Next please

The old town of Santiago is busy. Very busy. There is a lot going on. There is programme of organ recitals for the whole week and the street entertainment is amongst the best I have ever seen. The other evening outside of the massive Church of San Martin a family set up shop. Electric piano, drums, double bass, guitar and the mum on the violin completed a very special jazz quintet. The place rocked. It is hard to keep up with the variety of sounds and sights. One moment a group of singing nuns marched in line under my office window heading for the Cathedral. The next moment the skirl of the pipes squeezed out all other sounds as a multiple processions of Gallegos in national dress met in the great Cathedral square.

The queues for the Holy Door and the Cathedral have been unrelenting. People start to line up early in the morning and they are still doing that well into the evening. The Pilrgims´ Office has been frenetic at times. Last weekend was a local bank holiday weekend. It also combined with the major liturgical feast of the Assumption. Two great reasons for the City to celebrate. As if scenting a party pilgrims made their way in huge numbers to the City. On Saturday last we issued over 2,300 Compostelas. The staff got their heads down and almost everyone was happy when they doors closed at 9pm. All I could hear was the occasional “Siguente” or “Next ” as the ever patient pilgrims filed forward. Singing would break out in the queue from time to time to break the monotony of waiting for so long. Some very sweet scenes punctuated the day. “Next” went up the cry and a couple stepped forward. “Only one at a time please” my colleague said. “But we are finishing our honeymoon by getting our Compostelas”, they pleaded. Of course they were seen together with congratulations from everyone.

In they trailed. Pilgrims old and pilgrims young. “Am I the oldest today? ” Enquired Raul who at 82 had walked from Pamplona in 30 days. Assured that he certainly was he went off bearing his certificate with pride. Then there was young Gabriela who at 8 had walked step by step with her mum and dad from Oviedo. Sometimes there is disappointment. A young couple approached my desk and handed over three credenciales. I duly stamped the first two and wrote their compostelas and asked where their friend was holding up the third credencial which was full of sellos. That belongs to Petra they said looking down. I looked over and resting on the ground was a boxer dog. I explained that the Compostela is only issued to humans as a symbol of the spiritual journey. They weren´t convinced and went off really quite unhappy.

Those who have reached Santiago know the office well. It has a broad stone staircase which opens onto a dilapidated office. This is church property after all! The floor is old and is disintegrating. The legs of our chairs catch in the holes. When the place is full of pilgrims it can be bedlam.

 This year sees the fruition of a project to extend the Pilgrims´Office. The intention was to create a better environment which would be more pleasant for every one. A new entrance/exit has been created one door down and pilgrims walk into a pleasant patio with a pergola before entering or leaving by a new staircase which leads to a broad stone corridor with vaulted ceilings where the new office has been formed. 10 or 12 staff can work here. The IT has been installed. It is cool and pleasant. This week we have been using it as overflow from the main office and I think it has made a huge difference. The plan is only to use this new place in winter when there are few pilgrims and to use it as overflow in the busy season. Opinions about the new office are mixed among my colleagues. We´ll see what the pilgrims think. All they want is not to wait too long for their compostela. So, I better stop writing this right now. “Next, please”.

Headbangers Galore

The way I use the term “headbanger” is peculiarly Scottish. Sure, a Google definition will bring up a reference to Heavy Metal which I suspect is not on the Periodic Table. However when people from Glasgow call someone a headbanger they could easily mean that they are seriously intellectually challenged. Equally it could simply mean they are totally crazy. It can be used as a term of endearment or of scorn. This week I met a few headbangers.
I´d come to Santiago with a number of resolutions. I wanted to work in the Pilgrims´Office dispensing wit and compostelas in equal measure. I wanted to have lengthy late afternoon lunches with friends after work. I wanted to write entertaining blogs. I promised the Friday Night Boys that I would blog regularly and keep them posted. On the flight to Santiago I wondered if I could become the Alistair Cook of Santiago. I planned to sit quietly of an evening with a chilled glass of Alboriño fueling the creative process. Hugging the Saint, visiting friends, writing two important personal letters and going to see Joaquin at the organ in the Cathedral were all on the list.

8 days later. Nada.

