Remaining another day in Santiago.
June 10 - Day 2 at the Seminary
This is the first time I’ve stayed any place two nights. The night before I closed the shutters on the window. It’s completely dark for a change. I slept fairly well – from 10 to 5:30 – even without Ambien. I’m probably exhausted, I wore all my clothes and socks to bed and still I’m cold even having snagged two blankets from a community pile. I learn this weather is typical in this region of Galicia. I realize I’m a fair-weather person when exposed to the outdoors. I don’t like to be too hot. And I really hate to be cold. My internal thermostat has a narrow window.
The walls must be paper-thin. In the early morning I hear people in other rooms snoring. Probably a man. Doors banging. Is this a custom? Can’t people close a door gently? Or does this have to do with construction? I also hear people shuffling back and forth. Blowing noses. These close quarters are not for me. Once again I am thankful for the quietness of my home life.
Now I worry about the side effects of Ambien and haven taken it every night while the Camino. I’ve been feeling down many days when I think I should feel elated. Many times I’ve felt on the verge of nervous exhaustion. I question the side effects of the sleeping pill. I don’t take it again after returning home having read the side effects on the internet.
On the way to the shower down the hall I check my laundry. Windows are open and the night air was so damp that my clothes on the lines are dripping and even wetter than before. I give them another squeeze.
I head back into the city and surprisingly I stumble upon a delightful farmers market. I purchase an orange and bread for my breakfast. I window shop. The rain begins and I duck into a shop. I price @ 12 rosaries to give as gifts. I left empty handed. The selections at other stores were not as good. Later, I checked out prices at the Cathedral gift shop and their prices were double - tourist high price, but nice quality. I don't buy anything. I find the Compostela protective mailing tube takes up any available space I thought I might have and haven't an inch of room to space.
I see a lovely restaurant on a narrow side street adjacent the cathedral. Compared to the other clientele I am underdressed and these are the only clothes I have. I'm also the only pilgrim. The restaurant offered free Wi-Fi so I entered and was courteously seated. While waiting to be served I sent and received messages from Randy about the price of hotels in Fatima. It was my understanding he would possibly book one for me. I emailed that I would be back in touch with him that evening.
The Galician soup was a bargain and it was my meal of the day. Besides, I could use the bathroom and found hot water, soap and paper towels for a change. I also found newspaper here and tucked these into my carryall bag, since I was happy I couldn't safely park my backpack in my room for the day. We haven't been separated the entire journey. I’ve lost track of time. By time I left the restaurant and found my way back to the cathedral the mass was just getting out. I missed the chance to hear how many pilgrims were in attendance from Los Estados Unidos. The United States. Although I have difficultly understanding numbers in Spanish past 15.
The Crypt of St James
Later I enter the cathedral and pay for earphones with the self-guided tour, but not able to find everything on the brochure. Is it poorly written, or am I not good about reading directions? I go around twice and still I don’t see all that I’m looking for. I find my way down into the crypt and enter twice. The second time I kneel before the silver casket believed to hold the remains of St. James. Someone mentions the casket is very small. I suggest it’s for James’ headless remains.
There is another long line to climb the narrow steps up behind the altar. I lay my hands on the shoulders of the statue of St. James and attempt to leave my troubles behind.
By time I return the narration earphone, and collect my passport left as security from the cathedral vendor, there's another downpour ... again. I huddle in the short, covered tunnel leading in and out of the cathedral plaza. More bagpipe music, like that which greeted me yesterday. I can’t stay here forever and make a run for it to the next covered area. Some smart tourists held umbrellas, but we pilgrims with backpacks and facing high winds found them not useful on the road.
Zig-zagging the streets I find my way back to the seminary after not as many wrong turns this time. It’s still damp and drizzling. I check my laundry hanging in the hall which is now wetter than ever. I wring each piece out again.
I found my way down to the dungeon-basement again. Here a large group of Koreans had taken over the kitchen to celebrate their finish by preparing a feast. It’s a glorious spread of color, texture, and aromas.
