Viva Santiago

What a powerful force this Camino has.

I’ve been really busy recently with a number of things. I’ve been helping out a small local charity that has been going bankrupt, I’ve been dealing with family things in Scotland, I’ve been playing the organ at more things than I should have agreed to, I’ve been proof reading Laurie Reynold’s most excellent new guide to the Route from Lisbon to Porto. I’ve been corresponding with pilgrims on camino and at home. I’ve been visiting a 91 year old Shakespearean actor. And I’ve been lunching a lot.

What I haven’t been doing is writing this blog. And I’ve been missing it.

I haven’t been short of ideas or stories. In fact I had the most fascinating lunch with Janet, a pilgrim from Adelaide who was visiting London having completed a Camino of 2000 kms from France to Santiago. I recorded our conversation so I could write some of her stories. She taught me yet again that the simplicity of life on pilgrimage is what draws us to it in the first place and it is what keeps us going back for more. I really enjoyed meeting her. More of that conversation later.
I also had lunch with Piers Nicholson. We met in the Athenaeum one of these old, splendid London gentleman’s clubs although nowadays they admit women, of course. The membership of the Athenaeum is exclusive and is reserved to the refined, dignified and intellectual. Piers is all of these things. He is also a well walked pilgrim and he developed the website http://www.santiago-compostela.net/ which now receives 1.5 million hits every year.
Piers is a retired scientist who now spends his time making high class sundials and he recently walked the Camino del Salvador with my friend Rebekah Scott. I have enough stories from that conversation to fill several blog posts. But I’ve got to write them!

Being away from the blog for a couple of weeks has been strange. Too busy to think about it and too busy to write I still felt strangely guilty that some of the stories going round in my head weren’t being written down.

I resolved to put that right on my birthday. Today!

One of the stories I was going to write about is the Priest and Altar Boy. I’ve been mulling it over for a while. The world is in such a sad state that the very title nowadays has a sinister flavour to it. Whereas in fact the Priest and the Altar Boy or Crego e Monaguillo in Gallego is one of the finest white wines of Galicia. It is produced in a vineyard owned by the family of Galician Priest Padre Ernesto and his godson, who used to serve as his altar boy, is the manager of the winery. Hence the Priest and the Altar Boy, a delicious award winning wine.
I was introduced to this wine in a Galician Restaurant in Clapham. I’ve been going there for a few years now. One day I was at my office in the City in London and I hailed a taxi to get me home quickly. London taxi drivers are notorious conversationalists. Usually extremely opinionated on every subject under the sun. My driver that day was no exception. As we drove through Clapham he asked if I went to any restaurants in the area. “Oh yes” I said, “ I’m fond of Spanish food and I usually go to La Rueda”. “La Rueda?” he asked incredulously, “ Oh you don’t want to go there…you MUST go to La Terraza on Bedford Road, that’s where all the Spanish people go.” He went on to explain, “My dad is Spanish and he almost lives there, they even have a Menu del Dia!”That started a fine tradition of Saturday lunches after rehearsals and dinners on high days and holidays. Don Antonio the Jefe de la Cocina is a man of profound wisdom and gentleness and all of them from owners to waiters have the warmest of welcome and the liveliest sense of humour.

On Saturdays the “boys” congregate. 15 – 20 middle aged men drinking beer, eating Menus of the Dia, chatting, joking at the bar. Families arrive in considerable numbers. Children run around smiled at benignly by the adults. Frequently regulars have to squeeze in because there is a party of 80 odd people eating and dancing to celebrate a first communion or a great anniversary. La Terraza is home to many. It is so Spanish even the most English feel compelled to try and speak in Spanish. My scallop shell hangs proudly on the bar. But more than that it is truly Galician. Caldo, delicious stews and copious fish and sea food constantly flow from the kitchen and more than a few local Scots and Irish people have made the Celtic connection and their accents can be heard amidst the Spanish and Gallego. This is where the Confraternity of St James celebrated a 25th Anniversary lunch and will do so again on 28th November.