When I arrived last Monday there was a wave of heat blowing through the airport. This was not the 40 degree plus of Sevilla in August. This was the 30 degree plus of Galicia. But in Sevilla they have air conditioning. Here in Santiago they have queues. Queues for everything. Queues for the Holy Door, queues for the cathedral, queues in supermarkets and the king of queues at the Pilgrims´Office. Today the sun is beating down on a queue that is taking 2 hours to snake to the front door downstairs.When I arrived this morning just before 9am I spoke to the two boys at the head of the queue, Pedro and Nacho. “We arrived at around 6 am,” they said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. I stared at the queue. It filed around the corner up the street and round the corner into the next street. When I got upstairs to the office I asked if they had seen the queue. “Tell us” Eva said and when I did she blessed herself. “Headbangers” all, I thought fondly. Me included. Why else would we stand and wait for a stamp and a certificate which to many is just a piece of paper?

The answer is of course that it marks the end of a significant journey. A personal pilgrimage which has taken time and effort. Long distance pilgrims can be very sniffy about people who “only” walk the last 100 kms. The insulting term “tourigrinos” is often on their lips. I´ve thought it myself as I´ve trudged for weeks only to meet fresh faced Spaniards with day packs marching sprightly out of Sarria which stands at the beginning of the last 100 kms. But they are pilgrims nonetheless and I recognise that there is something about this pilgrimage to Santiago which lies deep in the soul and culture of Spain.
 Dealing with the unremitting flow of pilgrims is demanding. Collectively we write 200 compostelas an hour. Personally I spend around 3 minutes on average with each pilgrim. Only time for a brief word of welcome, a cursory inspection of the Pilgrim Passport, the stamps and then their name applied in Latin on the Compostela. Pilgrims have questions. Where can I sleep? When are the Masses? How do I get information about the route to Finisterre? Where can I charge my battery? It is absorbing and has taken over the lives of the staff and volunteers. I can see it happening. It is exhausting. There are no long lunches, only a shower and a sleep. As I drift off their faces often appear:
The wee woman of 72 who walked on her own from her home in Switzerland. She simply sighed as the final stamp went on her credencial. Ramon from Madrid who had walked for 5 days from Sarria. He cried when I gave him his Compostela. “I never knew it would be like this” he said. The tall, proud Spanish chap who appeared with a crowd at the head of the queue. “Is this a group?” I asked the usual question. “No,” he said with his chest swelling, “this is my family, 26 of us from all over Spain, we have come together to walk to Compostela.” So they trouped in mingling with Scouts and nuns, the young and the older, those who had walked from afar and those who had clearly walked far enough.

Last week a young German lad appeared at my desk. He asked in clear English,"excuse me, I read in a book that there is a stone where pilgrims insert their fingers before banging their heads on a statue. Where is it please?" I explained that the sculpture of the Tree of Jesse stands at the door of the Cathedral. It has the imprint of millions of pilgrim fingers over the Centuries but alas, for the moment, it is sealed off for restoration. However there is an exhibition and for a moment´s respite the other day I made my way up to the Plaza Cervantes where the Caixanova Bank has opened an exhibition and conference centre. The ground floor is taken up with a stunning photographic illustration of the Portico de la Gloria. The huge photographs were taken from eye level and also from the perspective of the pilgrim passing through this magnificent doorway. This is the work of Master Mateo depicting the glory of heaven for the medieval pilgrim. This is what they had walked to. This is why they had walked. This where all their journeys would end. It is now as it was then. The commentary explains that it is said that the statue of Master Mateo is the image behind the Portico. This is where visitors bang their heads three times following the tradition of mothers from Compostela who brought their children to ask the Master to give them some wisdom.

For the throngs in the streets and the staff in offices it is hot. Pilgrims bathe their feet in the fountains and most of the people in the various queues are good natured. Not so at the Pilgrims´Office yesterday when another record was sadly broken. A group were keeping places for each other in the queue as some went off for coffee or to use the toilet. On their return they went back to join their friends. It was hot and sticky. People had been waiting a long time. A couple behind the group got angrier and angrier at what they saw as queue jumping. Words were exchanged. A push became a shove. One pilgrim bashed the other on the head with his stick. An ambulance was required and the police were called. For a moment I thought I was back in Glasgow. There has never been such an incident in living memory and the staff of the office is determined that this will not become a modern tradition.

