Although Santiago was never my end point, as I neared Santiago I started to think about what might await me at my destination, that something might await me at my destination. Millions of pilgrims had traveled for 100’s of miles for 100’s of years to Santiago, there must be something spectacular at the end that people continue to make the journey. I knew inherently, that anything I expected to happen would not happen. Traveling to new places taught me that very quickly, things would never turn out as I expected them to. Sometimes for the good, sometimes for the bad. Regardless that didn’t stop me from thinking about what might happen when I got there. While many Pilgrims that I talked to who had already made the journey once said that it was often a let down (if I had actually bothered to finish watching the movie “The Way” I would know that), still there was the odd story of pilgrims who upon arrival burst into uncontrollable tears, experienced bliss beyond their wildest dreams, or had a spiritual awakening. I thought since I had done all this spiritual work in Peru and India beforehand, I would be a shoe-in if any pilgrim was to be chosen to have a strong experience upon viewing the Cathedral. I was very wrong.

My arrival into Santiago was about as anticlimactic as it could be. The last 20 km started on enjoyable natural pathways, but as with all urban centers on the Camino, the path quickly turned to asphalt and trudging along the shoulders of busy roadways. There was very much an upside though, the path into Santiago was on an enjoyable gentle down-slope, with one final uphill push as you neared the cathedral. The day was grey and dreary, and as was within a few km of my final destination for the day, it started to rain! I can’r remember if it was just plain hardheadedness or for some unknown spiritual reason, but instead of stopping to take my raincoat out my bag I plodded on unimpeded, rain slowly soaking through my cotton sweatshirt. Needless to day, I arrived at the cathedral cold and sopping wet. To add even more to the anticlimacticism, upon my arrival at the cathedral I was quickly turned away at the door, no one was allowed inside with a bag. Maybe a way to avert terrorism or theft, but I think it had more to do with getting pilgrims to go to their hostel and and showered before showing up. As a pilgrim we had all grown accustomed to the musty smell of sweat and body odor that took on not only us but our bags as well, deodorant long ago used up or abandoned in hopes of reducing weight, and though we no longer recognized it, the smell was often found offensive by the general public.

 It would turn out that the most climatic event of my arrival into Santiago would be my accommodation for the three nights I would be there. Tipped off by a fellow pilgrim along the way I had called and booked a room at the San Marinto, a beautiful monastery converted into a hotel adjacent to the Cathedral. With regular rooms ran upwards of 100 Euro, I learned one could book a special “pilgrim room” which for 30 euro included a buffet breakfast, a private room, and one’s own shower! Though the room was small and basic compared to the ones I had seen on the website, it did little to ebb the ecstatic feeling of finally being in a private room! It was the first time I had been in a private room since India, and the first thing I did was there my bag on the chair, stripped down and just lied in bed. Seeing the Cathedral could wait, as for someone who regularly sleeps sans pyjamas, being able to strip down after weeks of sleeping in the confinement of clothes was nearly enough to bring me to the tears of happiness that pilgrims of legend had upon entering the cathedral.

The next day after gorging on the buffet breakfast and obtaining my pilgrim credential (I would somehow be blessed with only three people ahead of me in line at 9Am, other days at this time the line would extend out the building and require a wait of hours) I saw a sign in English for a meeting called “Camino Companions,” a time to reflect with other pilgrims about the journey. Eager to discuss with others their thoughts upon completion of the pilgrimage (and the sign promised free tea and cookies!) , I attended the meeting that afternoon. Run by a order of Irish nuns, we were given a few questions about our pilgrimage to reflect on and then discuss as a group including why we had walked the Camino, what was the most difficult part, and what was a significant moment. It had been easy in the excitement of reaching Santiago, and the subsequent disappointment upon arrival to forget everything I had learned in the four weeks it took me to reach there. Sitting down and reflecting with the Camino Companions and fellow pilgrims reminded me how much I had learned along the trail.

In the four short weeks it had taken me to reach Santiago from Lisbon, I had increased my present moment awareness tenfold, more so than mediation in India and ayahuasca in Peru had. I had begun to observe how what I surround myself with affects my thoughts, and how my thoughts affect me physically, while also making lifelong friends along the way! I realized that the actual city and Cathedral of Santiago had very little to do ones spiritual grown on the Camino. Other than providing a direction to walk, a place to stop (or one might cont me walking forever), and the opportunity to receive a piece of paper stating how far one walked to show their friends, reaching Santiago was not the point of the Camino. Though the remains of Saint James could be viewed there, kneeling down before them did not bring one any closer to him even if they had walked 10, 500, or 2000 km to get there. Saint James was present during every step on the Camino, if one took the time to look.

I still couldn’t shake the idea that something miraculous should happen in Santiago, and on my final day I found myself wandering around the city aimlessly, trying to let my feet guide me to something I might have missed. I wandered in and out of the many old churches throughout the city, appreciating the 500+ year old architecture at a level only someone who grew up in an area where the oldest building was only around 100 years old could. As I strolled through an open garden I found myself looking to the hills of Galicia on the horizon, and in my heart grew that familiar feeling, the itch to be back on the trail. I didn’t know what I was looking to find or where I would find it, but I knew it would not be found within the stone walls of Santiago. The Camino beckoned me onward, I still had almost 800 km before I would cross the Pyrenees and reach my end point at St Jean Pied de Port in France. Though it’s not the destination but the journey that would be the truly exciting part.

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