Kiwi on the Camino

by Vivianne Flintoff

  The mass is a mass of celebration with an opportunity to write prayer petitions which are placed in the petitions bowl by the candle in front of the altar. Some of us also offer our petitions aloud. I am particularly delighted to see that the cross draped with a white stole in front of the small chapel altar is fashioned from two tramping poles.

  The blessing at the end of the service is as follows:

  Santiago Pilgrims’ Blessing

  Father God we ask your blessing on these

  Pilgrims who have come to venerate

  The tomb of your Apostle Santiago.

  As you kept them safe on their Camino way,

  May you keep them safe on their journey home.

  And, inspired by their experience here, may they

  Live out the values of the Gospel as their

  Pilgrimage through life continues.

  We ask Saint James to intercede for us as we

  Ask this in the name of Jesus Christ,

  Your Son and our Redeemer.

  Amen.

  The intimacy of this service touches us both and helps to reconcile us with the cathedral.

  We decide to leave our visit to the relics and the statue of St James, as queues are again forming and we plan to return when there are fewer people around. I notice a few pilgrims with tears on their faces, but I do not experience joy, or relief, or any other emotion I thought I might experience on arriving at the cathedral. I did experience a slight welling up at the Mount of Joy. My response on the Mount did not surprise me as mountain heights are spiritual and emotional places for me. I think too, that with every activity which involves a great deal of planning, endurance and just sheer slog, as well as joy and the gaining of new knowledge, there can be the ‘so what’? after the ending. The realisation of the end and the subsequent thankfulness is experienced for such a brief time in comparison to the time and energy needed to accomplish the goal. The accomplishment is acknowledged and the pain of achieving the triumph begins to recede. Perhaps it will be in the telling and the re-telling of my Camino experience that the reality and the joy of the accomplishment will become truly visible to me.

  Once again, I think of all those we had met who for one reason or another had become ‘stuck’ and could not continue. Either Bruce or I could have become ‘stuck’ and I am grateful that this was the time for us to complete the Camino. We have done so with the support, encouragement and prayer of many people.

  Bruce sleeps and I eat chocolate. With this quiet space comes the realisation that I have completed a journey, that thousands upon thousands have completed before me and the realisation is profound. I have stepped out of what was my normal and usual life. I have journeyed with just two sets of clothing plus wet weather gear, shared toiletries (not tooth brushes) with Bruce and have obtained water, food and shelter as needed. At times, I have felt homeless. I have missed sheets and a full-sized bath towel, the luxury of a slow cup of tea and sitting in my garden. I have missed music and the wider companionship of family, friends and work colleagues. I have watched grandmothers with their grandchildren and deeply missed our grandchildren. On the other hand, I have gained riches beyond counting and I realise it will be over time that the degree of enrichment will become apparent.

  We have in some small ways touched other people’s lives. I was surprised and pleased earlier today when a young Italian woman came up to me and embraced me. She was so pleased to see us both. We had passed her a few times on the Camino – she walked the one hundred kilometres from Sarria – and our encounters have obviously touched her. I now have her email address and phone number, for we talked briefly with her about our growing hope of walking the Camino of St Francis of Assisi, through Umbria and Tuscany.

  Tomorrow, we will begin to complete this pilgrimage of ours as we head to Finisterre on the Costa da Morte. It is the place which amazed the Roman conquerors when they saw the sun disappearing into the immense ocean, for they had never seen such a phenomenon. We are walking to the beach, where it is assumed that St James preached. Early Christians sought to proselytise in places which were already of spiritual significance to the local people. At Finisterre, there was a Phoenician altar to the sun where both Celts and Romans worshipped. Thus, long before Christianity, pilgrims were walking beneath the Milky Way to watch the sun set at the ends of the earth and to pay homage to the gods, to assure themselves of a rich afterlife. It is also thought that pre-Christian Celts believed that it was from this coast that spirits left this world to journey to the afterlife. So, we say, “Ultreia!” (still further), as we head out along the Jacobean Way of Fisterra-Muxia to Finisterre, or ‘Finis-Terrae’ which literally means, ‘Lands’ End’ or ‘The Ends of the Earth’.