As if to counter the ugliness of the incident yesterday today brought the arrival of Amado, Redemptorist priest, Professor of Theology, athlete, peace protester and former political prisoner. The pilgrims who he had met on his Camino and those around him in the queue knew nothing about him except he was the priest who had walked barefoot from St Jean de Pied Port in France. I knew he was to arrive today and as the morning wore on I wondered if I should go and find him in the queue and bring him forward as I knew he wanted to participate in the Mass at 12 o´clock. I decided not to do that. He was a pilgrim like all others. Although he is leaving tomorrow there are two other Masses in the day. However Amado, barefoot and long back in the queue mentioned to his companions that he was worried about not getting to the Mass. Word was sent forward in the queue, pilgrims whispering to pilgrims. The huge crowd parted and a way was made for the barefoot priest who was cheered along the line and up the long staircase into the Pilgrims Office.

Amado would definitely be called a Headbanger in Glasgow but it would be with huge affection. As we left the Office I found it difficult to get him along the road as people stopped and asked for his photograph or wanted to pose with him. Pilgrims he had met on the Camino hugged him fondly. He proudly displayed his feet. “No blisters” he beamed. We all applauded. Pilgrims it seems like their priests simple and spiritual.

There´s a message there for heabangers everywhere.

I’d go today

Recently I visited a new albergue in Santiago. It has 175 beds and is situated on the Camino Francés as it enters Santiago. Easy to find, it is just after the refuge at San Lázaro and is round the corner from another albergue named Acuario. It is called the Albergue Jaime García Rodríguez in memory of a previous Director of the Pilgrims’ Office. The address is:
C/ Estocolmo, s/n (entrance by the C/ Moscú)
Parroquia de San Antonio de As Fontiñas.
It has only been opened for two weeks and is already proving popular. The day that I visited my friend Danny, one of the hospitaleros, he had opened the doors at 11.30 as usual and by 12 noon it was full.

The albergue is the first initiative of the charitable foundation, the Fundación Ad Sanctum Iacobum Peregrinatio, launched by the Archicofradía which runs the Pilgrims’ Office in Santiago. The Foundation has been put in place to fundraise and it has been successful in receiving grants and sponsorship to fund this new albergue. Sometime ago Susana, the secretary of the Archicofradía shared their vision of developing church premises along the routes to provide facilities for albergues. True to that objective this new albergue is built on the ground floor of the church of Saint Anthony, the local parish church in the Santiago barrio of Fontiñas. Pilgrims will be welcome at the early morning services to be held each day.

When I went along Danny proudly showed me round. Everything is brand spanking new. On arrival pilgrims are welcomed, they register and are given a disposable sheet and pillow case after paying 6 Euros. This is the cheapest albergue in Santiago.
There are 8 dormitories of 24 beds. I was worried that there are no windows but the building is fully air conditioned and the pilgrims I spoke to were unconcerned.

They seemed delighted with the facilities. As well as the usual showers there are washing machines and dryers as well as a kitchen with microwaves. There are drinks machines and internet is provided free of charge. There is a large toilet for disabled people and the building is fully accessible. It also boasts a first aid room, a room for the hospitaleros to sleep as there are staff there 24 hours per day. Around the albergue there are seating areas with chairs and comfortable couches and in summer the very large garden will be put to full use.

Whilst I was there Danny received a complaint. “The showers in this albergue are far too hot”, complained a good natured pilgrim. He was smiling as he went on, “I’ve walked from France to Santiago and let me assure you usually the reverse is the case.”