And so last night having played for the Feast of St Gerard me and the big man who was singing hastened to La Terraza for a pre-birthday supper. They were delighted to see us. “Caballeros, we have a surprise for you this evening!” they said, and a few minutes later we were introduced to Padre Ernesto in the flesh. During the introductions it was established we were pilgrims. He was delighted with my concha brought from Santiago hanging on the bar. “What’s that you’re drinking?” he enquired. We explained it was the white wine of the house. “Not nearly as good as Crego e Monaguillo” we explained with a smile, “but cheaper!” He laughed and went off to join a gathering crowd of people. The next moment the waiter placed a bottle of Crego e Monaguillo in front of us. “A gift from the priest” he explained. Well I have to say that’s the second time a Spanish priest has bought me a drink. That’s twice more than Scottish priests ever have!

I was delighted. What a nice introduction to my birthday. I was in mid sentence when I stopped speaking. My jaw dropped. I looked over my friend’s shoulder at the figure in the doorway and I thought I was seeing things. The last time I’d seen the man standing there was on the feast of St James, sitting on the throne in Santiago Cathedral as the representative of the King delivering his greeting to the Archbishop and all of Spain. This was Alberto NÚÑEZ FEIJÓO, the President of Galicia. In La Terraza. Well you could have knocked me over with the cork from the bottle of Crego e Monaguillo.

More so when as if on a state visit he was introduced to us as pilgrims and friends of Santiago. He was genuinely delighted and having toured the restaurant to meet various people he returned to give us a final embrace before he went to dinner. Giving us both a hug he declared “Viva Santiago”. Indeed.
“So señor,” said Don Antonio, ever the joker, “this is only the evening before your birthday…tomorrow we have the King of Spain coming to lunch.”

I can’t wait. Viva Santiago.

With a little help from his friends - Eirik's story

WALKING THE CAMINO WITH PARKINSON’S.

This spring in April – May I walked my third Camino, the Via de la Plata from Sevilla, and I promised Johnny Walker to tell him how it was.

I don’t know how many among the pilgrims walking to Santiago suffer from handicaps or serious diseases, and how that affects them. Maybe that was more common in the middle age than today. Myself, I have Parkinson’s disease, trying ever harder to cripple me since I got it 17 years ago, involving me in an increasing struggle to control my own life. And then I got something called GBS 4 years ago.

When I left the hospital July 2005, it was with a wheel chair. The doctors had told me that my nerve cells, destroyed by the rare Guillain-Barre Syndrome (GBS) would repair themselves, but it might take a year. Further, they could not in any case guarantee my recovery because of Parkinson, there was little or no experience with the combination.

There and then, I estimated that I had about 15% strength. I could not eat on my own, somebody had to feed me, I could not lift the toothbrush to my mouth, I could not raise from a chair or bed, I needed assistance at the toilet, and a row of other problems. I could not walk properly. I had no balance, if someone came closer to me than half a meter, I was sure I was going to fall.

I got home from the hospital with a comprehensive training program, the doctors having said that recovery could take an additional year or two after the repair of the nerve cells. But I suffered “muscular atrophy”; if muscles get the idea that there is no use for them, they start disappearing. So there was not much left to train. And bodybuilding at the age of 61 is in any case difficult.

I needed strong motivation to train 26 hours a week, starting each day before 0700. Then in the spring of 2006, Norwegian Television showed three programs from the Camino. That was tempting, and at a party, when I still needed assistance to get up, I told about my decision to walk the French Route early spring 2007. They excused me by probably having too much to drink. However, I had a year for training, planning and preparations. I soon fixed the starting date to April 28th 2007 from St.Jean, I planned to walk the French Route to Santiago de Compostela.

First thing I realized was that I needed a companion. Mainly for minor things, which most people don’t understand can be a problem. Like coordinating my fingers for tasks like doing up my shoelaces, or picking up something, like coins. Or for support if crossing a stream or passing through rough terrain. Friends and family were very helpful, but as they had their jobs to attend, they could only be away for a short time. I therefore used five of them, changing “crew” in Logrono, Burgos, Leon and Ponferrada.

For a Parkinson’s patient, control of your two legs is a major issue, for a Camino walker, good legs are essential. It is not easy to combine those two, but a lot of daily walk training over long time makes a remarkable difference. Still you frequently risk getting stiff legs and using much more energy than other people, also by reduced length of step. I struggled a lot with this on the French Route, and I was especially anxious for the mountains after Ponferrada, with Alto Pradela at 930m and O’Cebreiro (photo) at 1300m. But following several days with stiff legs and strenuous walks, and some experiments with the medication (eight times a day), the stiffness was as “blown away”. After Ponferrada it felt like I was “flying” and able to walk any distance. As for Parkinson, I almost forgot his presence. I remained “flying” the rest of the way to Santiago, where I enjoyed my own triumph and the incredible atmosphere of the city for a couple of days.