  I look forward to this route which will take us over mountains and through woodlands to the sea; I look forward to the light. We expect to meet fewer pilgrims. Only about 10% of those walking to Santiago continue to Finisterre. However, the culture of Galicia is rich with its food, its Celtic music and traditions. We will have plenty of Presence to accompany us.

  Santiago to Negreira

  22.4 kms (14 ml)

  86.7 kms (54.4 ml) to Cape Finisterre

  That energy is God’s energy, an energy deep within you.

  Philippians 2:12 (The Message)

  May 3, Day 43

  TODAY’S WALK FEELS DIFFERENT NOW that Santiago is behind us. We know we will reach the coast. I feel relaxed and excited to be heading towards some of the ancient sacred sites of Galicia which can be found close to The Way. While relaxed, I am also alert as there will be fewer waymarks on this Camino. There will also be fewer pilgrims to help us should we need support. There will be fewer drinking fountains and albergues. We don’t expect to be finding too many public facilities along The Way either.

  From Santiago, the path leads us uphill, through eucalypt and pine forest. At a high point, I turn and excitedly call, “Look Bruce. See how far we have come already and look over there, the cathedral.” From here we have a view of the spires soaring towards heaven - the view that had not been visible from the Mount of Joy. We would have missed this view if we had not made the decision to walk on to Finisterre. In this moment, I am aware that my attitude toward the cathedral and my experience there has begun to soften. I have been embraced by the cathedral and when we return to Santiago, I determine to further my acquaintance with the eight-hundred-year-old building. I am letting go of my disappointment and anger which spawned in my weary and overwhelmed state. The tourists had just as much right to be at the Pilgrims’ Service as I did. “Do you think that this cathedral might become our favourite of the entire Camino?” He thinks it might.

  We walk under glorious sunshine with the knowledge that the weather forecast has predicted fine, sunny weather for the next few days. What a bonus for us in this province of Galicia known for its abundance of rain. The lushness of the vegetation is a testament to the high rainfall.

  Our walking paths consist of country roads and woodland paths, some of which would not have been out of place in New Zealand. For the first time, we must watch out for tree roots and stones on non-bulldozed tracks. Under gum trees, we need to be careful that the strips of gum that litter the ground do not cause us to slip or trip. These paths are fun.

  The villages and towns we pass through are different from those we viewed before Santiago. These houses are all stand-alone homes with flower and vegetable gardens. Spring is progressing. The vegetable gardens are well planted with potatoes, beans, broccoli, peas, and tomatoes. Flowers are also flourishing. The tulips are nearly finished, but the roses, fuchsias, azaleas, deep purple irises, and camellias are all brilliant and beautiful. There are deep purple irises growing in the wild as well. These wild purple irises contrast with the canary yellow irises we see growing in the drains and water ways. Aquilegias abound in the wild and in private gardens: all are looking utterly delightful in this unexpectedly s
unny corner of Galicia.

  One of the towns we pass through reminds us of the country north of Melbourne, Australia, with its large stand of gums and its style of family homes. Here the houses have large sections with gardens and tall trees with a backdrop of eucalypts. What would Paul Theroux have to say about my comparing the unfamiliar with familiar places?

  I buy a rubber band bracelet. A young girl is standing at her gate with the bracelets she has made. The bracelet costs me one euro. This purchase is less a health risk than the crêpes we had bought coming down from O’Cebreiro.

  Our lunch stop is at the riverside restaurant/café adjacent to the medieval Ponte Maceira bridge. The restaurant is, of course, constructed from the local stone as is the splendid bridge which spans 100 metres across the Río Tambre. The eatery is well situated beside the river and bridge. We eat in the small café courtyard which suits us well in our pilgrims’ garb. It is restful seated in the shade, surrounded by attractive gardens, with the river and bridge close by.

