Legend says that after the crucifixion of Jesus the disciples spread out into the world to preach the gospel. James thought to be a close relative of Jesus (perhaps brother) went to Galicia. He made a few very good friends but was largely unsuccessful in his mission. Despondent, he returned to Palestine where he fell foul of Herod and was later crucified/beheaded. There are many versions of the legend, one being that the disciples send the body of St. James back to the Iberian peninsula. In spite of the ship sinking in a storm, the undamaged remains of St. James, covered in scallop shells, arrived in an unmanned vessel at the shore of Galicia. The scallop shell has remained the emblem and way marker of the pilgrimage to Santiago today.
The true pilgrim starts from his/her own door carrying only the basics required to survive. There are a number of recognised starting points although travellers of the route get an official certificate of recognition if they complete either 100+ kilometres by foot or 200+ kilometres by bike. With this aim in mind, we flew to Bilbao to be picked up the following morning and transported to Leon, some 4 hours away. At Leon, 10 of us who were to share the same experience over the week, were familiarised with our bicycles. We were given instructions to cycle the first 50 kilometres of our route arriving at the end of the first day in the Roman city of Astorga which was founded in 14 b.c. Our Spanish guide, Isi explained that although it was a long, tiring day it was an easy cycle. We were very quickly to discover that "flat" and "Spanish flat" were entirely different concepts! When challenged on his description of "flat", which could be described as being at the tough end of moderate, he shrugged and said, "I am from Barcelona" which is Spain's version of our Irish jibes.
On Day 2 we were asked to muster by 8 a.m. when we had a whirlwind tour of Astorga with its Roman mosaics and cathedral of beautifully hand crafted stone. Today was the big day as we were cycling up to the Iron Cross, the highest point on the route. The Camino has a set of traditions all of its own and pilgrims are encouraged to bring a stone from their own country. John and I had collected three stones - one from the Isle of Skye; one from the top of Ben Bhraggie in Sutherland and one from Cramond Kirk. We painted them blue with a white St. Andrews cross on one side and its source, albeit somewhat crudely, marked on the other side.
We left Astorga by 9.30 a.m. stopping off at the picturesque 16th century village of Castrillo de los Polvazares with its red coloured stone houses and cobbled streets. Storks had built a nest on top of the church tower which we noticed was a feature in a number of the small villages. We speculated that there must be a lot of babies in such villages! We were able to get our first stamp of the day here. At the start of the journey everyone is issued with a Pilgrim Passport which has to be stamped at least three times each day in different places. There is an economic dimension to this as stamps were held in all the hostelries. Having said that, the locals were pretty laid back and did not seem to be greatly concerned whether anything was purchased or not. On this trip the Pilgrim was King.
A few miles further on we had a coffee stop at Santa Catalina de Somoza. The little place was buzzing with old people; young people; bearded people; limping people; people massaging their swollen feet......and 10 cyclists. We were very much third rate pilgrims with our pre-booked accommodation. Most of the people we encountered did not have anything booked in advance, choosing instead to arrive at the day's destination where they rented a bunk bed in a communal room. There was an air of excitement here as numbers of people of common denominator, distinguishable only by their language or accent, mingled and exchanged stories. A life size pilgrim pointed the way into a café with a picturesque courtyard beyond, beautifully decorated with pots of flowers. I could see, through a window, rows of bunk beds all ready waiting for the evening's occupants.