September 2008, following the same recipe, we set course for Porto, the Portuguese Route. I felt that Parkinson’s was demanding more of me. Especially I struggled with speaking, and also a little more with the balance, a fundamental skill. But it was very successful, and in fact I walked it twice, with three days in between. “Again” the receptionist in Ponte de Lima burst out when she saw me again after two weeks (I don’t know why she remembered me).

The success with two Caminos gave me the spirit to try the presumably biggest challenge, the Via de la Plata. I spent some effort trying to find out what to expect, and if I had a chance to make it. I studied the guide books and contacted the Confraternity, who handed my questions over to Johnny Walker. I got quick and relevant answers, and I was very encouraged, and promised him this report afterwards. So I stepped up my training and went ahead with the planning, also based upon five companions, changing in Caceres, Salamancha, Benavente and Ourense. We also put in amply time in the beginning, to enjoy the rich archeological and cultural treasures on our way.
We started from Sevilla April 3rd, turned west at Granja de Moreruela, (photo – Rio Esla on this section) walked in solitude the “southern route” between A Gudina and Ourense, and ended up in Santiago de Compostela May 27th.

Another personal victory to celebrate. Not only for making it, but for the remarkable effect it had on my Parkinson’s. The stiffness, which had given me trouble on the French Route, was almost non-existent. And even better, on the Via de la Plata, the effect of my medication was stretched two hours a day, which is a significant improvement, and makes my life quality considerably better. Some of this effect still remains, as I am careful to keep up training.

After this, one should think that my Parkinson’s problem is “solved”. But it is not. Even if you are able to keep it at arm’s length for a while, it comes a little stronger each year. I want to walk a new Camino in April 2010, but ought to find a way to improved control, especially for balance and speech. I’m working with it. And it is so much more fun when you can talk to people. Yourself.

If my experience can be of any help to anyone else I’m glad and anyone who wishes can write to me at eirik.naess@mail.com

Keeping going

Some letters in my in box this week have reminded me of the strength of the human spirit to endure in the face of great difficulty. Some people live with serious infirmity, pain and disability and yet their spirits soar. One of these pilgrim friends who tackled the challenges and went on to make several Caminos to Santiago has written to me about his experience. His story will appear here and I’ll send it to the Confraternity of St James hopefully for wider circulation.
Reading the correspondence again reminded me of the challenges of life that all of us face, some more than others. In many ways making the pilgrimage to Santiago is a symbolic walking of the road of life with all of its joys and pleasures, physical and mental challenges, its obstacles and set backs. The many different people encountered along the way.

Some people travel the journey of life until old age. Others are stopped in their tracks much earlier. The first of my contemporaries died tragically in the last week and maybe that has me thinking in this vein. But rather than dwell on those with short Caminos I’m trying to keep my eye on a more distant horizon!

That’s why I’ve been thinking about the long-livers in the Johnnie Walker dynasty. So far the women have lived well into their 90’s with the men like my father living well into their 80’s. By rights I should be walking for many years yet!

I’ve also been thinking about where people draw their strength. For my Dad, a working class man with no education, surprisingly it was poetry and literature.

When he died the priest at his funeral spoke of his last visits to him.” He was a quiet and unassuming man. He had no “if onlys” in his life. No regrets. Beside his bed lay the sources of his pleasure – the bible, the letters of Henry Root and Palgrave’s Golden Treasury of poetry. In these three the character of the man was revealed. Faithful to what he believed and the family he loved. The driest sense of humour. A deep and creative spirit. “

Some months ago on the outstanding blog of the Solitary Walker, I read his appreciation of the poetry of Worsdsworth. I’ve kept going back to the series of posts. For a poet who never walked to Santiago - as far as we know! Wordsworth has keen insights into this journey we make on our own:

Therefore let the moon

Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;

And let the misty mountain-winds be free

To blow against thee: and, in after years,

When these wild ecstasies shall be matured

Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind

Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,

Thy memory be as a dwelling-place

For all sweet sounds and harmonies;

oh! then,If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,

Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts

Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations!

A few weeks ago on the Route from Madrid there were many miles of endless paths to walk in the baking sun. I find the rhythm of walking in this completely open landscape very hypnotic. Balm for the mind and soul. The words of Wordsworth came back to me then and so too did the words of Seamus Heaney in his poem Keeping Going.

