Santiago and Finisterre

Santiago cathedral

We avoided the purgatory of too many in a bed 

So we arrived at Santiago and added our small numbers to what has been termed the largest mass movement of humans in Europe until the refugees of world war 2. It has also been said with some truth that the Camino enabled Spain. To my mind, as much as medieval Europe defined itself as an entity, that entity was centered on the Church of Rome. The Camino, together with the Crusades, provided medieval Europeans with a sense of shared identity – Christian and not Muslim, and many other things beside. In fact, until the financial crisis, the Spanish government offered heavily subsidized holidays to retirees to visit other parts of Spain to understand their own country. Our Camino passports were scrutinized for stamps along the way and we were each handed a personal certificate of completion.

Preparing the censer

Censer above our hea

The great pilgrim church of Santiago functioned as it was designed – the tenor voice of the canon in plainsong, leading a choir of the congregation, and pilgrims arriving throughout the service, using the ambulatory around the mass. The languages of all the world sharing in a ritual 1000 years old. The disinfecting censer was swung up across the congregation in a great arc across the transept and into the upper roof directly above where we were sitting. We had Santo Iago’s bones to see, St Jim to hug, wisdom to be gained from Master Mateo, mason of the Door of Glory, and the whole atmosphere of happy arrivals to savour. Outside were all the money-making systems of a pilgrim town – souvenirs, restaurants, photo opportunities, puppet shows, beggars, street musicians and hotels.

Lin and Rod, Jan and us had become a group with Diego, our knowledgeable guide, and Ivan, our enthusiastic driver. We were sorry to stop, so we’re aiming to go back to some quieter and more rural French sections in 2014 to again enjoy the Zen of walking a pilgrim trail.

Next day we drove through fog to the Finisterre. Finisterre is at the end of the earth for the Romans and for Europe and where the Milky Way (known as the Camino of Stars) touches the horizon and beyond is only Ocean. The peninsula was dotted with small sacrifices of burnt clothes and old shoes. A celebratory beer and a birthday dinner for Kerry in the evening and then on to the next adventure.

End of the Camino at Finisterre

Across Galicia

Templar castle church at Portomarin

The last two nights on the way were at a hotel in Portomarin followed by a wonderful restored manor house with internal servants access and a huge fireplace at Pazo Sedor, near Castelneda. Both of us are now fit in body and wind with no significant joint or foot problems. We have covered 18 to 20 km each day without difficulty although the largish lunches put lead in our bellies. Tonight is in the Hostal de Los Reys Catholicos in Santiago, a grand series of courtyards with box hedges in formal patterns. A wonderful dinner to finish our 180 km of the hilly bits.

There is some evidence that the Camino antedates its adoption by Christian pilgrims visiting the bones of St James, found miraculously in 813. He then became a major symbol of resistance against the moors, not least because the relics gave Santiago a reason to be recognized directly by Rome rather than through the Archbishop at Toledo, then in Muslim hands. Pre-Roman Celts, and others, regarded Finisterre, the westernmost part of the European mainland as the nearest anyone could get to the setting sun. As a cult object, the sun was the ultimate in daily death and resurrection, with the scallop shell representing Venus and rebirth. In the 5^th century, a bunch of Celtic refugees fleeing Saxon and other invaders, came from Brittany and before that Britain. Their bishop is recorded as attending a Council in what is now northern Portugal in the 6^th century. The Irish were back in small numbers in the 11^th century, when a chapel was built, leaving shamrocks and odd tonsures on St Laurent as evidence of their presence. The entrance door and a number of pillars were incorporated into a wonderful 12^th century church at Villadonna. The church is Templar and a few of the second sons who became knights have their tombs and effigies there. The daughters joined the family monastery until a suitable husband could be found – hence Villa Donna. In the 15^th century the Templars had been disbanded and new delicate frescoes were applied to the apse wall. It became a parish church when the monasteries were disbanded in the 19^th century.

By now there were lots of people walking or biking with lots of Australians and Kiwis. Walking into Santiago a window shot open above us and a voice called out “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!” To which we responded, of course “Oi! Oi! Oi!” Only one pilgrim horse sighted, although horse was a category of transport. We heard 1500 arrived on our Saturday. Spire of the pilgrim church sighted at Mount of Joy, a few km after Lavacollos, where a pilgrim was supposed to wash themselves clean before entering Santiago. Dirty clothes were burnt outside the cathedral to get rid of fleas and smell, until the church caught fire in the 15^th century. And the cathedral mass includes a 60kg censer with incense to manage smelly pilgrims – and we were pretty sweaty – and dispense the spiritual disinfection.