Certainly there are a few teething problems but the day I was there the pilgrims were happy and I see a great future for this new facility.
As I looked around I thought about how simple a pilgrim’s needs are. A bed, a shower, and somewhere to wash and dry clothes. Everything else is a bonus. This new albergue is very simple and functional and ticks these boxes.
I thought about how different that is from my life at home with all of the clutter I’ve collected around myself. The familiar material things which make me feel secure. Every time I’ve moved house I’ve been astonished at what I’ve gathered...and what I don’t actually need. For the last few years I’ve tried emptying my wardrobe of everything I haven’t worn for a year. I even found that difficult. Separating my needs from my wants has been a life time project.
All that changed when I went on Camino. On pilgrimage we have to live with what we carry. It isn’t a lot but it becomes all we need. These thoughts reminded me of Philip Larkin’s Poetry of Departures. If you don’t know it, I commend it to you. It could have been written for pilgrims:

Sometimes you hear, fifth-hand,
As epitaph:
He chucked up everything
And just cleared off,
And always the voice will sound
Certain you approve
This audacious, purifying,
Elemental move.

And they are right, I think.
We all hate home
And having to be there:
I detest my room,
It's specially-chosen junk,
The good books, the good bed,
And my life, in perfect order:

So to hear it said
He walked out on the whole crowd
Leaves me flushed and stirred,
Like Then she undid her dress
Or Take that you bastard;
Surely I can, if he did?
And that helps me to stay
Sober and industrious.
But I'd go today,

Yes, swagger the nut-strewn roads,
Crouch in the fo'c'sle
Stubbly with goodness, if
It weren't so artificial,
Such a deliberate step backwards
To create an object:
Books; china; a life
Reprehensibly perfect.

Oh yes, give me the choice anytime between my reprehensibly perfect life and spending more time on Camino where I feel my life becomes more authentically perfect. I’d go today.

The Saint, the King and the Pilgrims

Sunday 25th July 2010 – The Holy Year

At the appointed hour King Juan Carlos and Queen Sophia appeared in the huge square in front of the Cathedral. A military band struck up the national anthem and they stood in solemn silence. Then cheered on by the people of Santiago who lined one side of the square they shook hands with the high echelons of the Galician social and political classes. The President of Galicia was first followed by the Mayor of Santiago, then came a long line of dignitaries. The men were dressed in formal morning suits and the ladies in long dresses, hair piled high to support the traditional Spanish mantilla. As the King was doing this the Archbishop with assembled priests and clerics processed from the side door of the Cathedral round to the square. In this religious precession the dress was even more flamboyant. The Archbishop was surrounded by 14 other bishops. 15 mitred-heads-a- walking. They were preceded by a long line of priests in the blood red vestments worn on the feast day of martyrs and senior church figures in garb strange to the modern eye. In this procession psalms were chanted and prayers recited as the mace bearer led them forward.
Synchronised by tradition the processions formed one line which slowly mounted the mighty steps of the cathedral. The organ sounded their entrance and the Mass of the Feast of Santiago began. The waiting congregation who had been arriving in the Cathedral from 6am heaved a collective sigh of relief but their enthusiasm rallied when they applauded the flying Botafumeiro before cheering the King and Queen out of the cathedral.

This was a weekend of ceremony. The day before Don Jenaro the Canon of Pilgrimages presided at the High Altar for the annual Mass of the Archicofradía which is responsible for the Pilgrims’ Office and the well being of the pilgrimage. Medals were placed over the heads of new members. Everyone was in their Sunday best.

Around Santiago in the plazas and streets a programme of street entertainment and concerts occupied every hour of the days leading up to the Feast. When is a street a street and when is it a concert hall? Or indeed, when is an aisle in the Cathedral and aisle and when is it an orchestra pit?

In the evenings neon lights hung across the narrow streets added to the party atmosphere as did the sounds of rock bands and gospel choirs entertaining into the small hours.

On the Saturday evening there was the final service in the series of nine held each day before the Feast. For each the Cathedral was packed to hear the Cathedral Choir sing anthems medieval and modern. After this last service people poured out of the Cathedral into the square which was already half full with people reserving their places to see the  fireworks display which would herald the Feast Day proper at midnight. At 11.30 the cathedral and square plunged into darkness and there began the most magnificent and deeply moving sound and light show imaginable. On the old walls of this medieval cathedral was projected the mystical history of pilgrimage. Images of stained glass from Cathedrals along the way were projected in full technicolour. Fish, fishermen, octopus, fishing boats and glorious Celtic symbols celebrated all that is Galician. The thundering music accompanied a fireworks display which they say is the best ever. The cathedral appeared to burn and the spires appeared to dance in the sky. Catherine wheels whirled and thousands whooped with delight. High on the roof of the cathedral spotlights picked out gaiteros playing their Galician bagpipes and had there been room everyone would have danced.

