Still Walkin´

I don´t know how closely American news sources report European weather, but last night Hurricane Gordon came ashore at A Coruña, about 38 miles northwest of me. It packed winds in excess of 100 mph and did considerable damage to the harbor along with injuring more than 60 people. Additionally, it spawned several tornadoes. One touched down about two miles north of me, and another knocked out the water and electrical services in Ribadiso--my destination for today. The prediction this morning was heavy rains for the next three days. The only hint that I had of anything were the heavy winds battering my windows last night; I had opted for a "Pension," an inexpensive tourist hotel, in order to get a night´s rest away from the sometimes hectic albergue. At about 7:45am and in a driving rain, I rounded the corner from my pension to pick up the Camino, and I was suddenly confronted by a crowd of more than 70 people spilling out of a hotel lobby at the local bus stop. A German couple I had seen several times told me about the night´s tumult and the day´s dismal predictions. Apparently, most of the pilgrims had decided to ride directly to Santiago that day. They encouraged me to do the same since the bus was due at 8:20. Well, I grabbed a cup of coffee in the hotel lobby and waited. When the bus arrived, there was a crush of people that I just couldn´t be a part of. There were only 40 avaliable seats, but the driver promised that another bus was being sent and would arrive in about one and a half hours. That was my cue to hit the trail. I did, after all, come to walk, and to be honest, there´s a little too much of my dad in me sometimes. He´s what American Indians would call a "contrary"--if everyone else says "Yes," his answer will inevitably be "No."

And what a wonderful day. Since Sarria, the trail had become crowded; Sarria is the final town in which a pilgrim can be certified as such and qualify for a certificate (suitable for framing) of pilgrimhood on arrival in Santiago. Busloads of people join the trip--and I mean that literally. A tour bus forwarding your luggage from hotel to hotel allows pilgrims to walk burden-free. The bus even meets groups and supplies lunch. If a pilgrim gets tired, the guide calls the bus and arranges for a pick-up when the trail crosses the road. The towns themselves reflect the comercial nature of the Camino the closer we get to our destnation. There are shops on every town square that sell momentos and trinkets. I saw a plastic, cross-eyed statue of St. James pointing in both directions--very amusing. Although I shouldn´t have been too surprized; as evidenced in the many available, historic narratives, commercialism has been a part of the pilgrimage since the practice began. Just have a look at Chaucer--why do you think that the Merchant and the Pardoner are along? For the indulgence?

Did I say it was a wonderful day? All the fair-weather pilgrims, all the bus-riders, all the kids just out for a hike were gone. I walked almost alone, recalling those days outside of Castrojeriz when I couldn´t see another person for a km in either direction. I stopped at the Church of Santa Maria in Melide--it was locked. After a half-hour search led by a local woman, a neighbor who had a key was found and I was treated to a private viewing of the detailed, 14th-century paintings within. Have I mentioned that I love Galicia? I walked through forests of oak, pine, and eucalyptus trees--some of the latter rising more than 100 feet high. In the little town of Boente, the parrish priest of the Chuch of St. Rocamador was standing outside under his umbrella, waving me over. When I came inside, I found that he´d already grabbed three others. He wanted to offer a special blessing to the pilgrims who had continued their trip in the weather. He spoke from a little notebook, calling for safe travels in French, German, and English--the languages of we four. Then, the German pilgrim asked if he could sing a song. For the first time, I really looked at him through my rain-dimmed glasses, and noticed that it was Jon--the Lutheran choir director who sang at Portomarin. I didn´t recognize the tune, but sometimes, the force of a moment is carried more in the emotion than in the understanding. It was a wonderful day.

Tonight, I´m clean, warm, and safe in Arzua, the town past poor Ribadiso. The albergue was full to overflowing with pilgrims who bused ahead. I was sent to a Pension that charged me 30 Euros for a single room--even though the sign behind the desk indicated the charge for a single was 22. And they demanded cash--no credit cards. But it was okay--nothing could dampen my sprits after such a day. ¡Buen Camino!