A Day in Santiago

At 8 a.m. the streets of Santiago started to come to life. We were still resting in our storefront when the pilgrim’s office opened. We packed up our belongings and went to receive our certificates of completion.

“How are you?” one of the women working asked. Weary tears streamed down my face. “Cansada, I think,” she answered her own question. “Tired.”

We were given the clipboards to sign in and were the first to register for the day. Dozens of other names would be signed below ours as pilgrims one by one made their way to Santiago. “Congratulations,” we were told, as official credentials were placed in our hands, with our names written in Latin and the date of our arrival.

I had been here before, 11 months and 1 day ago, to receive my first credential. But this time Rand and I had arrived together. 

And then the massive blow, “There will be no Pilgrim’s Mass today. It is ‘Semana Santa’, Holy Week, so there is no service. But you are welcome to tour the Cathedral.” No Pilgrim’s Mass. No hearing our names being read along with the other names in various languages. No ceremony to neatly tie up our Camino. “Processions?” I asked. Remembering all the “parades” that took place last year in Villfranca del Bierzo. “No,” they said. “Semana Santa.” It was Holy Week, and the Church appeared to be closed.

We went back across the street to a hotel café where we had coffee and toast. Earlier I had asked the young man setting up the outdoor tables if they had any rooms available. He said there might be one, with a single bed, available now. We checked with the hostess and she said it was meant for one person, but that she would show it to us and we could decide. It was only available for one night, though. The rest of the weekend was booked full.

The elevator was not big enough for two people with backpacks, so we left our packs at the desk and rode the elevator while she took the stairs. The room was on the 3^rd floor, with a window that opened to a beautiful view of the rooftops of Santiago, had a full size bed and a private bathroom with a bathtub (rare in Spain!). It was perfect.

“We’ll take it!” we said. It was 9 a.m. and we were ready for bed. She handed us our key, and a booklet filled with all of the Holy Week events. “There is a procession?” I asked. “Maybe four or five of them today,” she said. Redeemed!

At noon I went out to the Cathedral Plaza, which as expected was packed with people and vendors, tourists and pilgrims. I found a quiet cafeteria and had a bowl of “Calda”, Galician broth soup, and bought some cheese and bread to take back to the room. I stopped and bought a few souvenirs, checked the times for the post office and train station ticket office, and went back to the room to join Rand for another nap.

We got up again around 5 p.m. and went out for pizza and gelato. We walked through several of the plazas where people were giving out free hugs, having street fairs, going to church, walking their dogs, and getting ready for another round of Holy Week processions.

We bumped into the large group of pilgrims that we had left at the restaurant where we had dinner the previous evening and exchanged handshakes and cheers. We told them it was nearly 6 a.m. before we saw the Cathedral, but that the night walk had been beautiful. They looked weary, and were still carrying their backpacks as they had not yet found a place to stay for the night. It was another reason to be glad that we had arrived in Santiago so early. We may have gotten the last room in the entire city that was free on Good Friday.

We then went to the post office where weeks ago we had shipped our new coaster set that we'd "won" in Burgos while visiting a fundraiser, and the luggage bags we had used to bring our backpacks on the plane. The “vigilante”, as his name tag described him, and the office worker, told us that the post office was closed until Monday. “It’s Semana Santa,” they said. We were well aware that it was Holy Week. But these two guys were there and our package couldn’t have been that hard to find. Rand and I had a quick conversation about whether we were willing to stay in Santiago until Monday. It would cut it close, but we could still make it to Madrid for our Tuesday morning flight back to the states. “Wait,” the office worker said. The vigilante gave him a dirty look, but he shrugged his shoulders, disappeared for a few minutes, and then came back with our package.

While he was searching, an older couple from New Mexico who we had met on the Camino came in. They told us that they had made reservations at a hotel for the night, but when they hadn’t arrived before 3 p.m. to check in, the hotel had given away their room. “Semana Santa,” was the explanation they were given. Holy Week. “It was a longer walk to get here than we thought,” they said of the last 12.5 kilometers (21.5?!). We agreed.

The postal worker frowned when he came back with our package and saw our friends waiting with us. We thanked him profusely for helping us. “Secret,” the vigilante said to us before we left, and we promised not to tell any more of our friends that the post office was only “sort of closed” for Holy Week.

We ended the evening at the Cathedral where we gave thanks and saw thousands of others doing the same. Pilgrims and tourists hugged the statue of the apostle, visited his tomb, and stood in awe of the swinging incense diffuser.

And we bumped into “our family”! Who we hadn’t seen in over 40 kilometers. “You made it!” we all said. And somehow seeing them here in Santiago on Good Friday seemed like the perfect way to wrap up our Camino.