  The bridge is significant in local lore. Israel has its story of the crossing of the Red Sea with God smiting the waters to allow the Hebrews, but not the Egyptians, to pass through on dry land. Galicia has the Ponte Maceira. Legend has it that God smote and destroyed the bridge, to prevent Roman Soldiers based at Dugium (or Duio in Fisterra), from pursuing the disciples of St James, as they attempted to find a suitable resting place for his severed body. With the bridge destroyed and St James’ body buried (to be (re)discovered some seven hundred years later) the Cathedral of Santiago as a site of pilgrimage was assured. The Concello de Negreira (the local council) has the story graphically represented on its Coat of Arms. In the centre is the bridge, with a gold cross on one side and a sword wielding Roman soldier on the other. Above these is a gold star and a gold crown over all.

  We cross the bridge, now thankfully restored since its service in the saving of St James’ remains, to the delightful hamlet of Maceira. It is reputed to be one of the best-preserved villages in Galicia. The houses lining the river bank have a fine view of both bridge and weir. Some have armorial shields. On this golden day, the orange tiled roofs and creamy-grey stone houses are framed between the white and green turbulence of the river and the green of the surrounding trees and hills.

  Our walk is solitary for most of the way, giving ample opportunity for self-reflection. I think about one of my motivations for walking the Camino - my upcoming sixtieth birthday. What am I to do with the rest of my life? The question about my future seems more urgent for me in my sixtieth year. Should I continue with the work I have been passionate about for a long time? Or is it time for a new direction? I remember returning to the monastery albergue in Roncesvalles after attending our first pilgrims’ mass and reading Psalm 92:14.

  (Growing in grace) they shall still bring forth fruit in old age;

  they shall be full of sap (spiritual vitality)

  and (rich in the) verdure (of trust, love, and contentment)

  Ps 92:14 (Amplified Bible)

  On this day, with our backs now to Santiago, I realise I have faced another fear - that of turning sixty. Buen Camino. Some months back, my general practitioner had dared to tell me to expect some pain in my body, when I complained about possible arthritis in my right hand. He then compounded his felony with, “After all, you are nearly sixty.” My response startled us both. He and I both watched my right arm and hand, of their own volition, try to slap him across the cheek for his effrontery. My primal brain had responded before my rational self, had begun to think. Luckily, he pulled back and my hand ended up waving. If I am to now assert a claim for nonviolence, I am on unsteady ground.

  Loose the cords of mistakes binding us

  The albergue is very basic. It has just one gas hotplate and Bruce doesn’t trust it will be hot enough to heat our meal. This was to have been a ‘home cooked meal’ night. We each had two Magnum ice-creams for afternoon tea, but Bruce is obviously very hungry and tired, so we decide to eat out. We hope that if we start searching for food at 7 p.m. there just might be something available. The first restaurant we pass has chairs and tables set up outside on the pavement, but is closed. We try a bar, but they don’t serve food and the next bar is too noisy. In another restaurant, the chef will not arrive until 9 p.m.

  We find a third bar, not too noisy, despite a large television screen with the faithful gathered to watch a soccer game. We order a sandwich. It is delicious. We then have the biggest ice cream dessert we have ever eaten. It is also the first ‘real’ ice cream we have come across in Spain. Both of us have had enough to eat. We will not be kept awake by growling stomachs.

  Our albergue has one big bunkroom with about thirty bunk beds. There are large windows overlooking the slope down to a small river. I open the windows slightly as I sleep better if there is fresh air. Peter told Bruce that if there is fresh air, people are less likely to snore. We had tested this theory several times and it certainly seemed that if either of us opened a window when someone was snoring, the snoring abated. I have also learned that French and German pilgrims do not like sleeping with the windows open. Our attempts to reduce the snoring reverberations are foiled. Whenever I rise to open a window, another pilgrim rises to close it. “It is safer,” I am told. There is a lot of snoring during the night and little sleep for me. Bruce sleeps through everything.