This was a work I was introduced to many years ago. Again I go back to its passages from time to time.

So here is the first and last stanzas for those who may be unfamiliar with it. Heaney wrote this about his brother who suffered from “turns” or “seizures”.

The piper coming from far away is you

With a whitewash brush for a sporran

Wobbling round you, a kitchen chair

Upside down on your shoulder, your right arm

Pretending to tuck the bag beneath your elbow,

Your pop-eyes and big cheeks nearly bursting

With laughter, but keeping the drone going on

Interminably, between catches of breath.

My dear brother, you have good stamina.

You stay on where it happens. Your big tractor

Pulls up at the Diamond, you wave at people,

You shout and laugh about the revs, you keep

old roads open by driving on the new ones.

You called the piper's sporrans whitewash brushes

And then dressed up and marched us through the kitchen,

But you cannot make the dead walk or right wrong.

I see you at the end of your tether sometimes,

In the milking parlour, holding yourself up

Between two cows until your turn goes past,

Then coming to in the smell of dung again

And wondering, is this all?

As it was In the beginning, is now and shall be?

Then rubbing your eyes and seeing our old brush

Up on the byre door, and keeping going.

And there we have it. Every pilgrim in their own way keeps the old roads open by walking on the new paths and sometimes in our Caminos whether on the Mesta or not, all we can do is keep going.

It doesn't matter...

I've just spent two days in conference at Warren House (here). I'd never heard of it before but it turned out to be an outstanding experience. The venue is wonderful and our group was even more impressed by the standard of service and the excellent quality of the food.

Why am I telling you this?

Well everything on this blog is Camino related.

Shortly after arriving I got into conversation with the lady in charge who was showing me to my room. She asked if I'd been on holiday and I said I'd been walking in Spain. She, and her husband who is the chef producing the amazing food, are also ardent walkers. "Find out more about the Camino routes in Spain, they are truly wonderful " I advised.

It is true: the paths are well marked with yellow arrows all the way. You can either stay in the almost free dormintory accommodation provided at regular intervals on the routes or in hotels or hostals. You walk through some of the most stunning scenery and picturesque paths like the canal stretch I walked on the route from Madrid a few weeks ago. The weather is almost guaranteed to be good if you choose when you go. The people are friendly and it is great fun.
I then began to wonder what may happen to someone researching these old pilgrim routes for this first time. It is perfectly possible that as well as being attracted by the scenery and the lifestyle of walking pilgrims they could be put off by what some people think is the "right" way to go about it.

This reminded me of a lunch I had in Santiago with a student at Cambridge who is studying social anthropology. He is focussing his thesis on the Pilgrimage to Santiago. He proposes to investigate “if there is a correct way to do the Camino”.

Take any group of pilgrims and this will be a hot topic. We pilgrims are a very opinionated lot. Haven’t you noticed? I think it comes from the sense of achievement pilgrims get when they complete their journey. Also that very human characteristic that each of is the best pilgrim compared to the others.

“What makes a journey into a pilgrimage?” “What makes you a pilgrim and not simply a traveller?” Are only two of the many questions which have been debated for centuries. So too are the prescriptions for how people ought to behave:

“A pilgrimage is only a pilgrimage because of prayer. If you don’t pray it is simply a journey” writes one commentator.

“You aren’t a real pilgrim if you don’t sleep in albergues and share everything with the 30 other strangers also sleeping there” writes another.

“No pain, no gain” is a particularly grim slogan regarding blisters and sore muscles.

And so it goes on.

My own view is a simple one. Take time out to make the pilgrimage by walking a Camino route to Santiago and let the journey do the rest.

Here is my contribution to the debate:

It doesn’t matter if you…

Walk on a route where you won’t meet anyone else
Walk on the Camino Frances and meet everyone else

Sleep in hotels and hostals during your journey
Share accommodation with other pilgrims in albergues

Take every detour to the holy places traditionally visited by the medieval pilgrims
Walk straight to Santiago in the shortest time possible

Carry every item of kit on your back each day
Arrange to have your luggage carried forward to your next destination

Eat from the a la carte menu in restaurants and enjoy good wine
Eat the Menu del Dia with three courses, bread and a bottle of luminescent red wine for 8 Euros

Get one or two sellos per day
Spend your time collecting many sellos as a memento of your journey

