The final account of walking the pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostela Tricastela.
by Raphel Bate
We got up late, 8am, and after breakfast we set out for Samos along the main road for a while, through ancient rural villages, old farms and broad leaf woods. Here in Galicia, following the meandering path through tunnels of trees and dappled light, discovering gushing streams by verdant fields, it all felt more intimate and more of a slowly unfolding story than we had previously experienced in the wide open spaces of Leon and Castille. The secrets of northern Spain’s landscape are gradually revealed through the medium of walking .
Latihan In A Blanket
As evening came on Haris and I were still walking, heading for a specific albergue. Dorinda was walking behind with Pascale, a new friend. We eventually arrived and found that there were no beds left. We waited, but Dorinda and friend did not arrive, so we assumed they must have stopped at the albergue at the previous village. We continued on to the next village, four kms away.
There was a bar and behind it a private albergue, as opposed to a municipal (cheaper) one.
We were the only customers and were shown to the new, separate building in the field behind the bar. It seemed perfect BUT …..on trying the lights they did not work…… it turned out that they would come on when it got dark. OK. We had a meal in the bar and returned to the bunk room. The lights were on, but it was very cold and difficult to get warm. As we were the only residents we were able to have a latihan and the only way to generate enough heat to get the latihan going was to drape ourselves in blankets, which seemed to work.
Our last creative use of the blankets was to hang them over the top bunks to shield us from the lights, which would not now go off!
Walking
By this travelling every day we align ourselves with those who wander the the face of the earth:gypsies, travelling people, nomads and refugees; escaping, searching.
We pilgrims are moving daily towards the light or away from the dark, the rhythm ofour daily ritual of getting up in the pre dawn, getting dressed, packing our bags in the dark with other shadowy figures and setting out under the moon and stars, following our destinies with the help of the scallop shell and the yellow arrows that indicate west.
Yet there is liberation in this lifestyle from work, mortgages, housework: all we have to do is maintain our walking, look after our feet and help our comrades continue to the west.
To be able to walk everyday is liberation, I am alive, I am grateful, what more ?
Sometimes, walking with our sticks clicking in unison; it feels as though we are moving the earth around underfoot rather than walking forward across it, as it feels so effortless. And by this action we bring about the change from night to day.
Santiago De Compostela
In the cathedral of Santiago de Compostella ,at the pilgrim’s service, it is very crowded. The altar is a vast layered gold and silver sculptural affair with many priests in scarlet attending. Part of the mass involves swinging the giant incense burner, the ‘botafumeiro’, originally used to fumigate the sweaty, (and possibly disease-ridden) pilgrims. The long list of countries from where the pilgrims had come, was announced, and it was clear that the need to undertake this tough project was universal.
Seeing the pilgrims arriving straight off the Camino with their packs is very moving, knowing what they have done and that they have arrived. The heart is tenderised at this moment: melted are the hard edges of the difficulties of the trek, the rock, the gravel, the hill, endless mesa are over. .
What drives them? What inner compulsion still motivates people from all over the world to take on this tough project? The religious, the non religious, the young, the old, those who have done this five times before, those who are just trying out part of the route, those who keep walking and, having reached their destination, turn around and return by foot?
This pilgrimage is a gesture against materialism, consumerism, technology, the sedentary life, the meaninglessness of trying to find ourselves in having: it is the affirmation of being.
After a day and night of being in bed with sickness and diarrhoea I emerged and walked across the city to the station. I felt as though I had landed from another planet. I was perceiving aesthetically,not functionally: the pattern of chance association of things stood out, for example the horizontal striped tee shirt of a passing woman matched the horizontal stripes of a louvred door.
Every person is a study in unique energy of themselves. Everything is slightly surprising: it isbemusing, separate, clear, distinct. The last time I felt like this was after I was ‘Opened’ walking down the Bayswater Road from the Subud Hall in London, in 1968.
For once, the end of their journey will be joyous, as joyous as the
”Portico de la Gloria” sculpted in the XII century by Maestro Mateo,
joyous as the secret of Compostela: this empty tomb towards which
they have walked for fifty days, now it is up to them to fill that emptiness.
Pierre Barret and Jean Noël Gurgand, Priez pour nous a Compostela.
Raphael Bate 22.10.08