Santiago de Compostela

A few years ago, the idea of making a pilgrimage to Santiago had been lingering in my mind for some time, but mostly through the habit of routine, I had not made much progress in making that a reality. Unlike most trips, which are usually just a matter of booking a flight, a hotel, a car, etc. the idea of taking on a pilgrimage can seem like a daunting matter of logistics. Where will I stay? Will I like sleeping at albergues? Will I be able to complete the camino in time to catch my flight? How far should I plan for each stage? Should I book hotels ahead of time? And so forth.

 

The year before I went to Santiago, Winter Harp had an amazing guest fiddler who joined us on the tour named Oliver Schroer. Oliver was a genius, and his death four years ago is an incalculable loss to the musical legacy of the West Coast, or Canada for that matter. Oliver more than just played the violin, he treated it, re-inventing a way of producing sounds which were cosmic, mind expanding, ethereal, fluid, transparent, baroque... there are no words which can describe his music. It was unique, and it gave the traditionally medieval Winter Harp sound a really outer-space feeling, almost like something one would see at a planeterium with lasers: Winter Harp psychadelicised. It was amazing.

Oliver had just recently completed his landmark album Camino, which is in frequent rotation on my iPod. It is required listening for anyone considering the Camino. It was largely recorded accoustically with a small digital recorder along the Camino de Santiago. Oliver had figured out how to transport his violin in his backpack using his sleeping bag and a cover over the bridge and whenever he stopped at any of the dozens of churches, monasteries and cathedrals along the way, he would set up his recorder, take out his violin, and improvise extemporaneously as the setting inspired him. This sometimes had ridiculous results, the clergy not always taking kindly to improvisations in their hallowed sanctuary, though often times he was greeted with great enthusiasm and appreciation. Afterwards, the recordings were remastered and edited in the recording studio back in Canada. The album perfectly captures the feeling of the Camino, using Oliver's unique sonic cosmology as a reference to describe his impressions of being in these sacred places. Oliver told me a lot of things about the Camino, what to expect and so forth, but mostly the message was "just go, you'll figure it out when you get there."

Touring with him that year was a blast, and I learned a great deal just by watching him. Like me, Oliver was also a night owl, and liked to eat late and stay up talking into the wee hours. After many of the out-of-town concerts, when everyone was resting in their hotel rooms, Oliver and I would go out and find a late night eatery someplace and discuss philosophy. Many of the philosophical issues we talked about eventually came down to talking about God, always avoiding the unnecessary distraction of religious dogma. He had a vast understanding of Baruch Spinoza, quoting long passages of the Ethics from memory. For him God and Nature were one and the same thing, being an abstract elemental force, and in so far as this was not incompatible with my classical Stoic beliefs (and perhaps some hereditary seny ), we had much in common. Stoicism, much older than Christianity, has much in common with many Christian values, except of course the mythologizing personification of God. Stoicism is based on reason, logic and the pursuit of understanding Nature. The Roman empire was an easy target for conversion to Christianity when it quite literally crawled out of the Roman sewage system. The danger as far as I was concerned is simply this: It is very much like a former heroin addict being constantly surrounded by active users of that opiate; without a clear break and an active avoidance of that lifestyle, there is the very real possibility of a relapse. Like a heroin addiction, religion is crippling and profoundly damaging to any type of reasoned approach to many of life's intractable problems, consequently, to talk of God in almost any fashion, including as an abstracted elemental Naturall force, brings along with it enormous amounts of baggage which will influence the outcome of any reasoned discussion. There is a very good reason why the existence of God cannot be proved mathematically, i.e., dispassionately. This is where Oliver and I disagreed: for him, reason was not the way to enlightenment, and could not defeat our inherently emotional human nature. Humans are emotional creatures. Oliver's thinking was that the only thing that could defeat an emotion was an even stronger emotion, and thus the idea of religious pilgrimage for the purpose of an emotional connection with God was for him perfectly consistent with the oppressively medieval Catholicism inherent in the journey. My position in this respect is very simple and consistent with the writings of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius: emotions are a product of thoughts, and as we can control our thoughts, it follows that we can control our emotions. Furthermore, if the abstracted concept of God and Nature really are synonymous, then surely a better place to find this emotional connection would be in places where Nature is still pristine and untouched by the hand of man; rare in Europe, abundant in British Columbia.

