Animas and plaza Azabacheria (after jet jewelry craftsmen).
And there it was! The cathedral! Here I was at last! Oh happy, happy day!
Overcome with emotion I put my hand on the stone. Suddenly the giant bells began to ring; the sound was majestic. I did not enter then, but searched for the pilgrim office. The assistant reviewed my Credencial with all its varied stamps representing each day’s stop on my journey, marked it with one final stamp, and issued the treasured Compostela which stated in Latin that I had devotedly completed the pilgrimage.
Again I cried.
When at last I entered the cathedral through the great western portal I walked down the dim barrel-vaulted nave towards the altar. The congregation was assembling for mass. Other pilgrims whom I had met along the camino were present; we nodded, silently smiled and gestured a euphoric thumbs up, not wanting to break the sacred silence. ...After mass I sat alone in the cathedral for a long time and slowly began to realize that my dream was fulfilled. My camino had now become a memory, but a memory I shall treasure forever.
Margaret Meredith