The serious cycling of the day to the Iron Cross which lies at some 1500 metres, was to start from here. As I have difficulty in imagining height in metres, I prefer to work in multiples of "Arthur's Seat". (I do the same thing with distance using multiples of "Greenock to Largs" or "Greenock to Glasgow"). To get to the Iron Cross from our start point we had to cycle approximately "3 Arthur's Seats", or 800 metres for the technically minded. I think if we had fully appreciated the challenge of the route we may not have embarked on this adventure! The gradient of the hill varied greatly, sometimes being very steep and sometimes becoming more gentle. Clumps of heather adorned each side of the narrow road giving the route a welcoming familiar feel. After what seemed like an eternity and the consumption of copious amounts of water we reached our destination. The Iron Cross, which was very unassuming, was perched high on a ship's mast. Relieved to ditch my bicycle for a while, I climbed up the mound which supported the mast. I was surprised that it was reasonably firm under foot as the mound had a solid base with only a light covering of stones along with all sorts of artefacts. I carefully placed Cramond Kirk's stone immediately under the cross showing its origin, with the other two on either side showing the Saltire. Scotland was well represented today!
We had expected that the hard work of the day was over but found that from here the road fell away creating two more nasty hills. The main cross seemed to have spawned a series of smaller crosses which were dotted randomly along the route, all with their own stories. The air up here was wonderful as the hills opposite, which were just above eye level, still clung on to strips of snow giving a fresh feel to what was otherwise a very hot and sunny day. It was 2 p.m. before we reached our lunch stop to enjoy a Pilgrims' repast before finally rolling downhill to the little village of Molinaseca which has played its own part in the history of the Camino through the ages.
Part 2
Having successfully placed our 3 stones from Scotland at the base of the Cruz de Ferro (Iron Cross)we stopped for a bite in El Acebo which is a quaint cobbled town regenerated by the increase in pilgrim traffic. The remainder of the day's route was a hair-raising descent into Molinaseca.
The pretty little town of Molinaseca, which has a population of less than 900, is accessed over an old Roman bridge spanning the Meruelo river. It boasts a fluvial beach with part of the river harnessed to make an outdoor swimming pool. We passed the Virgen de Las Augustias sanctuary on the right before the bridge. In days gone by Galician weavers, on their way to assist with the harvest in Castilla and Leon, believed that the wood of the sanctuary door had miraculous powers. They would pause there to test their blades believing the custom would presenve the sharpness of their tools for the duration of the harvest. On passing the Cruz de Ferro they would then drop a stone at the cairn as a warrant for their safe return.
The group met as usual in the evening for a briefing followed by the standard Pilgrims' dinner. We ate very well for the week on such menus which offered 3 courses plus wine (which no one ever measured) for an average of 10 euros. Tonight the proprietor insisted on adding a local liqueur which is a secret recipe made from herbs. We were all great friends by the end of the evening!
On day three we were to be split into two groups - the "Heroes" and the "Clevers". Both groups were transported a short distance across the motorway to Ponferrada named because of the iron bridge (pons ferrata) erected in the 11th century purely for the convenience of the pilgrims. The town is completely surrounded by mountains. The Clevers were to be transported up the mountain to "O Cebreiro" whilst the Heroes were to cycle up to "O Cebreiro". As it was my 66th birthday today, and John's some time ago, we decided to join the Clevers. We were assured that we would still have done enough to qualify for our Certificate when we finally arrived in Santiago.
We were dropped off at O Cebreiro, a Pre Romanesque settlement, which legend says was a resting placed of St James. The little village, embraced by a low wall, contains a number of buildings including a round thatched structure, a shop, a café and museum. The little Church, "Santa Maria a Real" which is under the charge of a solitary monk, claims to have a holy grail. Rows of lighted red and white candels flickered beside the right hand wall. Further back, book shelves supported open bibles in many languages including brail. We picked up a copy of the "Pilgrim's Prayer" by Fraydino La Faba which is worth a read. It can easily be found on the internet and begins "Although I may have travelled all the roads....."
There is a Scottish connection to this area through Lieutenant General Sir John Moore, born in Glasgow in 1761. In 1809 British forces supported the Spanish in resisting Napoleonic invasion. They were heavily outnumbered and were forced to retreat over these very mountains of Leon and Galicia to Corunna, north of Santiago. Unfortunately, Moore was killed at the Battle of Corunna but is still today regarded as a hero and well known to all the local school children.. His sarcophagus stands on a pedestal in the middle of the San Carlos Gardens in Corunna. In contrast he is little remembered back in Glasgow where his bronze statue stands in George Square.