The Church has a different view on knowing that we know what we know:

" the fundamental act of human knowledge consists in an act of faith, and the supreme criterion of certitude is authority." (Catholic Encyclopedia).

In other words, let the Pope decide...

I often wish we had recorded those late night conversations. About the middle of the tour he started complaining about a cold he just couldn't kick. A few weeks after the tour ended, he was diagnosed with leukemia.

For me, the Camino is a study of human folly, the power of a mental meme, like a plague, to grow, multiply, and ultimately infect and destroy individuality and Reason, that fragile gift of the ancient Greeks. Consequently I have no issue going to a mass, receiving a blessing, or telling the Pilgrim's Office in Santiago that the reason for my trip has been religious (versus "Spiritual" or "Cultural": there are different certificates for these categories). I have no more emotional attachment to Catholicism than a biologist might have to a locust he happens to be dissecting under a microscope, since, like an entomologist, I temper my revulsion and disgust at the slimy gelatinous excretions of such an exploration with the intellectual curiosity and appreciation of the elegance and efficiency of the structure. Always in the back of my mind is the question, "if I had to explain this to an extra-terrestrial, where would I begin?" The absurdity of it all, and the transparently man-made fabrications present in all religious story-telling speaks poorly for humanity's ability to use Reason and critical analysis, the Socratic Method, concepts which have been known for thousands of years. Age of Enlightenment indeed. Even today most papers carry horoscopes, a pre-Copernian way of thinking of the universe. It's enough to make my head explode: perhaps Oliver was right after all.

Just as a thorough knowledge of Greek , Roman and Christian mythology are an essential prerequisite for any type of understanding of Western art and culture, the art and culture of the Camino are essential for an understanding of the motivation for making a pilgrimage of hundreds of kilometers through (in those days) highly dangerous and unpredictable circumstances. What would motivate an individual to set aside a year or more of his life to visit a reliquary at great personal danger and expense? In a world where 99.99% of the population was illiterate, and the vast majority of people worked in some direct form of agriculture, it staggers the mind that someone would just decide to put down their rake and go for a two thousand kilometer (or more) walk. The ability to separate this way of thinking from the present day institution, now desperately clinging to the edge of a precipice, is crucial for an objective understanding of the facts surrounding the Medieval act of pilgrimage.

How the remains of the apostle eventually came to be found in the remotest corner of Spain is a story so ridiculous it is worth repeating for the sheer absurdity of it all. There is no historic evidence to prove that Jesus existed, much less his apostles, nevertheless, assuming someone called James actually existed, according to legend, he came to Spain to evangelize. According to this legend, he was singularly unsuccessful at doing this, only managing to make a few converts. However, in a vision he had in Zaragoza, he saw the Virgin Mary appear on top of a stone pillar which she had brought specifically from Jerusalem symbolizing that he must use it to found his church. (Airline baggage allowances must have been considerably more generous in those days. ) This stone pillar is still the basis of the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Pillar in Zaragoza, and any female with the quite common named Pilar, or Pili for short, in the Spanish speaking world is referencing this stone column. The column has been set into the back of the main altar in at the cathedral. There is an area around back where the devoted can actually touch it and expose themselves to some of the most pathogenically diverse bacteria on the planet. I make it a point not to touch any such relics, whether in Istanbul or Jerusalem, if I don't have alcoholic hand sanitizer handy.