Give according to your means in albergues and churches
Give a minimum donativo

Journey in reflective silence eschewing modern technology
Take your IPod, IPhone, Netbook and other gadgets

Follow the yellow arrows
Use a GPS positioning device

Simply follow the path marked by others
Use a guidebook with maps, directions and local history

Buy designer walking clothes and top of the range kit
Spend the minimum equipping yourself

Train for months walking every day with a full rucksack
Pack your rucksack and go

Get blisters, tendonitis and muscle strain
Enjoy a pain free pilgrimage

Pray every day, visit every church you can find opened and go to Mass every evening
You don’t believe in God and wouldn’t be found dead in church

The only thing that matters is…

You walk all of the pilgrim way to Santiago.

As we are all different, so too are our Caminos. But there is power in walking these old paths. The effect is individual. For some deeply religious. Others are amazed to think about spiritual things for the first time. Some pilgrims enjoy encounters with others. Some don’t. But the cumulative effect of making step after step for many kilometres through a strange country is very real. And it happens to everyone in their own way.

Auld claes and porridge

It is hard to believe that this time last week I was still in Santiago about to start my final shift in the Pilgrims' Office. Then on the Sunday we flew back. Despite the rampant money grasping of Ryanair they continue to be reliable on the route from Santiago to London. The flight took off at 11.20, on time. It arrived 15 minutes early. There was a train about to leave Stansted which we caught and at 2.15 I was sitting in La Teraza, the Galician restaurant in Clapham!

Of course the week has whizzed past with meetings and a mountain of correspondence. I've also been looking at planning the music for Advent and Christmas. Doing that always comes as a shock. Yes, that time of year is nearly upon us.

But I've been snatching a few minutes every now and again to look at some of the images of the route from Madrid:

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/johnniewalkersantiago/MadridRoute#

This proved to be a demanding route but it is really very special. I'm not sure I would recommend it as a first route in its entirety but Madrid is so accessible walking parts of it would be a splendid way to get away from it all or to practice for a first Camino. Madrid to Segovia would be lovely and is a stretch I will walk again. The memory of the majestic Cathedral of Segovia in the cool dawn light is vivid.

So too are memories of arriving at the Peaceable Kingdom in Moratinos. It was a short two-night visit and although I’d met Rebekah before when we had dinner in Madrid on a previous trip I’d never met her husband Paddy. Paddy is a former editor of a tabloid newspaper and then specialised in developing colour magazines and supplements. Rebekah is also a journalist. They met while working together on a newspaper. Newsprint is embedded deep in their consciousness and it is clear from conversation that they have both wielded the “simple sword of truth” very effectively in their careers. Perhaps too enthusiastically, sometimes, by their own admission.

These are all my own prejudices, I suppose, but aren’t former newspaper hacks meant to be living and playing golf on the Costa del Sol and daily boasting to other ex pats about the scoops they landed over the years?

Rather Rebekah and Paddy are the only two native English speakers in a community of 18 souls in Moratinos. The Camino Frances passes through their main street. “Main” is an outlandish description it could be called street number 1 because there only is one other street. Both short.

One of the things I had been thinking about their seemingly idyllic way of life was how they cope with the boredom of being there all the time, day in and day out. No bar, no cinema, no shops. I was therefore astonished to discover that they have also taken the decision not to have a television. The internet, which they supply to the village, is their link with the outside world.

But quickly an impression of their daily life emerges. There are the two dogs Tim and Una, both demanding care and attention. Both best friends of Rebekah and Paddy. There is a fiercely independent and very elegant cat called Murphy and a singing canary. I’m sure he also had a name.

Music plays all the time. Classical Spanish guitar performed by a friend of theirs. Jazz tinkled on the piano and songs of yesteryear. Dinner round a large kitchen table. They both felt easy. They are used to visitors.

I was fascinated by Paddy. I took to him immediately. I enjoyed his sense of humour, his crusty satirical insights into all aspects of human and animal behaviour. I can imagine him publishing outlandish stories to increase newspaper sales. Although I was relieved to find he wasn’t editor of the newspaper which published “Freddy Starr ate my hamster”. I can also imagine him ruthlessly pursuing individuals for a story. It turns out some of these things also remain on his mind.
But they are both in a new place. It becomes clear that isn’t just geographical. They describe their home as a “House of Welcome”. The sign outside is pretty and has a cup of tea illustrated. The message to pilgrims is “call in for a rest, a cup of tea, a friendly chat. Stay over if you wish. Rest awhile.” They operate on the traditional strictly donativo model. No charges. Give what you want. They also believe in the saying that “pilgrims take what they need and give what they can”.