After an early lunch and the arrival of our bikes, we wished "Buen Camino" to the two Kiwis we had been chatting to. It was the custom on the Camino for everyone to exchange this greeting even if only in the passing. A German who shouted this greeting to John and day before added that Talisker was his favourite malt. This was a reference to his Isle of Skye cycling top which was a source of conversation on a number of occasions.
We set off to conquer our first Arthur's Seat of the day which took us to Alto do San Roque, a height of 1,270 metres. A 12' statue of a pilgrim, overlooking miles of stunning countryside, stood at the top of the hill holding on to his hat as he struggled against the wind. I knew exactly how he felt! We free-wheeled down the hill from here only to find we had to re climb another half Arthur's Seat to arrive at 1,335 metres which is almost the height of Ben Nevis. We were feeling very sorry for the Heroes who were cycling from the bottom.
We stayed overnight in Samos close to a large Benedictine monastery originally built in the 6th century. It had suffered a checkered past being severely damaged by fire in 1536 and again in 1951. The monastery, built round beautiful gardens, offers refuge for pilgrims to use freely. We were given a tour of the inside with the vicissitudes of its history colourfully and dramatically depicted on the walls around the cloisters. The visit concluded with a mass which we watched. The procedure and content went over my head but was nevertheless touching in its intent to support the pilgrims. The priest finished by singing a song called "Santa Maria del Camino" which had a light and catchy tune. I was desperate to join in by the second chorus but as no one else seemed to think it appropriate I had to conform!
We woke up on day 4 to a heavy mist which took a couple of hours to clear. Today was the shortest day of some 35 kilometres on "Spanish Flat". This could be described as undulating, reminiscent of a caricature of the Loch Ness Monster! The support van had a puncture this morning which meant the planned picnic lunch did not happen, leaving us all to make our own way independently to Portomarin.
In the 1960's the river Minho had been damned to create a reservoir causing the old village of Portomarin to be flooded. The historic buildings, including the Church of San Juan, were rebuilt stone by stone on higher ground. On approaching the town we could see the Church over the bridge, standing proud of the building line looking like a giant "Lego" structure with its zig zag top. After lunch in the square beside the church we had a walk round the small town which had a beautiful view up the river. From our viewpoint we could also see the long hill which was to take us out of the town in the morning.
Part 3
Day 5 started with a mist similar to the day before. I was anxious about today which was over 60 kilometres and hilly. I did not eat too much for breakfast as I was worried about getting up the first hill. Spanish breakfasts, which usually included square slices of cheese with ham of indeterminate origin, were not my favourite meal. We did make it up the hill and on to the first of two coffee stops today where we were able to refuel.
We arrived in Melide for lunch where we were to sample a local delicacy called "Pulpo" (octopus). We watched the cook preparing it in a bistro through a window from the street. The creature, which looked like a small pumpkin in its relaxed state, was submerged into boiling water suspended from a hook. When cooked it was lifted and the tentacles cut with scissors into rounds. Although a number of our party had this I was completely nauseated at the sight of it with its suckers still attached to the skin. Being a wimp I chose instead a Spanish potato omelette which seemed to me much better fuel for the last three considerable hills still to be climbed this afternoon.
We made it, in spite of the afternoon's blistering heat, to our hotel in Arzua by late afternoon with the help of a Tracker bar and lots of water. After a shower and short rest we went downstairs for a cold drink at the bar before tomorrow's briefing.
"Y-o-u look a lot better now", commented a voice behind me.
"I hope so", I replied not quite knowing how to respond to this back handed compliment.
The owner of the voice was a Dutchman who had left his own door in Holland by bicycle some weeks before. We had all arrived at the hotel at the same time. His German bike was a tribute to their engineering as it was loaded like a packhorse. The forecast was for thunder and lightening the next day which was why he booked his accommodation in advance for the first time since leaving home. I had visions of our arrival in Santiago being announced by peals of thunder and flashing sky with Charleton Heston waiting to great us somewhere in the background.
