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Santiago de Compostela, Spain and Canary Islands

I am not taking any chances of missing this boat to Padron, so at 11h00 (for the 13h30 departure) I take up a window seat in the pub across from the harbour. The barman told me that the boat will depart from right across the way. Of course, silly me ran to the huge catamaran thinking that it should be this fabulous boat that would take us up the river. Lo and behold – the crew laughed at me and said no, it is not this one!

So with my first beer I got two pieces of warm fritatta. With the second one, a little mysterious bowl of something with spaghetti. From my cheffing days, I have always been slightly weary when it contains curry or spaghetti. Anyway, we have a saying in our family “honger het nie houdings nie” (when you are hungry you are not picky). Just after twelve, two other pilgrims stumble in with huge backpacks. They come straight to my table and tells me that the captain of the boat has just been to the youth hostel looking for me! For me? What/how does he know about me? And in this instant a friendship develops – Ina and Mauritz from Germany. They get a table, order beers and I am astounded to hear that they had just run the 25 km from Armateira, because they were scared of missing the boat! As they walked into Vilanova, a car stopped and asked them if they were planning on taking boat. Confirming this, the driver of the car told them that it is his boat, and that he is looking for the South African (!) and then he will depart. So – quick messages via the barman, and the next thing the captain comes into the bar, saying we have to leave NOW!

Ina and Mauritz had just ordered food (starving after their marathon that I have no idea how they did it). The skipper showed no mercy – come, or stay! As we left the bar, it started raining. Hard. There was another Spanish couple on the boat with us – who I then found out had stayed in the Morse code convent! Yes, there was place to stay after all (they tell me) and the nun told them I was just too difficult to understand, so she told me they had no place. That REALLY ****** me off! Lying bloody nun! Anyway, before I could properly sit down, the little motorboat took off at the speed of a racing boat. And within seconds, the weather changed dramatically! It was now a torrential storm, with this little boat breaking the waves in the open sea. Just as well I had quickly changed into my rain gear, because not only did it rain like crazy, but the waves were crashing into the boat, we were soaked within seconds. Somehow, Ina, Mauritz and I thought this was the funniest thing ever. At one point, I opened my umbrella because we were getting so wet, which of course was right in the line of sight of the skipper, which had the three of us totally wetting ourselves. (Pun intended). This trip was an hour long!

By the time we came to Padron, it felt as if I was actually dragged behind the boat rather than sitting in it. Mauritz was incredibly funny, a real Monty Python character, making me laugh like a three year old child. Arriving in Padron, we were so wet and cold that we could hardly walk. Thankfully there was a pub within two minutes walk, and we descended on it like vultures. Red wine and schnapps thawed us, and we decided to walk to the hotel that Ina had booked. Of course, at this point we have had too much wine, and were really just totally silly. Until we realised that we had no idea where we were going, got a cab and was driven to the hotel. WHAT a find – the most beautiful little country hotel, warm, cosy rooms and a wonderful big fire! The others at the inn looked at as with utter amazement – partly because we were so wet and partly because we could not stop laughing! We had a shower, and then settled next to the fire with some more wonderful red wine and really great food that the owner brought for us. And the rest is history.

I woke up at the usual time, and it was pouring with rain! At 08h30 we settled into a breakfast fit for a king. Nespresso and all. I set off at 10h00 on the dot, Ina and Mauritz were to meet me in Santiago. The day started with a rainbow on the horizon – and that was about the last piece of beauty. The road was long and boring, too much tar road, cars whizzing past and nothing to feast the eye. After about seven kilometers, Ina and Mauritz caught up with me. I was really in two minds about having company, as I felt that I should walk alone the last day, as I had done for the past 30 or more days. And yet, I was happy to be with them. The road was tedious to say the least, and they are really great company, making me laugh all the time! So we walked together, and stopped for a bocadilla along the way (those huge sandwiches). It was so good to just spend the last hours with nice people. And then we were in Santiago.

I had no expectation of what it would be like to walk into Santiago, was not expecting a red carpet or church bells ringing. In spite of that, it could not have been a bigger anti climax. The cathedral is covered in scaffolding, it was pouring with rain, and there we stood in the middle of the square – the only three pilgrims in sight! We took some pictures, and went into the cathedral – only to be chased out by one of the officials. No backpacks allowed. Now please excuse my language – but WHAT THE ****! We have just walked more than 600 kilometers with these backpacks to get to the cathedral in Santiago, and now you are not allowed in with your backpack. And there is nowhere to leave it. I turned around gently and walked out – thinking to myself “just be the Dalai Lama, for once”. We duly walked away from the square, and Mauritz took us to a wonderful old colonial bar, magnificent wood panelling and art nouveau stained glass doors and windows, attractive waiters and glorious classical music playing. We ordered gin and tonic, and suddenly it all made sense. It is done.

We decided that we will go back after checking into our hotels, and do the evening mass. So a rush across town in the most torrential rain, quick shower and back again to be in time for the mass. I realised again – this is not the reason why I did this walk. It was not about St James or a shell or a pilgrimage, it was something so deeply personal that I do not need to participate in (what was for me) empty rituals. I had my rituals all along the journey, my mass was in the forest, my singing the birds and fellow travelers the cats and dogs and horses and goats. My church the trees. For once, it was not about the destination. It was truly about the journey, every step of every day. And it was good.

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