So, joined by what must be hundreds of thousands of Spaniards we’re making our way out of Santiago. Apparently, St.James’ day on a Holy year is such a big deal, that all of the transportation in and out needed to be booked like a month ahead. All we’ve got was a coach which we’re on right now for at least two hours longer, after having ridden it for seven so far. Ask me what is easier – to walk with a pack in 35 degree heat for 6-7 hours or to sit on my ass for 9. It’s still face mask requirement in Spain, so yes, our mascarillas are on. Brutal.
A saint’s day is a major deal in a Catholic country and St.James is whole Iberia’s favourite (don’t quote me on this, but the patron saint, probably?) We’re talking monarch’s visit. The crowd is big, loud and is everywhere. All eating places are completo, also for lunch and drinks. What’s left for us has very good food, but of the “prices larger than portions” kind. Amazingly, I’m rather full after a tiny starter (empanadilla with rooster who is almost introduced to us by first name) and pig’s cheeks – 4 small but amazingly tasty pieces of meat on a thin splosh of some vegie puré. The waiter seems amazed that I want a pint of beer.
Anyway, the madness continues until and after midnight. Crowds, fireworks, noise, friends, trying to talk, soar throat.
Morning after – the Sunday (oh, it was today, huh) – comes back with a vengeance. The police is here in numbers. Armed trucks, body armour, automatic weapon, helmets – holy crap. They’ve turned the entire center into a one way street and we’ve made for sure five circles today. At first we somehow get mixed up with the crowd waiting to see the king, but after realising the entire morning would be wasted here, we decide no earthly kings are worth waiting for and nope out of there to get something relaxing to eat.
It’s a very new experience to me: this is a relatively large town full of tourists. I’m here for the first time, and yet we wave to friends and familiar faces all the time. Pilgrims, a special bunch.