Leon to Galicia

 An earlyish start to walk 25 km steadily uphill to a few km past the iron cross at 1530 m. The very best tortilla ever for lunch. Pilgrims leave a stone at its base to represent their leaving their sin behind. From here, the body heals and the soul heals on completion at Santiago.  From the ancient cross, the terrain slopes gradually back down towards the rolling plateau we had driven across. To the east, the landscape suddenly changes to steep slopes and deep gorges. 

We overnighted at a  modern hotel that caters for weddings from the nearby wealthy looking industrial town. Love is in the air in spluttering neon lights up the lawn and for the first time, we taste the Murcian wine of Galicia. Until the freeway tunnels and viaducts were constructed, this narrow road was the main connection between Galicia and the rest of Spain. Most Galicians seeking a new life, therefore sailed to America rather than crossing into Spain

  

The next day we are driven across industrial Ponferrad and up along narrowing gorges to start our ascent of 700m over about 12km. Ponferrad has a small, very defensible Templar castle, now a private house, with (almost) a drawbridge and plenty of places for shooting intruders. 

We started walking at a tiny village with huge viaducts high above us. The track rose steadily and, while my legs are now good enough, my cardiovascular system insisted on regular stops. Our hostel accommodation was in O’Cerbriero at 1400 m. The village was becoming derelict until taken in hand by the local priest, who has many memorials near the simple reconstructed church. A couple of gift shops, but lots of rooms for rent and places to eat for the pilgrims. The old circular thatched stone houses have been kept – tight accommodation for an extended family and their animals. They stayed warm in a long winter by the animals down below and a fire with no smoke outlet in the living area. The mist had rolled in and everything was cold and damp when we came out of mass.

Drizzling mist for the fist half of our next walk down to Triacastella at 620m. The poor villages along the route only have old people and a few cattle. The first half of the walk was along a ridge in the mist before we plunged down to a delightful lunch just before the destination. The waitress said that the high season for Spanish walkers is July and August, but there were very few this year. They were replaced by many Americans who had seen The Way and many Koreans who have a camino-inspired walk in their own country. We were welcomed to Triacastella by a Cuban music jam session – fantastic! The night was in a renovated rural rectory, one of about 80 scattered across Galicia, advertising a rural gourmet experience

Burgos to Leon

A short walk of 10 km on a never-ending rolling plain of harvested wheat fields.and a rest day at Leon.

Leon was a Roman Legion town, to oversee the 600,000 slaves in the Spanish gold mines. Outside the medieval town, the Knights of Santiago built a wonderful headquarters on the Camino. The knights were quite a late addition to the military orders designed, in this case, to protect pilgrims to Santiago and to kill Moors. However, by the time they really got going, the Reconquista was substantially complete and the pilgrim numbers had dropped precipitously. However, the knights, being of noble blood, progressively acquired more and more land so they became the wealthiest landowners in northern Spain and a threat to church and crown. So they were put to the inquisition, disbanded and killed. Lands were forfeit to the king, but we were left with a marvelous complex of buildings, now a hotel in which we stayed. It had also been a prison and torture site during the civil war and after.

 

The Leonese were celebrating an event from 1200 years ago while we were there. Abd al Rahman II. Emir of Cordoba, had demanded, it is said, a tribute of a hundred maidens. In 844, Ramiro I, king of Leon, refused to pay the tribute and  gathered an army to defend the decision. The Muslim army nearly defeated them, but were routed at the last moment with the help of St James the moor-slayer. Annually, and coinciding with our visit, a hundred maidens in simple gowns and cloth caps paraded up to the cathedral – a wonderful early gothic work lit by excellent and extensive coloured glass. They were followed by 250 pennants on poles 20-30 feet high, carried by relays of strong men. Each pennant was from a local village, which also parades its women and men in wonderfully embroidered costumes and shawls, accompanied by their own bagpipes, short oboes, castanets and drums. Behind this lot come fully accoutered knights in full armour and with weapons on display, fancy helmets and hides make them exotic. They sound invincible when given the full martial music treatment by the municipal orchestra. Wonderful!

Laguardia to Burgos

St James the moor slayer

A short, 12.5 km walk through a forest on a cold windy day. A picnic lunch with all our clothes on and an hour to thaw out afterwards.