Therefore they have pilgrims who stay and do work on the house and outbuildings in a fair exchange for a bed and food.

Is this like a classy bed and breakfast amazingly run on donativo lines? I think it is a whole lot more than that. Rebekah and Paddy are good people. They are both pilgrims. They live their lives in Moratinos. They are engaged with the local community. They have children, relatives and friends outside the pilgrims’ world. They go walks. They make pilgrimage from time to time.
But whether they like it or not, and I suspect Paddy will not like the term, they are developing a ministry to pilgrims. They have a policy of not turning anyone away. If someone has problems neither of them will walk by on the other side.

This can lead to difficulties. Not everyone likes everyone else. Paddy and Rebekah are not saints and neither are some of the pilgrims who come to stay. Both of them have views on the world and Paddy can articulate his with acid humor. I can imagine people disagreeing. I loved it. They embrace unusual people, needy people, people who might be freeloading, people about whom they know nothing. All are welcome.

I decided very quickly that I couldn’t do what they do. I just couldn’t open my home and my heart to every random stranger who knocked on my door. Well...I would try, but I couldn’t sustain it. Yet here they are. They seemed to have found a place in the world in which they are comfortable.

I can imagine Paddy commanding the editor’s office dispatching journalists to deliver the evidence and verdict on politicians and criminals. But what I saw in Moratinos was a man entirely comfortable with his animals and whose face broke into the proudest smile when describing Max the new cockerel who is now literally ruling the roost.

Nowadays the office which Paddy commands is the vestibule of the church when he takes his turn with the rest of the villagers to open it to pilgrims in a new project. Instead of spiking some stories and publishing others he now stamps every pilgrim's passport.

As we got into the car to leave for Santiago I looked back into the Church at Paddy and thought, “there’s a man who has found some peace”.

As for me this week has just been back to old clothes and porridge to use the Scottish term. Maybe a week in Spain in November sorting out the new guide to the Madrid route….hmmmmm.

Two Weddings and a Crisis

I feel so at home in Santiago I always feel slightly sad when I Ieave. Being a creature of habit I usually have a final turn around the great square and then mount the steps to sit in the Cathedral for a few moments. It isn't the biggest in the world but the imposing sanctuary dominates and draws the eyes to the figure of Santiago presiding over everything.

Santiago is a pilgrim city. Of that there is no doubt, but I wonder if after seeing us for 500 years whether pilgrims have become pretty invisible to the shopkeepers and hoteliers of the town. Pilgrims don't stay for long and in my hostal there is often a turnover of clients every 24 hours. Many talk about the emptiness of Santiago when their Camino ends and friends from the Way disperse. There are lone diners in restaurants and whereas on the route strangers would strike up conversations about the weather, the albergue, blisters and the Menu de Peregrino, now back in civilisation other conventions seem to apply. Being Scottish I suppose, I've tried to chat to strangers in bars and restaurants often to be met with the cold stare of the tourist looking at me, a pilgrim in tired clothes, as if he might be robbed at any moment. I sense a tangible difference when I wear regular shoes, trousers, socks and shirts in Santiago. Indifference changes to respect. Perhaps because tourists spend more than pilgrims. Or maybe pilgrms have just become invisible.

In these last few days there has been a fairly constant stream through the Office. Yesterday I read out an internet posting reporting that over 200 pilgrims per day are still setting out from St Jean de Pied Port. This news was met with a resigned groan from colleagues. There is to be no respite yet.

Yesterday pilgrims thronged in the old town rubbing shoulders with many of the middle classes of Santiago dressed to the nines. Cocktail dresses and ball gowns adorned haughty looking women with their hair piled precariously high. Men in morning dress congregated outside bars drinking bottles of beer. There was an air of expectation and a cloud of confusing aromas as many different perfumes mixed with stronger colognes. All awaited the arrival of the bride. It is now September and like salmon leaping with the season churches are festooned with bouquets and uncomfortable grooms in patent leather shoes with their wedding uniform look as if they wished they were wearing anything else. Perhaps some wish they were anywhere else!