  Negreira to Santa Marína

  20 kms (12.4 ml)

  68.7 kms (42.7 ml) to Cape Finisterre, Costa da Morte

  The fundamental fact of existence

  is that this trust in God,

  this faith, is the firm foundation

  under everything that makes life worth living.

  It’s our handle on what we can’t see.

  Hebrews 1:1 (The Message)

  May 4, Day 44

  TODAY IS THE DAY I lose Bruce. Or rather he loses himself. We left our very basic albergue about 8 a.m. and found a telebanco. I had not considered the time differences between Spain and New Zealand and find the card I have been using for our Camino funds, has not yet received the expected transferred money. I feel a sense of panic. There will be no more telebanco probably until our return to Santiago in five days’ time. There are no other pilgrims around to bail me out this time. I have been doing so much better with my planning for the cash-only situation in which we find ourselves on the Camino. “Trust, don’t panic. The other card. Try that one,” runs a still, small, internal voice. Hurrah. It works. We have money.

  We come to the gut-wrenching bronze sculpture of a father leaving his family, a wife and two young children, to search for paid employment. Every line of the sculpture exudes pain and despair, and on the part of the father, determination to do what he does not want to do, but must. The mother and baby daughter have their backs to a wall of concrete that separates them from the departing husband and father. The mother is watching her son, as he reaches through the barrier and is clutching his father’s trouser leg. The mother is resigned to the cruelty of fate. The son, too young to understand tries to keep his father from leaving. The father steadfastly looks ahead. He cannot risk one last look. Above the family, in a cut out portion of the wall, there is a globe. The father will go as far away from his family as he must to procure employment. As I begin to understand the story of the art work, I am deeply ashamed of my earlier snap criticism of the plantations of eucalypts. The eucalypts, and paper produced from the trees, are an attempt to provide employment in a province desperately short of paid work. It is too easy to come into a country, knowing nothing about the region and to make glib, impulsive, ill-informed judgments.

  Loose the cords of mistakes binding us,

  I am quietly sober as we walk away from the despairing and resigned family. From now on I hope to think more deeply and carefully before making assumptions.

  I walk ahead of Bruce as he is having an agreeable chat with a pilgrim who has caught up to us. She is an ex sc
hool teacher from Ireland and is walking to reflect on her life after the death of her husband. She and Bruce are happy in their comparisons of education and politics. Bruce enjoys walking and talking about the state of New Zealand and other countries. I, on the other hand, prefer to walk in silence with my thoughts for company and so can make a boring walking companion. Bruce and my conversations have sometimes consisted of, “Nice path.” Silence. “Yeah.” Two kilometres later, “Lots of flowers around here.” Silence. “Yes.” Shorter silence. “I had noticed.” Not exactly stimulating company for someone who enjoys solving the world’s problems. He therefore drops behind with his new acquaintance and I walk ahead. When they catch up with me, I am seated on the ground underneath a shady tree, with pack off, notepad and pen in hand. I wave them on. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you soon.” Bruce replies, “I’ll stop and wait when I get lost.” That should have caught my attention, but I am focused on my thoughts and not alert to the external world.

  About five minutes later I set off to catch up with them. I expect to see them within the next thirty to forty minutes. About an hour and a half later and six kilometres on, I spot a fork in the track. When looking at the guidebook the night before, we had briefly considered branching off here for coffee. Heading to the bar off route was too far out of our way we decided. Bruce and I agreed to skip that potential coffee stop. At the fork, there are some packs on the ground, but Bruce’s is not among them. Surely, he wouldn’t have taken the fork for a coffee? If he wanted to stop he would have waited for me. I am now very concerned and walk on.