Camino ends but the contemplation continues

The sun had just risen on a cool misty morning as La Barca del Peregrino (Pilgrim Boat) pulled away from the dock and headed up the river. I imagined it had been the same kind of weather when St. James’ disciples reputedly took this same route to carry his body back to what would become Santiago de Compostela – the goal of our and millions of others’ pilgrimage.

I stood on the front deck next to our bicycles, shivering with my hair whipping in the wind, thinking how difficult that original pilgrimage must have been in what was likely an open boat: cold, wet and long. When they got to the head of the river – now the city of Padron – they would have transferred St. James to a wooden cart pulled by oxen. I thought pushing my bike up steep rocky hills was tough, but their camino was much more backbreaking than mine. No quick-dry clothing, no waterproof panniers, no warm showers at the end of an arduous day.

Stone crosses on small rocky islets mark this maritime section of the Camino de Santiago. Tall, thin, with Jesus hanging on the side facing the water and Mary on the land side, they appeared out of the mist to guide pilgrims towards Padron. I and other pilgrims took photos as the crosses glided by, then we retreated to the warm cabin for coffee and pastries.

This was the last day of our Camino. I should have been excited – after 22 days on the road, we were ready to reach our destination. But instead I felt unsettled. The end had come rushing towards us too fast. It would all be over too soon. As challenging as our Camino had been, we had also had glorious moments and we had settled into a familiar, somewhat comforting, routine.

After the city of Porto, we rode as much as possible right along the coast, along boardwalks, stone-dust paths, some roads, actual bike paths and even the beach. We stopped for lunch on some spectacular white sand beaches, watching the waves roar and crash while tiny sandpipers skittered along the foamy edges. Of course, we still had some steep hills, cobblestones and rough trails when the Camino turned inland, but overall, the cycling was much easier and enjoyable.

After we reached Padron, we wheeled our bikes off the Barca del Peregrino and continued inland, the final 25.6 kilometres to Santiago. Even with many hills, we made good time. Physically, I was in much better shape than when we had left Lisbon. I had lost some pounds and discovered calf and thigh muscles I’d never met before.

As we rode, I pondered why I was apprehensive about reaching Santiago. I felt I hadn’t learned everything I was supposed to. But maybe, in just 22 days, all I could hope for was to ask the questions. Perhaps the answers would come later.

We wove our way through the narrow old streets of Santiago, joining throngs of other pilgrims and tourists headed for the plaza in front of the magnificent Cathedral of Santiago. I wanted to hold Bill’s hand, but we had to walk our bikes single file because of the crowds. Tears welled in my eyes. We rounded a bend and the plaza opened in front of us. We took a few more steps, stood side by side, then Bill embraced me, and my tears flowed. We had done it.

We hung around the plaza for quite a while, as did most pilgrims. We laid our bikes down and sat on the paving stones beside them, looking up at the cathedral and then at each other. We had done it. We had to keep telling ourselves because it still seemed unreal.

Later that evening, once we were clean and fed, we returned to visit the inside of the cathedral. The original construction had ended in 1211, but renovations are in full swing again. We were disappointed to see so much scaffolding inside, completely blocking many areas. There was no way to get an overall view or sense of its enormity.

However, we could still line up to “Embrace the Apostle.” We weren’t entirely sure what that meant, but we lined up anyhow. Through a small door at the side of the high altar, we went up well-worn steps that led behind a statue of St. James. Over his shoulders, he wore a short silver cape covered in raised scallop shells and other symbols. No photos allowed.

We watched the people ahead of us, who put their arms right around him, said a prayer and made the sign of the cross. My hands were clammy. As a Protestant Christian, I’d never done this sort of thing before. When my turn came, I stepped behind St. James, put my hands on his shoulders (the silver cape jingled a bit), whispered my thanks for a safe Camino, and sent regards from José, the Coimbra man who spray-painted yellow arrows to help ensure we arrived here. Bill also thanked St. James for protecting us along the way. It was all over in 12 seconds.

From there, we followed the line down to the crypt and the reliquary chapel under the altar. People knelt and prayed before a silver-encrusted casket that holds St. James’ remains. I’m uncomfortable praying to anything other than God or Jesus, so I couldn’t do it again. But it’s an emotional experience for many people.

We hung around Santiago for two more days – days that were, to be honest, rather anticlimactic. I felt let-down and struggled to feel any euphoria at having achieved our goal. We ran into some fellow pilgrims we had met in an albergue – Denise and David – and that cheered me up considerably. They congratulated us and we congratulated them.

One day was spent on Camino paperwork. You take your pilgrim passport to the Pilgrim Office, get a number, and then wait many hours for your number to be called so you can get your official Compostela – a certificate with your name spelled in Latin. We are Catharinam and Villelmus. We waited four hours, so not too bad.

The next day, we took a bus to Finisterre – the end of the earth. Many pilgrims continue their Camino another 80 kilometres past Santiago to the Finisterre Lighthouse, but we opted to give our legs and lungs a rest. Behind the lighthouse, we stood watching currents and waves roil and roar below. I raised my arms – a signal of triumph, but also hoping that our friends and family on the other side of the Atlantic might wave back.

Our Camino by the numbers:

• 726.6: kilometres cycled (721.6 shown on our bike computer plus 5 for the day I forgot to put it on my bike right away)
• 60: litres of water consumed (approximately)
• 34: stamps in our pilgrim passports
• 22: days on the Camino (18 cycling plus 4 rest days: ½ in Santarem, ½ in Tomar, 1 in Coimbra, 2 in Porto)
• 15: pounds lost (both of us combined)
• 1: broken spoke
• 0: flat tires
• Countless: times we got lost
• Immeasurable: satisfaction at reaching Santiago