Almost poignant in contrast were the familiar scenes of pilgrimage which followed. A scallop shell and the crowd murmured approval. A gigantic yellow arrow and they applauded. When the biggest map of the routes imaginable appeared they cheered and when the entire cathedral became a credencial bedecked with sellos thousands of voices roared approval. The fireworks display had a magnificent finale which reached far into the sky. The sound and light exhibition with some fireworks is being repeated every evening for a week. St James is being celebrated in style.

At the end the massive crowd dispersed as celebrities like Paulo Coelho posed with pilgrims and the King and Queen retired to bed.

This was a weekend with everything. Pomp, music, crowds, fireworks, ceremony and lots of partying. However striking the sight of bishops and royals in all their finery was, the almighty roar of approval when the cathedral was covered in sellos said it all for me. Santiago is a pilgrim town and the Cathedral is the pilgrims’ church. For many of us the grand ritual and rich robes hold little attraction. Rather pilgrimage exposes us to a simpler way of life where our walking brings an intimacy with ourselves, others and the land around us that no other journey brings. It is as we walk we become open to new thoughts and perspectives, when kindness, and tenderness and love take on a new value. Pilgrims assess who and where they are in this life and often contemplate what might lie beyond. This experience is for me the heart of the matter more precious than any cathedral ceremony.

Sometimes you just have to look at pilgrims to see this truth. I caught sight of a group of five young pilgrims sitting at Mass. They had their newly written Compostelas laid carefully on the pew in front of them. They sat in silence, not uttering one word of the prayers. This may have been their first experience of Mass or indeed of church. They took photographs and gazed around them. They stood with everyone when the priest invited the congregation to say the Our Father and their lips moved a little at the words of the prayer perhaps learned long ago. But when they realized that everyone around them was shaking hands and embracing at the Sign of Peace which followed, their faces lit up. They hugged and kissed, greeted those around them, smiled at everyone. They crossed the aisle to hug other pilgrims. They sat back down with smiles on previously bored faces. At the end of Mass when the pious crushed forward to take pictures of the Botafumeiro I watched as they stood in almost stunned silence with eyes cast up following its flight. As they disappeared into the departing crowds I hoped that the lovingness of the Sign of Peace and the wonder of the Botafumeiro which connects us to pilgrims of the past had been as wonderful as the rest of their pilgrimage.

It was great to see the King. The people love him. I enjoyed seeing the Archbishop. He seems like a nice man. My lasting memories are of the sellos on the cathedral, the roar that went with them and the young people in the Cathedral. Pilgrims do it for me every time.

Hasta Santiago

I'm off to Santiago for a week of celebration. I'll write a full report when I return.
It is going to be a busy week. Yesterday I got a text from friends who arrived in A Coruna and are walking down to meet me in Santiago. On 23 July I am meeting up with the Big Man, friend, fellow pilgrim and guidewriter and of course singer extraordinaire. It will be a special day. I need to whisper this because he clearly doesn't want anyone to know and I have assured him his secret is safe with me...but I can tell you... it is his birthday...

I'll call in at the Pilgrims' Office to meet the new volunteers and staff including my friend Christine who has joined the Archicofradia and receives her medal at the ceremony being held on 24 July at the 1.15 Mass in the Cathedral. We have been corresponding for a long time and I am very much looking forward to meeting her. Christine is joining the staff of the Pilgrims' Office for 6 weeks or so as a volunteer so I'll be working with her too. Or will I?
Yesterday I got a note from the boss telling me that the Archicofradia has opened a new albergue in Santiago. It is big with 175 beds, wifi, luggage storeage etc. Four of my closest friends from the Pilgrims' Office have moved there to run it: Dani, Toño, Catuxa and Fernando. The name of the refuge is "Albergue Jaime García Rodríguez" in memory of the previous Director  of the Pilgrims' Office who died. I've said that I'll go and work there if more help is needed. What an adventure!