Following that apparition, St James returned to Judea, where he was beheaded by King Herod Agrippa I in the year 44. This is where the story gets truly bizarre. His followers put his remains on a stone boat without a sail or rudder, that mysteriously floated across the length of the Mediterranean, and past the pillars of Hercules (was it heading to America to meet up with Jesus in Mississippi as he was preaching to the first Mormons?) Off the West coast of Spain a heavy storm hit the ship, and the body was lost to the ocean. After some time, however, the body washed ashore undamaged, covered in scallops, now the symbol of the camino. Seriously, I am not making this up. St. James few followers built a small shrine, and his remains were placed there. After many centuries of Roman occupation, the location of the shrine and grave became overgrown and lost. In 813 the light of a bright star guided a shepherd who was watching his flock at night to the burial site in Santiago de Compostela. The shepherd quickly reported his discovery to the bishop of Iria, Bishop Teodomiro. The bishop declared that the remains were those of the apostle James and immediately notified King Alfonso II in Oviedo. To honor St. James, the cathedral was built on the spot where his remains were said to have been found. In 844 a victory at a battle fought near Clavijo between the forces of Christandom and the Emir of Cordoba was credited to the intercession of St. James who appeared at the head of the Christian army and dispatched many of the enemy forces with his sword. From that point on St. James became known as Santiago Matamoros, or St. James the Moor Slayer. St. James is often depicted on a white horse with a drawn sword cutting down Muslims and riding over their bodies.

Unfortunately for this "charming" little story, it has no basis whatsoever in reality. The fact of the matter is that no battle at Clavijo ever took place, and I don't think I need to explain that St. James and his white horse did not actually make an appearance. You couldn't make up a more idiotic story; it says a great deal about the gullibility of the medieval mind. I sometimes wonder how the large Islamic population of Spain must view the ever-present depiction of the nation's patron saint, "the moor slayer." With racial tensions running high, especially in areas of high immigration, I also wonder about the motivations of the devout who light candles at the many depictions of St.James that can be found in the niches of churches throughout Spain. The common belief of the faithful is that whenever Spain finds herself in trouble, St. James will come to the rescue, sword held high, on his white charger.

The fact of the matter is this: St. James never came to Spain, and the origins of this medieval fable date from a 6th century mistranslation of "Hireusalum" as "Hispanium" in an early martyrology which mentions where St. James preached, medieval copyists being notoriously unreliable for such details. The New Testament is quite clear in this respect, in Romans 15:20-25 Paul writes:

"But as it is written, To whom he was not spoken of, they shall see: and they that have not heard shall understand. Yea, so have I strived to preach the gospel, not where Christ was named, lest I should build upon another man's foundation: For which cause also I have been much hindered from coming to you. But now having no more place in these parts, and having a great desire these many years to come unto you;Whensoever I take my journey into Spain, I will come to you: for I trust to see you in my journey, and to be brought on my way thitherward by you, if first I be somewhat filled with your company."

In other words, Paul was intent on going where Christianity had never been preached (not wanting to build on the work of someone else) thus he planned on going to Spain.

On a more practical level, the church saw that it could get people from all over Europe to funnel significant resources along the pilgrimage route, including making it safe from encroachment by the Moors. Thus a vast network of hospices, defensive fortifications, and facilities were established to safely allow this pilgrimage route, with the real intent of keeping at least the Northern area of Spain free from Islam. Religion, as usual, is just mortal men figuring out how to fleece other mortal men of their money, time and resources.

Upon arriving in Santiago, the first thing I did was visit the Oficina del Peregrino near The Cathedral and received my Compostela diploma.

This not being a Holy Jacobean Year, unlike 2010, I did not get the supplemental Vatican secret spy decoder ring, the set of steak knives, or the magic t-shirt (I felt a slight warmth upon wearing it last time), but I did qualify for "most bizarre and unlikely place to start", though there is no special bonus prize for this. Two years ago I started the Camino at the Monastery of Montserrat, in Catalunya. Upon going to the Pilgrim's office in Santiago the lady behind the desk asked me, with a perfectly straight face, where Montserrat was. It was the first stamp in my credential. For an instant I had a vision of me jumping over the desk and throttling her until her eyes bulged out of her head and her face turned purple, but this soon passed as I thought that chocking a church official to death might be seen by some as bad manners and could possibly disqualify me from getting my Compostela certificate. I informed her it was in Catalunya, Ca-ta-lun-ya, and she scuttled off to consult with someone with a brain larger than a flea. In the heirarchy of Catholicism, this might involve an Archbishop.