Later that afternoon
Tonight I plan to settle in again. I make more packaged Knorr soup and this time add a few tomatoes that I bought from the farmers market. Marcy comes into the kitchen and says she is staying the night here, as the other albergue was not what it was cracked up to be. I invited her to share my late lunch and then she invited me to join her and a few friends for the “mysterious free meal that is only offered to ten pilgrims per night. But we have to be there by 6.”
We were off in plenty of time. On the way down the steps she meets two young men friends from Lisbon, Portugal. “Come with us for the free meal,” Marcy begged the fellows.
“We have to get cleaned up first.”
We wait 20 minutes. We turn our backs for a minute while Marcy asks the hospitalario a question.
Still no young men. “We have to leave without them. Otherwise it will be too late.”
Marcy seems to know where to go. It’s in an alley in some offbeat street. A line has started already. I get in line while Marcy stands watch at the end of the street for the two stragglers.
A thin, young, female German pilgrim barks gruffly. “It’s full. There’s no room for you.”
It was my misunderstanding that a meal would be provided for free for all pilgrims who showed up. Otherwise, I would have stayed behind to wait for the fellows and let Marcy get in line. Marcy’s information was correct. The German woman was right. It was only for the first 10. Alas, we will never know the secret ritual of those select few pilgrims who were ceremoniously offered a free meal.
The two Portuguese show up at the designated place. Marcy only scolds them a bit. They said they were only in their room for 10 minutes. Marcy figures they slipped by as we had our backs turned while she tried to charm and chat up the sour hospitalario to make sure of the seminary lockdown time. "Doors would not be re-opened for anyone after midnight. Those are the rules."
Having been shut out of the free meal, Marcy, who is a bit of a take-charge person, says, “Follow me. I know of a place that’s just around the corner.” Not quite.
The restaurant is another 15 minutes away. We stand at the entry. Marcy chats up the proprietor. She likes doing that sort of thing. There are now five of us. Marcy picks up a young man from Brazil whom she and the two Portuguese walked with several days ago. The billboard outside says Paella 12 euros. Not bragging, but I’ve yet to have paella as good as what I make. Our order is taken while we are still standing.
Zig-zagging the streets I find my way back to the seminary after not as many wrong turns this time. It’s still damp and drizzling. I check my laundry hanging in the hall which is now wetter than ever. I wring each piece out again.
I found my way down to the dungeon-basement again. Here a large group of Koreans had taken over the kitchen to celebrate their finish by preparing a feast. It’s a glorious spread of color, texture, and aromas.
Later that afternoon
Tonight I plan to settle in again. I make more packaged Knorr soup and this time add a few tomatoes that I bought from the farmers market. Marcy comes into the kitchen and says she is staying the night here, as the other albergue was not what it was cracked up to be. I invited her to share my late lunch and then she invited me to join her and a few friends for the “mysterious free meal that is only offered to ten pilgrims per night. But we have to be there by 6.”
We were off in plenty of time. On the way down the steps she meets two young men friends from Lisbon, Portugal. “Come with us for the free meal,” Marcy begged the fellows.
“We have to get cleaned up first.”
We wait 20 minutes. We turn our backs for a minute while Marcy asks the hospitalario a question.
Still no young men. “We have to leave without them. Otherwise it will be too late.”
Marcy seems to know where to go. It’s in an alley in some offbeat street. A line has started already. I get in line while Marcy stands watch at the end of the street for the two stragglers.
A thin, young, female German pilgrim barks gruffly. “It’s full. There’s no room for you.”
It was my misunderstanding that a meal would be provided for free for all pilgrims who showed up. Otherwise, I would have stayed behind to wait for the fellows and let Marcy get in line. Marcy’s information was correct. The German woman was right. It was only for the first 10. Alas, we will never know the secret ritual of those select few pilgrims who were ceremoniously offered a free meal.
The two Portuguese show up at the designated place. Marcy only scolds them a bit. They said they were only in their room for 10 minutes. Marcy figures they slipped by as we had our backs turned while she tried to charm and chat up the sour hospitalario to make sure of the seminary lockdown time. "Doors would not be re-opened for anyone after midnight. Those are the rules."
Having been shut out of the free meal, Marcy, who is a bit of a take-charge person, says, “Follow me. I know of a place that’s just around the corner.” Not quite.