The new albergue is in Fontiñas a neighbourhood at the entrance of Santiago along the Camino Frances. To get to it you pass the refuge of San Lázaro. It is near to another albergue called Acuario.
The adress of the new albergue is:
C/Estocolmo, s/n (entrance by the C/Moscú)
Parroquia de San Antonio de As Fontiñas
Santiago de Compostela 

I'll post photographs of the new place soon.

Then comes the celebration of the Feast of St James. They do this in style.
Liturgically it starts with Solemn Vespers on the evening of the 24th. This is a traditional Vespers service of psalms and readings with an exceptionally high standard of choral singing. The first book of the Codex Calixtinus includes the chants for Vespers and a Vigil Mass on the eve of the Feast of St James. The rendition of the traditional Dum Pater Familias from the Codex is most beautiful.

On the 25th the Cathedral is full from early in the day with many seats reserved. At the appointed hour the Archbishop's procession begins from the door of the cathedral leading to the Plaza Praterias. As this is happening the King and senior politicians inspect the guard of honour in the main square as well as meet the civic authorities. They form up in procession then as the Archbishops's procession enters the square church and state meet and form one prcession into the Cathedral. The order of precedence is fascinating with the Archcofradia of the Apostol having senior rank. Usually in a procession the priest who is presiding comes last as the most senior. In a cathedral that is the bishop or archbishop. In this procession the King or his representative comes last and assumes the throne. He will then give a traditional greeting to the Archbishop and all of Spain. The Archbishop replies and the feast day mass continues. It is really a splendid affair.

To add to the festivities I am having a grand lunch with the pilgrims arriving on the Camino Ingles and others from Santiago and abroad who will be there. If we survive the day we'll all try to find a good vantage point to see the most magnificent fireworks display which includes a realistic re-enactment of the Burning of the Cathedral. This video of last year's give a flavour.

So....Happy Feast Day to everyone on the 25 July. I'll write a full account of the adventure of the week on my return.

The pilgrims and the shepherd

I suppose I’ve always known about Gibraltar. However I confess knowing about the Rock of Gibraltar and the Barbary apes was about the extent of my knowledge. Then in the beginning of my encounter with the pilgrimage routes to Santiago I read Christabel Watson’s account of her journey. 
I was impressed by this adventure which took her 42 days to complete. It was only after I started walking myself that I realised that she must have been positively racing to cover the distance in this time. Then I found out a little more about Lady Christabel, racing driver and mountaineer and it was more understandable!

Then one day as I was ambling along the Via de la Plata I was overtaken by an older pilgrim who was walking at least 6 kms per hour. We caught up with each other at the albergue in Santa Marta de Terra. This was Hans, 67 years of age from Germany who had started walking in Gibraltar. He was a lovely, gentle soul who had always wanted to walk to Santiago and thought he would start on this southernmost tip of the peninsula. As our conversation progressed I discovered that his hobby was motor cycling. I wondered if all pilgrims who start in Gibraltar are high speed?

I never gave Gibraltar another thought until I started following the blog of Ana Maria and Robert who decided to walk from Gibraltar to Santiago and on to Finisterre in memory of Robert’s brother, William Gomez, who died of cancer in 2000. They set out in April of this year and having reached Santiago and then Finisterre decided to continue on to A Coruña. Theirs is an epic pilgrimage and they suffered serious physical problems and had to cope with a lot of inclement weather. However the cause was noble because as well as being a memorial to their brother, they were raising money for charity. The fact that they took 77 days to finish on 5 July was a pleasant antidote to my early concerns about Gibraltar being the starting blocks for high speed walking. Robert and Ana Maria’s website http://walkforwilliam2010.blogspot.com/ tells their story and it is an excellent source of information for other pilgrims.
Gibraltarian Robert and Argentinian Ana Maria planned and trained for their journey for a considerable period before they started in April. While they were preparing I got a telephone call which put Gibraltar right on the map for me.

