The late afternoon sun that was mild has turned warm, a last blaze before it sets maybe, yet it causes me to sweat under my layers. Instead of removing them, I move into the shade and follow the stone walkway to the steps that lower me into an arch, where a man blows into the bagpipes. Before I embarked on this journey I was ignorant to many different nations, throughout history, that have ruled this region. Over the many footprints I’ve left across Spain, the Camino has left its own imprint on me, that of a lesson in regional history, which explains why the presence of Celtic traditions are of no surprise to me.
I clear the Arco de Palacio (arch) after dropping a few euros into the musician’s hat, and to my left is the ornate fence, its gates opened wide. I walk absently to the center of the plaza and face the intimidating structure. I scan the groups of people for a familiar face but there are none. So I take in the scene that’s laid out all around me. First, the stairs that lead to the giant metal doors covered with unwelcoming cone-shape points, like the spiked collar of a menacing dog. I follow the structure upward until my head is stopped by my shoulders and my small mortal self is unable to look up any further without falling back. It’s daunting, my eyes taking in only sections of the cathedral at a time. I step backwards for a more complete view, when I’m distracted by the shrills of pilgrims reuniting. They are not my pilgrims, so I step back some more, and feel as if I’m walking out of the scene that I’ve longed to be a part of.
There are many people in the Plaza del Obradoiro, swapping cameras to get the “money shot,” the same photo that anyone who has ever visited Santiago has of themselves in front of the cathedral. As they pose I scan their faces because there’s a kind of facial recognition software that picks out my pilgrim-pals. It’s a plaza because the cathedral is flanked by buildings that enclose it – structures that I’ll give no notice to while in Santiago. Instead I stay fixed on the cathedral, for it’s the break-away tape at the end of my slow race. The tourists in the plaza are aware of the pilgrims, yet only those who have walked the distance of an entire country can truly appreciate the significance of our presence. I see a Spanish couple taking photos of each other with a similar model of phone to mine. In my best Spanglish I try to convey the image I’m hoping for. The man aims and presses the virtual shutter, without a 1-2-3, or uno, dos, tres, not even a “Say cheese” or queso. It’s quick, as though we’re at the State Fair and it’s my turn to go behind the farm scene and stick my face in the hole where the cow’s face has been removed. He hands me my phone and they disappear into the crowd. Before looking at the picture, I conquer one of those foes within, choosing not to get distracted by destinations and remain focused on the journey. But the foe stands firm and I am surely found wanting.
Pilgrim Tracy HutchinsonU.S.A.
lifecoachonthecamino.blogspot.com
@samuraicoach
Completed first Camino in 2012