The bride duly appeared and the crowd of locals, tourists and pilgrims ahhhhhed with the waiting wedding guests. Then she was gone. The church doors closed to outsiders. The morning suits retreated back to the bar. Weddings are for women in Spain. Then there was a ripple of excitement. Round the corner at another church there was another wedding. The crowd shuffled off.

I'm booked to play at 3 weddings when I get back. I try to avoid them. Funerals are much more my thing. At funerals there are no photographers, no preening, no video makers, no horse-drawn carriages and hired bell ringers and the principal participant is never late.

Weddings are hugely extravagant. All the more so in Spain where style is everything. They seem unaffected by the financial crisis which has gripped the world and still dominates Spanish news and political TV programmes. Everywhere in Santiago shopkeepers and bar owners report a down turn in sales and an increase in bankruptcies. This time there are noticeably more beggars on the streets. And like the price wars of English breakfasts on the Costa del Sol there is now a Compostela version. Three bottles of wine and two Tartas de Santiago for €10 was the best offer of many. Menus of the Day now start at €5.50. Signs of the times.

We left having been presented with bottles of homemade Liquor de Hierbas. Green and very dangerous.

Hasta la proxima. Until the next time.

Even birthdays have to wait

We spent two days with Rebekah and Paddy in their home, the Peaceable Kingdom, in a place called Moratinos. It lies almost in the middle of the Camino Frances and a great procession of pilgrims pass through there every day. But no one has heard of it. We told the people in the hostal in Villalon de Campos where we were going, we also mentioned it to the priest and the lady in the Farmacia but they all looked blank.

Rebekah turned up at the appointed hour to collect us. She had dogs Una and Tim in tow. Una has recently had a leg amputated but seemed irrepressible. Rebekah wanted to know all about the route and we chatted before she went off to buy sausages and we fetched our bags.

In a jiffy we were whizzing along the main road. We caught up with the young lad from Madrid we had met on the route. He refused a lift even for his pack and we bade him "buen camino" for the last time.

Blink and you would pass Moratinos, a hamlet of 18 inhabitants. We met Paddy her husband who I took to immediately. Both were still smarting from a difficult situation which had arisen with someone else - I know everyone involved. All good people. But sometimes people just don't get on. When this happens we need to deal with it and move on.

Rebekah and Paddy are living the dream of many people especially pilgrims. They renovated a country house, in Spain, almost on the Camino Frances. They are embraced by their neighbours and they open their home to pilgrims whenever they can. They offer listening ears, tea, respite and where needed, a bed. I found they also offered seriously interesting conversation and both have not only been pilgrims but have served others as hospitaleros.

Theirs is a ministry of the most individual kind. I couldn't do what they do and I want to think more about my time with them before writing more.

On Saturday Rebekah kindly drove us to the station at Sahagun. We were early for our train to Santiago and we joined her for some shopping in the market. The smells of fresh vegetables mixed with those from the cheese stall. The place was bustling with people. Freshly baked bread was being bought in the Panaderia as if it was going out of fashion.

We bought the makings of a picnic for our train journey to Santiago and the train pulled up at the platform exactly on time. We found our pre allocated seats and settled down for the journey of six and a half hours. I had been half certain this must be a mistake on the timetable but the conductor confirmed it. So too by coincidence did the book I had borrowed from Rebekah. In "On Pilgrimage" Jennifer Lash described the same train journey in 1986. The journey hasn't got shorter in 20 years. But they now show feature films in carriages more like aeroplane cabins. It was clean and had curtains which worked. Why can't British Rail be like this?

I was treated like a long lost son on arrival at my usual hostal in Santiago and alleluia, the box of clothes sent ahead from London had arrived. There is an almost sensual pleasure in changing out of the same clothes worn and washed daily on Camino. There is also a feeling of petite mort as another journey ends.

We had arrived just as the great August holiday was coming to an end and next morning in the Pilgrims' Office I was regaled by tales of long queues of pilgrims waiting for their compostela. Over 35,000 had been issued in the previous month. The police had been called twice when pilgrims had refused to accept the office had to close at 9pm, 12 hours after opening. In scenes redolent of the middle ages the angry queue had blocked the door pushing the poor members of staff out of the way.

I was very interested that these stories were related without a hint of resentment. Crazy pilgrims. But I bet it wasn't funny at the time.

August ending is as if a tap has been turned down. The flow of pilgrims slows. The Office is more relaxed. Time this afternoon for a small party with cakes for a celebration delayed from the busy days. In August even birthdays have to wait.