Santiago De Compostella: II

The morning was spent in a slow rush of getting up, locking my stuff away in a long term storage locker downstairs in the basement/kitchen/canteen area of the Menor and making my way into town.

I was a bit bummed by the discovery that my trusty walking stick had been pilfered away, probably by someone on their way to Finisterra, but I didn't feel too emotional about it.

Odd how the brief period of time actually allows us to build a sentimentality and ownership of our every day items. It had been an impromptu piece of wood that had broken off the tree and I further shortened to a quarter staff height.

On the end was a piece of moss that I think had it the knowledge of where it's haphazard reclamation of the wood for the forest would lead it, would have found a more sturdier and less mobile place to plant itself. I watered it every day, and giggled at the notion that Kate was a puerile but almost befitting name for it, so that's what I called it.

It had been with me, and to those who do not understand the use of a good walking stick let me elucidate them here. It's useful for support down steep inclines, as a motor for hard inclines, for balancing when walking through quagmires, fighting off wild life and locals alike if needed, somewhere to rest while standing, and a myriad of other small uses that I found myself doing at some point during the trip.

And all this from a humble branch of an ash tree.

So you can understand why it pained me, it wasn't pretty, or polished, a 'proper' staff, or any of that kind, but it was mine and it was useful, and for that I felt the tinge of loss that surprised me. I hadn't felt it when I thought that my video camera had shifted off the mortal coil, or other items on my person had been misplaced or lost during the journey.

With Kirstie, Ingrid, and Jackie back on their way to Germany and the amusements of the tourist district of Santiago a bit behind me, I was wondering what might be done to fill the day. Marina had arranged to meet at Jackie's recommended cafe, and it was odd. Early in the morning on a Sunday and not a hint of anyone, except for three lone Spaniards standing with suitcases, hola'd as I walked past, and I politely replied.

You get so used to greeting people on the trail, that being in the city where it was anonymity or nonsensical to greet those who you met in passing still seemed almost foreign in its concept as adopting the greeting had been in the beginning.

As I winded through the uncommonly quiet streets, I started to take heart. There were people congregating in the square, and all of the local men were holding giant candles in the view of joining a procession. As I walked into the cafe, and took a rather uncomfortable seat in the back corner of the small cafe, and eyed the menu for breakfast but nothing seemed to be all that appealing. The waitress eyed me a little wearily, as if to politely ask when I was going to order when Marina arrived and won me a small reprieve, though with another brief examination of the menu didn't reveal anything more illuminating than the previous examination. So we just ordered coffee.

We'd seen the Cathedral, done most of the tourist shops in the area. She had to catch a train at 1pm, so we opted to have a look at the Cathedral museum.

It was a good choice, the inside had some very marvelous treasures. Stone works that had been parts of the original build, but had eroded, more information about the historical development of the Cathedral and the removal of St. James and subsequent discovery. Beautiful works of stone and wood carvings, and then through each room further treasures. Immense tapestries by Goya and other weavers depicting country life, and sporting scenes, and probably only ever meant for the eyes of the Bishop.

A library full of old Latin & Spanish tomes, church histories, current events of the 1600's, encyclopedias, and records, absolutely stunning especially for a bibliophile like myself.

The baroque interiors of this upper level of the church were also impressive, and much more tasteful in their gilding than the main altar downstairs, nice wooden floors, subtle rose hue patterns and of course the aforementioned tapestries, gave it a nice stately elegance, to off set some of the more interesting curios of the collection.

Then outside for a view of the outside. It was marvelous to see the square from this height of the cathedral.

After we'd seen the museum and the collective treasures and the internal vault which had relations of one of the great Alfonso's, though I couldn't tell you which one, it's their form of the English Edward. We retired to the park, which again provided a really great view of the city.

Then we had lunch, and continued on to the train station, where a very expressive pan handles, (at least a friendly one) managed to have an interesting story about Canada, and showed off his ability to scrounge cigarettes at will.

After Marina caught her train, I tried to decide what to do with myself, and the time that I had. I could get a bus to Finisterre tomorrow or on Tuesday, but needed something to keep myself busy with in-between, so I fulfilled it with wandering around the parts of the city I'd not explored or felt like I'd given a decent passing. It was nearer to the Seminario Menor that I noticed a bar which I instantly had to go in and have a look around.

A Momo themed bar. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, Momo was a less well known to American audiences children's book by the Swiss author Michael Ende who had penned the famous 'Never Ending Story.'

The book is a brilliant read and I highly recommend it, as the main theme centers on the use of ones time, and is a fantastically profound book, regardless of its target genre.

As I scoped my head round to see if there were any grey men around the corner smoking their little cigars, or any bored looking barbie dolls. But instead found a nice quiet, and quite substantial bar inside. I had pint of beer and sat outside in the garden which had a nice view of the Seminario, and planned out my evening.

What followed was a bit more wandering, my feet were healing up nicely at this point and I was no longer having to drain them every evening, so I'd crossed the worst of it so to speak in terms of getting back to normal.

Then dinner, using the kitchen that the hostel had, I cooked a simple pasta dish from groceries gleaned from the local grocery, did some creative writing, and then went to bed from there.

Special thanks to my patrons. Brendan Mills, Renee Rushbrook, Carlos Ara.