Santiago de Compostela

Yesterday felt like an absolutely normal day of walking.  We woke up and packed our bags.  We had coffee and toast at a cafe.  We walked.  I peed behind a bush.  We ate a second breakfast of eggs and ham.  We walked.  We stopped and ate some chocolate.  I peed behind a tree.  We stopped and had a few afternoon beers.  We took some goofy videos.  We entered a big city.  We stopped at a cafe so I could pee.  We walked some more.  As we neared the historic part of Santiago, I was excited, but not overly emotional.  I had expected to cry when we arrived, but I didn't feel any emotion welling up.

I know I keep saying this, but it's difficult to explain the feeling of walking around the corner and seeing the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela.  I felt an overwhelming urge to drop to my knees, but I was worried I might not be able to get back up.  Plus it had been raining all day, although in hindsight I was already soaked and it wouldn't have mattered.

My first emotion was relief.  Pure, delicious relief.  I was tingling with what I can only imagine as every single cell in my body rejoicing with the prospect of healing those damn blisters once and for all and giving my poor hips a break.  The next emotion was sadness.  I realized as I stared up at the cathedral, still linking arms with Emily, that we were done.  Our little family would be split up in a few days.  I would no longer be surrounded by people who understood.  41 days of fun, pain, love, suffering, joy, and fellowship... done. Then came the awe.  I think this was the point at which I started crying.  With Emily hugging me, Paca jumping up and down, and the cathedral in the background, I realized the enormity of what we had just completed.  We walked across a country.  We walked over 500 miles.  I knew all along what we were doing, but the incredible feeling of having accomplished something so massive... This photo says it all:

We all danced around and screamed and cried.  Emily threw her bag on the ground and beat it with her walking stick.  Nina spoke on the phone with her grandfather.  Paca started jabbering excitedly about the celebration that we would have later that night.  Jim took photo after photo after photo.  It was one of the most incredible moments of my life.

Later on, before the pilgrim's mass at the cathedral, I wandered down into the crypt of St. James without knowing where I was going.  I saw someone praying, read the sign and realized with a jolt: this is why I just walked 800 kilometers, and I stumbled upon it by accident.  I stood awkwardly behind the gawkers, trying to come up with a plan on the fly.  How do you pray to a saint you just walked across a country for?  Especially if you didn't do it purely for that reason?  Eventually I just knelt down, closed my eyes, and thanked him for keeping us safe during our journey.  That was it.  That's all I could come up with, but I think he understood.

The mass was the most beautiful service I have ever attended.  The priest spoke directly to the pilgrims in a way that touched me more than any sermon has.  He listed the pilgrims by country and where they started from.  And the Botafumeiro... I have never experienced anything like it.  Six men in red robes working together to swing a massive incense burner across the entire cathedral, the smell wafting through the pews, the little rush of air you could feel as it swung past.... it was surreal.

We did it.  

We walked the Camino de Santiago.

K

Santiago de Compostela, Spain