Today I woke up at 5am, because I had the idea that it would be nice to walk as the sun was rising for my last day. This was a nice idea that was thwarted by rain, but after a few moments of disappointment I rallied my excitement. Today was the day, the day I made it to Santiago.
Excitement was bubbling in me, and I flew through the kilometers this morning, even with the rain. Every time I saw a waymarker that declared the distance, I couldn’t believe it. 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, I was really doing this. Then the kilometer markers started to go missing as some very delighted pilgrims before me had pried the markers out of the posts so that they could keep them as souvenirs.
Then I saw a sign declaring seven kilometers to go, and I’m not sure how to describe how I felt. It was just the beginning of how I felt when I arrived at the cathedral, but more on that later. I took a great picture, which for some reason loads onto here upside down, but here it is anyway:
Anyway, I ate lunch around there, and continued on.
I started hurting on my way into Santiago, and I limped slowly towards the cathedral. On my way there, I saw several pilgrims, Christie amoung them.
Christie is German, but speaks good english and spanish, and also has a dog with her. But what’s more, she helped me out a lot on a day when I thought my camino was over, a day when I thought I’d be throwing in the towel. Seeing her was knowing I had made it. Against all odds, we both had made it, and were seeing each other in Santiago. I remember the first time I saw her was on a cold and rainy day when she had a cold, being told that her dog could not stay in the restaurant. That was on the way to Zubiri. We crossed paths again and again, I watched her dog in León, and we walked together for short periods of time before she would overtake me.
We embraced, talked a little, and then she gave me directions to the cathedral, telling me just how close I was.
I started crying as I walked past the person playing the bagpipes in the tunnel just before the cathedral. The music was beautiful, and it fit so well in these medieval streets. I walked forwards, and arrived in the square, sobbing.
I was so happy, and proud of myself. I had made it. My feet, my aching body, carried me and all the belongings I needed over the 800 kilometers from France. I walked it. I did it, and here I was, in front of the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. When I set out on this journey, I knew that I would do it, I just wasn’t sure how I’d make it. I knew that I was strong enough, and stubborn enough for when I didn’t have the strength. And fuck, I am more stubborn than I knew, or stronger than I knew, or both. I was completely overwhelmed.
There was only one thing left to do, go into the cathedral.
Now, this may seem like a tangent, but bear with me. When me and my family went to the Grand Canyon, we had a strange issue. We couldn’t find it. We had checked into our hotel, which was inside of the park, and it was just a short walk to the canyon rim. It was maybe half a mile, and we had such a hard time figuring out what direction the Grand-freaking-Canyon was in, and it was honestly pretty embarrassing. This was me with the cathedral door.
In my defense, the cathedral is under construction and the big door in front is closed because of it. Tears in my eyes, I wandered in and out of the square, having difficulty actually following the directions I was given. But as I wandered into the square again, I saw a few familiar faces.
I don’t remember any of their names. I also didn’t run to them, because a slow walk is my top speed at the moment. But I did my fasted slow walk over there.
Me and the person who from now on shall be known as Red for the color of her coat embraced. Red and I had only had one conversation, although it lasted for hours. And yet, she was a close friend who I had not expected to ever see again. “You made it!” She said. “I made it!” I sobbed. She began to cry as well, and tourist pulled out their cameras and flashes went off. I know it seems like this would make the experience shallow, but it only became deeper. I was a spectacle, maybe, but my meaningful experience transended myself. I meant something to other people, perhaps only a quick picture worth of meaning, but it was all connected, ancient pilgrimage and smart phone cameras, the world is amazingly complicated and diverse.
I tried to keep this attitude as I shelled out two euros to store my pack so that I could enter the cathedral after I eventually found the door. I reminded myself of a few lines from one of my favorite poets, Chris Chandler: “And you ask, “is nothing sacred?”/Well, no./But if nothing is sacred, what does that make everything?”
I guess I’ll leave it at that.