We were to leave at 8 a.m. on our last cycling day. The morning was humid and overcast but not a drop of rain fell until long after our arrival in Santiago. The hills were just a fact of life now as it would not be long before we reached our destination. Half way through the morning we joined the walkers on the same path. This was quite tricky as we tried to manoeuvre passed them on stoney, unstable ground. There were some nasty uphill stretches where the wheels were spinning making it almost impossible to cycle. The atmosphere was becoming intense with excitement as more and more people joined the procession. The last stop for our Pilgrim Passport stamp was Monte Gozo. The authorities viewed this stop as very important as someone from the last group had been refused a certificate for not having this stamp.
Only "Greenock to Largs" to go now before arriving at the sign announcing that we were in Santiago. As the group stopped at the sign to get photographs, passing traffic sounded their horns as a welcome to our arrival. A somewhat alarming cycle through the traffic brought us to the older part of the town before swooping down into the square in front of the Cathedral. My heart sank!
The whole front of the building was covered in scaffolding with the left hand tower being hidden behind material showing a picture of what it should have looked like. Martin Sheen's film "The Way" showed the pilgrims entering the front door of the cathedral and pressing their palm into an indentation on the pillar which supported St. James. I could see it but it was also sectioned of.
Feeling a bit disappointed we moved round and entered via the side door. What a sight! There was standing room only with the murmur of voices being drowned out by a powerful organ. I climbed on to the only space I could see on a pillar support to view the proceedings. A giant Botafumeiro suspended from a pulley mechanism in the dome of the roof, weighing some 80 kilos, was beginning to oscillate. Six men (tiraboleiros) controlled the smouldering thurible which gradually increased its swing until it reached its full distance of some 65 metres. Whoosh it went through the air reaching an angle of over 80 degrees dispensing clouds of incense which permeated the air above the heads of today's new arrivals. I pondered "health and safety" which did not seem to be such an issue in Spain. There have been a few occasions in history when the Botafumeiro had gone out of control - notably when Catherine of Aragon visited the cathedral in 1499 on her way to marry the heir to the English throne. It went flying through a high window. No one was reported to be hurt.
We were to leave Santiago at 11 a.m. on the last day which gave us time to look around the Cathedral when it was quiet. We had given up on the queue for certificates yesterday as it was some 3 hours long. Even at 7.30 a.m. we were twelfth in the queue. Before getting the official certificate the peregrinos are given a mini interview as to why they have made the trip. Acceptable reasons are - religious, historical or personal. One of our number said she was as tourist and was sent away "tae think again". Our passports, with the collected stamps from along the route, were studied before our certificates were finally presented to us with our names hand written in Latin.
There were only a few people in the cathedral on the last morning which allowed us to admire its grandeur. The whole centre round the alter was gold with a golden St. James looking down on the proceedings from pulpit height in the middle. Visitors were able to climb the stairs at the back of the Apostle where he sat with the scallop shell embossed on the back of his metal cape. Our visit finished with a visit to the crypt to pay our respects to the silver casket containing the remains of St. James. It was very quiet now.
There is no evidence to support whether the myths and legends surrounding St. James are true. Does it matter? He has been a catalyst for something much wider and deeper. In the year 2000 over 50,000 people walked the Camino. By 2013 over 200,000 travelled the route. We saw Asians; Orientals; Antipodeans and Europeans of every description. I wonder if St. James was the failure he believed himself to be? I don't think so!
Possible Points of Interest:-
2000 Years of the Camino - The Confraternity of St. James (internet)
"The Way" - Film with Martin Sheen
Botafumeiro Santiago Cathedral - UTube
La Faba Pilgrim's Prayer (internet)
Song - Santa Maria del Camino (internet)
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