A monument at in the forest was to 300 people shot there at the beginning of the civil war in 1936. Burgos was/is a rightwing city and proud of its military traditions. The way Diego explained it to us was that the first republic lasted 3 years but the anarchists and violent communists frightened the older people and the church and some parts of the army. A vicious war, described for us by Hemingway. Somewhere between 100,000 and 300,000 people died and fear killed dissension. No-one has the stomach for a truth and reconciliation investigation, so these monuments are erected by relatives. The disappearances of Argentina have had their precedents.

Universal primary education was not compulsory until 1960, and children were needed to support the family. Poverty was endemic and there are very many of the elderly are very small people. Power was, quite evidently, in the hands of the aristocracy and its successors, and the church. We walked through a sizeable town with distribution sheds, machinery maintenance buildings and silos, but almost totally deserted. The town had been bustling in the 1960’s, but everyone had left to work in other European countries.

The slaying of moors by El Cid and St James have been celebrated at Burgos for centuries. 

Burgos cathedral is jaw dropping. The second load of gold and silver from the America’s was brought to the Reyes Catholicos at Burgos by Christopher Columbus and some of it stuck to the carvings in the cathedral. The structure is modified Romanesque, but with innovative perforated skylights over a number of chapels and the crossing. Some wonderful painted medieval statues of stone, giving an idea of how bright, even gaudy, medieval cathedrals were. A wonderful set of steps lead down into the cathedral from the camino on the north. However, they have been closed for many years because the local used it as a shortcut with their sheep and chickens.

Pamplona to Laguardia

We started walking a short way out of Pamplona, climbing up and over a steep ridge topped by perhaps a hundred windmill electricity generators. The previous government was making a significant effort to make all power from renewable sources. A nuclear power station was going to be closed and we saw miners protesting about closure of their deep mines with poor quality coal.  However, the commitment to solar and wind is impressive and we had already seen some of the unexpected effects of damming rivers on the ecology of estuaries.

The trail, now pestered with aggressive mountain-bikers, goes down from the ridge and through rolling countryside to Puenta de Reina. A medieval queen had a bridge built to make it safe for pilgrims who risked being fleeced and drowned by ferrymen. The town beside the bridge has done well out of pilgrims. Explored a very unusual octagonal chapel with an elegant necklace of arches- built by a returning crusader who had been wowed in Rome. Then up to another steep hill topped by a roman town with a roman bridge on the other side, a total of 18 km..

Laguardia, next stop, is a small walled town on the ruta del vino, and doing very well thanks – a relief to hear the voices of children. Photos of red peppers drying and a visit to an industrial quantity winery in the heart of Rioja made us real tourists. 

The winery hotel had been designed by Frank Gehry and looked as though its wrapping paper had been caught in a breeze and frozen.

St Jean to Pamplona

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 It is becoming clear that we are on a themed holiday rather than a serious pilgrimage! Our walk last year on part of the French section from Le Puy en Velay was through rural countryside, day on day and staying at small hotels. The continuity and lack of pampering gave a sense of engagement. This year we have arranged to be indulged and be bussed through outer urban straggle and some long flat dry sections in Castile, so the continuity is lost. The hotels are also better. The result is less time for reflection, but then we are not in a midlife crisis or particularly feeling an urgent need for remission of our sins.

So we were bussed up the first steep section of the old roman road to commence our walk near a wayside shrine. The walk continued up and over a couple of crests and then down rapidly to Roncesvalles, of Roland legend. Overnight at a small country hotel in a deserted village. Depopulation is very noticeable and the Camino is a life-blood for many towns – as always. Last year at Santiago, 180,000 certificates were issued to pilgrims who had finished the last 100 km on foot.

Next morning another 19km and then bussed through industrial suburbs to Pamplona. The capital of old Navarre, which used to extend into what is now France, has some impressive seventeenth century walls. Navarre had time to develop some great legends before they were incorporated into Castile. Bustling street life on a damp evening. The hotel is a converted palace with several generations of marquesas surveying us from the walls and their gilded carriage up on blocks at reception. The first marquess had an adventurous life as a soldier, a general, an admiral, a governor, a viceroy and finally a priest in the jungle – someone wrote a play about him. Dinner was pinxos and rioja wine in a small taberna. 

We had coffee in Ernest Hemingway’s pub, with his bronze effigy leaning on the bar and noisy Americans all around.