Santiago de Compostela

20121126-172636.jpgAll roads don’t lead to Rome, but all Pilgrims paths lead to Santiago, we were completing our journey. We have shared our time with young and old, from all walks of life, rich and poor, from all five continents, some lovely people and others from Australia. I hoped in my heart each night that some of the relationships we were forging might last at least until breakfast the next morning. On the way we saw many of these trees, the bark had been stripped to between 4 and 8 feet from the ground. I asked the brain box if she knew why?
Conservation she replied, they’re only chopping the bottom half down.
I couldn’t wait for our ride to be over.20121126-172815.jpgWe soon arrive to an eerie Santiago, there is a national strike on in Spain today so the Police are ignoring the trouble from demonstrators, and arresting any shopkeeper who tries to open for business. We have been in the saddle for 56 hours to complete the more than 500 miles which make up The Way of St James, tackled an elevation gain of over six and a half miles (I don’t know exactly but that must be almost to the moon), and had to endure 14 nights in the company of people 8 slices short of a Scooby snack, to earn our certificate which we could have bought for a Euro at this gift shop, just as soon as the proprietor got out of jail.20121126-172715.jpgWe leave our bikes in the stables to be fed and watered and step into the Pilgrims Office. Even before entering we could hear the wailing, a grown man sobs in emotion at finishing the walk, it must be the blisters. Our turn at the counter we present our stamped up Pilgrims Passports, we are given our Certificates and congratulated, and I wait expectantly.
Is something wrong Sir?
Er, which room is God in?
Sorry Sir?
You said God would be here
God is everywhere Sir
Now I know when i’m being fobbed off, so I pull out my leaflet, ‘every step you take will bring you closer to our Lord’, it’s in black & white, I mention the trades description act of 1968.
That’s metaphorically speaking Sir
I don’t know what the weathers got to do with it, but realise I’m the wrong end of a cruel scam. It takes two to tango, so I waltz into the centre of the room, hold aloft my certificate and laughing manically announce that I’m not really a Pilgrim. After the collective gasp all goes silent, a hundred eyes on me and for the first time since Mum cut my hair as a teenager, I wished the floor would open up and swallow me.
At that moment, the floor opened up and swallowed me….20121127-094005.jpg

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