Santiago de Compostela

Once again I wander up to the cathedral. The Galician pipes are still wailing as I walk through the tunnel. The little red train with its string of toy carriages makes its routine incursion into  the Praza del Obradoiro, but there are no silver-painted Saint Jameses or attendant angels trying to stay motionless in the wind. The  place is alive with pilgrims, cameras out, recording the momentous arrival, some with selfie sticks, others having their photos taken by fellow pilgrims or obliging bystanders like me. One large group, twenty or more, pose in front, and the same photo is taken by twenty cameras in turn. Pilgrims sit with their backs against the columns of the government buildings to the west, gazing at the cathedral. Others lie flat on their back on the paved stones of the square.

Some stand, some sit, some crouch, some carry one another. Some people assume the most unusual poses. One fellow lies prone, while his mate takes a photo from foot level. A colourful lady in purple dances for a video. A couple rest their camera against a hand bag and scramble to get in position, crouched with thumbs up for the timed photo. The cathedral is always patiently behind. I suspect it features in the background of more photos than anywhere else in Christendom.

On one side of the square a party of school children are being taught CPR by a steam of first responders. They pump away at the dummies on the ground. Seems appropriate, for this is a place of respiration and revival. In the corner of the square is a van with a few armed police standing by.

It’s the range of pilgrims that is so astonishing: the occasional single old man or woman, older couples, young couples, pairs of men or women, family groups, a mother with her young daughter, lots of young people, and not today, but perhaps yesterday or tomorrow, the Swedish and the Spanish couple with their baby. I see some dogs that may have walked the Camino as well. 

This is the scene every day of the year.

I visited the Pilgrim’s Office today to get my compostela. It’s a slick operation now, and technological, in an effort to keep up with the increasing number of pilgrims arriving each day. I spent more time outside the office than in, trying to work out how to scan the code that was supposed to simplify the process, until an official took pity on me and allowed me to fill in my details on an old fashioned piece of paper. I was given a number and I had to wait until it flashed on a screen: 168 Mesa 13. The lady at Table 13 scrutinized my credential very carefully, asked me about missing dates, and then gave me my compostela, made out to Carolum , accusative case in keeping with the text. I’ve always wondered whether they would have a go at my surname, to wit, Carolum Moodium, or perhaps, as my Latin teacher sometimes referred to me, as  Carolum Saturninum. What do they do with Christian names that don’t have a Latin equivalent?

This time I had lunch at the Restaurant Garigolo, for 12€, better value much further from the cathedral. Quiet ambience with Pachebel-Canon-type music in the background. The lentil soup was excellent, and the curried chicken, like the restaurant,  left a good taste in my mouth.

A few final comments.

First, an insightful and incisive reader has pointed out that my use of the word “inflammable” when referring to “inflammable eucalypts”may have confused some people. To those of my generation, “inflammable” was the only word we had to describe something that would easily burst into flames.  More recently, because the Latin prefix “in” also means “not”, benign language authorities have encouraged the use of the word “flammable” instead, lest someone think it safe throw an inflammable substance on the fire. But both words are current.

And a couple of parting comments about having a beer at a bar in Spain. First it’s wonderfully cold, for the barman serves it in a frosty glass from the freezer. Second, it’s always served with little tapas, which may sometimes constitute a small meal. I have just foregone supper, because my beer came with a small bowl of potato chips, seven or eight olives, and a chunk of tortilla. How civilized!

My parting words of advice? The Invierno is a demanding but rewarding camino of great natural beauty for someone who wants to escape the madding crowd. And If this were my first camino, knowing what I know now, I would walk the Camino Frances, but leave as early as possible in April, or later, in October.