This time it went quite a lot smoother, when I said Ceuta, in Africa, the response was "Whaaa?"

"You know, just below Seville..."

"Oh, Seville, yes, naturally, yes, of course, very good, well done..."

I was too tired to argue, besides which the starting location is not listed on the certificate, and is only important for the Cathedral's register, which I filled in myself, and wrote 'Ceuta, Spain' in block letters. Let the record show that...

The reliquary where the bones of St. James are kept. Or not...

After this I checked into my hotel, the five star "Reyes Catolicos". This is a fine establishment, and they have excellent service. The hotel is worth visiting even if not staying there, since it was built specifically by order of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, who made the pilgrimage themselves (on horseback: they might have had back-up resources, just sayin') and who were much devoted to the cult of St. James, thus historically significant from an architectural standpoint. The hotel served as a hospital and hostel for pilgrims till well into the 19th century, and in the 1950's it was extensively updated and converted into a modern facility. Franco and the fascists were also much devoted to St. James, and actively encouraged pilgrimage to Santiago. Franco, was after all, from Galicia. The hotel features antique furniture in the style of the 16th century, as well as a fine restaurant which in its own right is quite famous throughout Spain.

Following are some pictures of the hotel and my room.

Last time I stayed here it was quite a treat because I had not yet discovered the cheap way of vacationing in Spain (reservations on the Internet are a must), so I did not stay in as nice accommodations as this trip, though there were some very fine hotels even then, it's just that I paid too much for them. In many places on the Camino, there is just no choice, and the finest hotel can be quite modest because the Camino passes through some fairly obscure places. Even then, the sheets are always clean, the water is always hot, and the owners are always prepared to help any way they can; people in Spain are very friendly, and knowing the language helps tremendously. Even if everything is closed, the lady of the house is always ready to fry up some eggs or potatoes even when a traveller arrives late. There is a certain decency in Spain which is really unique in Europe, and the piety involved with the whole act of pilgrimage, when taken seriously, does carry some weight behind it, most especially when done by mature people. While most of Spain is merely culturally Catholic, the institutions of the church are still respected, which is a good news/ bad news story. Good in as much as historically and artistically the value of these artifacts is incalculable, and the church does good work in their maintenance and upkeep (though the money invariably comes from private donations... ) Bad, in as much as the Catholic church still has its hands on the levers of political power, and can exert considerable influence on such issues as reproductive rights, the rights of homosexuals, various areas of scientific research, etc. This is another reason why so much gets done, and then undone, then redone, in the precarious swings of political power from Left to Right to Left....

In keeping with the hotel's long history of accommodating pilgrims (though few of the young pilgrims who do the Camino can afford to stay here, and all the older "pilgrims" come by car, thus not officially "pilgrims") the hotel feeds 10 pilgrims who apply every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner. These 30 meals are served in the staff dining hall, and usually consist of a very simple meal, which, fair enough, is supposed to be accepted in the spirit in which it is granted. In my case, as breakfast was included, being a huge buffet spread consisting of several tables, one just for fruit, another for breads, croissants, etc. another for eggs, in a multitude of styles, meats, sausages, dozens of cheeses, in short, a meal fit for a king and queen, I never bothered to apply, as there were far more ravenous looking young pilgrims outside. My enormous breakfast usually obviated the need for lunch, and typically I would find some bar nearby, of which there are dozens, and have some authentic Galician cooking for dinner. Desserts bear special mention; there is something called Tarta de Santiago, which has almonds and cinnamon and is like a dense cake, and when served with some fine Catalan Moscatell is capable of converting cantankerous skeptics like me into True Believers. Not quite, but excellent never the less.