As regular visitors to this column know I have been playing the organ in Clapham for a few years, latterly dividing my time between there, walking and Santiago. The parish priest for 7 of these years, Ralph Heskett, became a friend. A fellow hispanophile, he told me that he had been travelling to Gibraltar for close on 30 years, preaching and filling in for local priests when they were on holiday. Ralph knows my interest in the routes to Santiago and he was surprised that I had never visited Gibraltar. In fact I think at one point I said that I would visit Gibraltar if he walked with me to Santiago. His reply indicated that his idea of pilgrimage to Santiago was to go on an air-conditioned bus. He would simply continue to visit Gibraltar because “I love it” he said.
At the time of that conversation neither of us knew that some years later I would be speaking to him on the telephone minutes after the Vatican had announced that the Pope had appointed him the next Bishop of Gibraltar. The Pope, Bishop, his beloved Gibraltar…he was astonished to the point of being speechless. That was a strange phenomenon for one of the best preachers I have ever heard. The reaction of people who know Ralph was interesting. It was as if they couldn’t believe that someone with Ralph’s outstanding qualities could be appointed. I know that says more about people's feelings about the Vatican but “our Ralph” isn’t a politician, or a mover and shaker. He is a man from a humble background, who was attracted to the mission of the Redemptorist Order, and who has a real understanding of the issues and difficulties of ordinary people. Ralph is a man who I have never heard judge or condemn people. He is someone one you would turn to if you had problems. Ralph is easily moved. He is a man of considerable tenderness. A Bishop? Wow. There is hope.

So Ralph’s invitation for me to go to Gibraltar was at last fulfilled when I flew there last Friday to attend his “being Bishoped” on Saturday. The technical term is to be ordained a Bishop and there were lots of other Bishops in attendance to make sure it was done right. On Friday night I gathered with other friends from the UK for dinner with Ralph on this last night before he became Bishop of Gibraltar. It was a lovely event. People were glad to see him and he was delighted to be with us. The atmosphere was jolly. This was a celebration as it was the first time many had seen him since the Papal proclamation. Ralph sat at a table with the Archbishop who with other Bishops would ordain him the next day. He was surrounded by friends and smothered in good wishes. Tomorrow we would see him in the robes of a bishop, wearing a mitre and carrying a sparkling new staff. Tonight he was simply our friend. I looked over at one point and there midst the party atmosphere sat a man deeply reflective of the task which lies before him. The picture I sneakily took is how I see my friend and why he deserved the oil with which he was anointed and the rapturous welcoming applause of the Gibraltarian congregation the next morning in a gathering so big they had to use an aircraft hanger for the ceremony. Ralph will be a good Bishop for the people of Gibraltar. Of that I am sure.

They will now know his warmth and humour. He is a natural communicator and could easily have been an actor in another life. They will be moved by his insightful sermons. They will be touched by the character of the man.
Ralph lived in one room in the Redemptorist House in Clapham for nine years. He now lives in the Bishop’s House. At the end of the evening we looked out as the sun set on the Straights of Gibraltar. He was surrounded by friends. We won’t see him again for a while as he has a new life now. When pilgrims Ana Maria and Robert next return to Gibraltar they will have a new shepherd. I penned the following little message to him:

‘Twas the night of the Nativity Play and the boy who was to be the shepherd was worried. “I don’t want to do it,” he said. “But why not?” his friends asked. After a moment the boy replied, “I’ll give you three reasons. First, everyone will look at me when I get dressed up in those strange clothes. Second, I’m not sure people will like me, and third, there are many others who might have been better in this part.” His friends listened thoughtfully then replied,“You need to be the shepherd and we’ll give you three reasons. First, you’ve been selected for the part by the Director. Second, you’re the best person we know to look after the lambs. Third, if you ever get lonely as the only shepherd in the play we’ll always be here for you.”

Ralph, Priest, Bishop and dear friend we know you have the talent.
We pray that you are also given the grace to be the shepherd your people need.

The Coast of Death and Life

For many pilgrims standing at the point at Finisterre is the final end to their journey. Whilst Santiago holds the joy and excitement of arriving at the cathedral and the tomb of Saint James, many keep on walking to this more ancient place. The Romans believed that this was the end of the world. Where heaven meets earth. The place where if you sailed to the horizon your boat would drop off into the eternal abyss. When I gaze at that same horizon I can understand why they thought this and why modern pilgrims feel an almost primeval urge to walk until you can walk no further.
I find Finisterre a strangely underdeveloped little village. It has a few hotels and hostels but the harbour remains very much the work place of small fishing vessels which have plied their trade here for a millennium and beyond. It is messy with all of the smells of diesel oil and rotting fish, discarded ropes and fragments of fishing nets. Every day the seagulls still herald the return of the boats.

