Category Archives: Spain

Spain, a pilgrimage of sorts

Posted on by
Reply

The last time we visited Spain, almost exactly two years ago, we chanced upon preparations and rehearsals for the joyous Alarde festival in Hondarribia. We must, I decided, return sometime for the event itself, and Dan kindly agreed.

Practicing for Alarde
Practicing for Alarde, 2017

But of course, it makes no sense to travel to Hondarribia for a day or two, then back to California. So we are now embarked on an entire two-week vacation partly involving wine-tasting in Bordeaux and partly an in-depth exploration of Basque country, which we passed through too quickly last time around.

Yesterday, we drove through the mountains at the heart of Basque country while traveling from Azpeitia to Tolosa. Surprisingly, the road crossed and re-crossed one of the main pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela (indicated on the map by the scallop shell, the sign of the pilgrim).

In Azpeitia
In Azpeitia
Basque countryside
Basque countryside near the pilgrimage route
In Tolosa
In Tolosa

Something moves me deeply about crossing the pilgrimage route. And so, I was reminded of our own pilgrimage to Santiago two years ago. We did not walk one of the established routes, except for the 3.5 kilometers at the end. No, we flew, drove, were driven, then drove again in order to get there. And then, at the end, we walked. And thought about what it meant to be a pilgrim. You can read that blog post here.

Today I am still thinking about being a pilgrim. The hero of my as-yet-unpublished award-winning novel Alien Son is named Mikel Pelerin. His surname, which means “pilgrim” in French, is not an accident. I chose it because he leaves Earth, the planet of his birth, to live on another planet, where he takes on a role critical to his new home’s survival. And is willing to risk his life for his beliefs.

Pilgrimage

Posted on by
Reply

Sitting in the Bar de Mon, about three kilometers from the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, Dan and I watch the passers-by. Mostly they are pilgrims, with their hiking sticks and ponchos pulled over their heads and backpacks for protection against the light rain. Even in this weather, they arrive in the city in a steady stream. By the time they get here–many from quite far away, and always by foot–the very existence of the city must seem a little miraculous.

The streets of the old city are attractive, even in the rain.

A little weather won’t deter the pilgrims.

The old city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Santiago has been a major European pilgrimage destination for about a thousand years. And the flow of pilgrims is increasing. In 2010–the last year for which I have seen a statistic–some 270,000 pilgrims came to the city.

Pilgimage routes lead to Santiago from all over Spain, and Europe beyond.

We saw these pilgrims in Logrono, Rioja, more than 600 km away. The scallop shell on their backs marks them as pilgrims.

On this drizzly day, the pilgrims pick their way carefully on the less-flooded paving stones. Every so often, there is a brass scallop shell—the symbol of the city–embedded in the sidewalk to mark the pilgrimage route and help them on their way.

We have seen a few places where the scallop shells along the pilgrimage path have been pried out of their mortar and stolen. “Those people,” I tell Dan mock-seriously, “will burn in Hell for eternity for taking those shells.” “No,” he replies, “they were already going to do that. The city should install shell-cameras. Then the city could come and arrest the thieves. They’ll spend three years in a Spanish jail.”

A worse punishment indeed!

But the truth is that those people who steal the shells are probably going to get away with it. They’ll pay a price, though, and it’s a steep one. They’ve traded the grace and enlightenment that others hope for, who follow this path, for a material souvenir.

In the cathedral plaza, at the spot where the five main pilgrimage routes come together, pilgrims raise their walking sticks jubilantly and cheer. They take each other’s pictures. Or they just stand and look around. They rest, weary and happy, and seem a little dazed by the miraculous fact of arrival.

In the background is the Hostal dos Reis Católicos, built in at the end of the 15th century as a hospital for pilgrims, and now a marvelous Spanish parador.

As for Dan and me, our journey has been decades in the desire to come here and months in the planning. But the walking part has been short. We are staying in the parador next to the cathedral, and we walked outbound as far as the Pilgrim’s Gate, maybe three and a half kilometers. Then we turned and joined the flow of pilgrims inbound to the cathedral, our spirits light and our hearts full of admiration for the walkers and the deep significance of this journey.