Today I fly from Santiago to Bilbao and then catch a bus to San Sebastián. It was a quiet morning in the city, low cloud making it gloomy and cool. The streets had more delivery vans than people. I found a bar for a coffee and a bite to eat. Afterwards I wandered the laneways back up to the cathedral. I decided to see if I could enter.
There seemed to be three ways open. At the first two I was turned away with a brusque wave. “Other entrance.”
I eventually found the correct entry. A small service was underway. It was heavily guarded, I counted four security guards, and fenced off. There was a pathway open around toward the remains of St James. I wandered around. It was peaceful in the cathedral, the only sound being that of the sermon being given in Spanish. I wandered to a point, there being no signage or barriers in place, when a security guard approached me and told me to turn around. They did so in a manner that suggested that I knew I was breaking some rule. For some reason I was drawn to look at their shoes, Vans. Vans! Oh come one, told off by a security guard that was tiny and wore skateboarding shoes in one of the great cathedrals of the world.
I suddenly felt how cold this place is without my pilgrim family in it, a reminder that buildings are just stone and glass and metal, their meaning and feeling given to them by people. Screw this, I thought, if you can’t smile at a pilgrim from the other side of the world, who can you smile at?
The Plaza was slowly filling up, with buses and cars. At one point I had to jump behind a barrier as a huge tourist bus drove into the plaza to deposit a load of wealthy tourists at the from door of the Parador.
I found a place on the other side of the Plaza to sit and watch the goings on. The cloud seemed heavier and the wind colder as it whipped around the square. After a while, I looked up at the cathedral and bid it a fond farewell, I’ll see it again when I complete another Camino.
Back at the hotel I packed my gear and passed time before the midday checkout by listening to podcasts and downloading the film Emily about Emily Brontë. Claire and I had visited the Brontë house at Haworth a week ago. I first read Wuthering Heights while attending Mulwaree High School in Goulburn and fell in love it from that first read. I prefer it over all the other books.
Eventually it was time to checkout so I returned the key and wandered down to the station. Bus 6A arrived and I jumped aboard, card at the ready to pay. “Only cash,” the driver said. I had no cash so I shrugged my shoulders and got off the bus, another one would come along in 25 or so minutes, no boing deal.
Then I heard a voice, “I’ll pay for you.” I turned and a girl of about 18 or so had already handed the driver money and the ticket was spitting out of the machine.
I stood in disbelief. “Thank you. Gracias , muchos gracias,” I said. “It’s nothing,” they said.
Though the ticket was only 1 euro, the kindness to pay this so that I wouldn’t miss the bus was overwhelming. After this morning’s experience at the cathedral, it felt like Santiago had set the record straight with me. Yep, I still love this place.
The Long Camino 