As pilgrims walk through Finisterre, past the albergue and up the hill out of town excitement mounts. Everyone I met when I was last there felt it. Near the top the waymark records 0 Kilometres. The end has been reached. The pilgrims I met fell to silence. The little group dispersed. People had their own thoughts. Private reflections on the journey which had gone and perhaps a cocktail of emotions about going back to the life left behind. In a whoop of excitement a boy made a little fire with paper and with great ceremony burned his socks. Although I suspect they may soon have disintegrated anyway we watched as he carried on a pilgrim tradition. Some burned all of their pilgrim clothes and plunged into the sea. The symbolism of leaving pilgrimage behind and beginning the next stage of life cleansed at the end of the world is powerful but I shudder at the thought of trying it myself.

Finisterre is the end of the world and the end of the pilgrimage route, they say. Well perhaps, because the next village round the coast Muxía claims to be the “religious end” to the pilgrimage to Santiago. Whatever the merits of this claim I find the walk round to Muxía beautiful and quite reflective. Muxía is a small fishing village very reminiscent of similar communities on the coast of Scotland. Unlike them however it boasts a miracle. Several actually. “This is the place where the Virgin Mary arrived in a stone boat to encourage St James in his work preaching the Gospel.” The hospitalero explained. “And there on the beach in front of the Church of El Sanctuario de la La Barca lies the evidence.” If you look closely you can imagine that one giant rock might be the upturned hull of a boat. But this is a place of imagination, romance, superstition and folklore. This is the coast where the Pedra de Abalar can be rocked by a group of people standing on it and depending on which way the see-saw falls gives yes or no answers to important questions. Other miraculous properties are said to be held by the Pedra dos Cadris where if you wriggle through the low archway you may be cured of kidney or back problems. In the 18th Century these magic stones were said to have powers of fertility but conception had to take place on the stones themselves. It is understandable that this uncomfortable, tourism averse, practice died out.

There is more to the beauty of the coast line and the rugged people of the fishing villages of Galicia. I have been reading a book loaned to me by Antonio who himself started off life as a fisherman. It is called, “Costa de la Muerte - Historia y and Anecdotario de sus Naufragios” by José Baña Heim.
Often when looking at the history of the sea and its people we can get caught up in the excitement of stories about piracy and smuggling, treachery and daring-do. This coast line has all of these from the tales of locals leading ships onto the rocks with lanterns so they could plunder the shipwrecks, to more modern tales of smugglers bringing in booze, tobacco and sadly latterly narcotics.

There is another side to the story and Antonio gave me the book as a result of conversation we had about his childhood as a small boy being sent out on the fishing boats and how hard the life was. The women waited to see if their husbands would return as this can be a savage coastline with merciless seas. In 1890, for example, the Royal Navy training ship, the Serpent, went down with loss of the lives of 172 boy sailors. To this day the small “Cementerio de los Ingleses” marks the spot at Punta Boi. The author has recorded some 200 shipwrecks over the 100 years to 1987 which resulted in 3,000 deaths. Even today some 20 sailors and fishermen per year lose their lives off of this coast marked by numerous granite memorial crosses . Small wonder that Antonio’s mother with the others in the village waited to see if the ships brought home more than fish in the evening.
These are people who have had more than their fair share of personal and environmental disasters to cope with. At this time when we are thinking about the situation in the Gulf of Mexico we remember that three of the world’s worst oil tanker disasters occurred on this coastline. The last was in 2002 when the tanker, the Prestige, floundered on the Costa de la Muerte the coastline most threatened was around Finisterre and Muxía. People rose to the occasion and thousands of volunteers turned up to help clean up Galicia’s beloved coastline. “Nunca Máis”, “Never Again” became the slogan on posters everywhere some of which can still be seen by pilgrims.

This is the land to which pilgrims have travelled for over 1000 years. For many the end of their pilgrimage on this Coast of Death marks the beginning of a new way of life. From death to life – how could it not be so?