The restaurant is another 15 minutes away. We stand at the entry. Marcy chats up the proprietor. She likes doing that sort of thing. There are now five of us. Marcy picks up a young man from Brazil whom she and the two Portuguese walked with several days ago. The billboard outside says Paella 12 euros. Not bragging, but I’ve yet to have paella as good as what I make. Our order is taken while we are still standing.
Then we are seated upstairs. Marcy takes charge again and orders two bottles of wine. White and red. And one entire vegetarian platter for one of Portuguese and two seafood paellas for the other four. That’s enough food for fourteen. Turns out the fifth from Brazil was depressed and not eating. He said tomorrow he would rise early and walk to either Finisterre or Muxia.
I told the depressed young man I have a priest-brother living in Goiania, Brazil. He said he has relatives there, but doesn’t see them. I got the drift he is estranged from his parents and/or siblings. “Fellow pilgrims have been my family,” he said.
The conversation focus changed to the two Portuguese men: one is a teacher and the other a physical therapist. This afternoon they both purchased their bus tickets back to Lisbon for tomorrow and said the tickets were close to being sold out. I feel certain I can get a single ticket to Fatima which is one of the stops before arriving in Lisbon. How many people could be going from Santiago to Fatima?
Marcy waxing philosophically is saying how overjoyed she is and how this is the perfect way to end the pilgrimage. She orders an after-dinner liquor, is getting intoxicated, and wants to linger and share warm fuzzies.
I look at my watch. I feel like Cinderella and the clock is ticking. Finally we get the bill. It’s 2 ½ times as much as planned. We go downstairs and prepare to leave. The Portuguese men pause to question the bill with the proprietor. We are refunded four euros each. Finally we are on the way in the dead of night. There are people still lingering at outdoor cafes – with their young children. Isn’t it bedtime?
Marcy’s pace slows. Clearly she wants to drag out the night. Finally the albergue/seminary is in sight. Marcy comes to a complete stop. I feel like making a mad dash for the front door. She continues to reminisce.
“It’s 11:55,” I say. Some people think I’m adventurous, but I didn’t want to be without a bed… one I’ve already paid top dollar for.
“Oh, he will hold it open for us.”
“I don’t want to take the chance,” I said remembering his sour face. I start walking. The others follow suit.
The hospitalario is standing with keys dangling in hand when we enter. I ask if the internet would be available tomorrow morning. “No. Not until 2 p.m. I missed my chance to check with Randy to see if he booked a room at Fatima.
I told the depressed young man I have a priest-brother living in Goiania, Brazil. He said he has relatives there, but doesn’t see them. I got the drift he is estranged from his parents and/or siblings. “Fellow pilgrims have been my family,” he said.
The conversation focus changed to the two Portuguese men: one is a teacher and the other a physical therapist. This afternoon they both purchased their bus tickets back to Lisbon for tomorrow and said the tickets were close to being sold out. I feel certain I can get a single ticket to Fatima which is one of the stops before arriving in Lisbon. How many people could be going from Santiago to Fatima?
Marcy waxing philosophically is saying how overjoyed she is and how this is the perfect way to end the pilgrimage. She orders an after-dinner liquor, is getting intoxicated, and wants to linger and share warm fuzzies.
I look at my watch. I feel like Cinderella and the clock is ticking. Finally we get the bill. It’s 2 ½ times as much as planned. We go downstairs and prepare to leave. The Portuguese men pause to question the bill with the proprietor. We are refunded four euros each. Finally we are on the way in the dead of night. There are people still lingering at outdoor cafes – with their young children. Isn’t it bedtime?
Marcy’s pace slows. Clearly she wants to drag out the night. Finally the albergue/seminary is in sight. Marcy comes to a complete stop. I feel like making a mad dash for the front door. She continues to reminisce.
“It’s 11:55,” I say. Some people think I’m adventurous, but I didn’t want to be without a bed… one I’ve already paid top dollar for.
“Oh, he will hold it open for us.”
“I don’t want to take the chance,” I said remembering his sour face. I start walking. The others follow suit.
The hospitalario is standing with keys dangling in hand when we enter. I ask if the internet would be available tomorrow morning. “No. Not until 2 p.m. I missed my chance to check with Randy to see if he booked a room at Fatima.