A Pilgrimage Walk from Le Puy-en-Velay to Santiago de Compostela, 2003. 2.Background to the pilgrimage
The Road to Santiago de Compostela, 2003: A Pilgrim's Diary
2. Background to the pilgrimage
Spring semester, 2002-2003, I took a leave of absence from my teaching duties in the Department of Archaeology and History of Art at Bilkent University, Ankara. The book I had been working on for many years was at last finished (Ancient Cities: The Archaeology of Urban Life in the Ancient Near East and Egypt, Greece, and Rome), so it was time for a break. I spent the first three months in Athens, reading in the great library of the American School of Classical Studies. I was investigating especially the history of archaeological exploration in the region of Kinet Höyük (ancient Issos), an ancient port city in southern Turkey, in the northeast corner of the Mediterranean. The site had been under excavation since 1992, and I was a member of the project team.
In late April, I left Athens and Ankara and flew to Paris to begin a completely different activity: hiking the famous late medieval pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela, in northwest Spain. My older daughter, Caroline, agreed to come with me. She was by happy chance in a moment of transition, about to quit her job in publishing in New York in order to start a graduate program in French Literature at the University of Virginia. We each wondered, separately, how we would get along. Would we find enough to talk about, spending day and evening together for two months? Maybe we would get irritated, angry, fed up with each other! But from the first day, any such concerns melted away.
Together, we took the train to Le Puy-en-Velay, in south central France, one of the four classic starting points in France. From here we walked nearly 750 km/465 mi. to the Spanish border, crossed the Pyrenees, then walked an additional 750 km to Santiago. The trip took us sixty days. We hiked for fifty-eight of those days, resting for two – a tiring schedule I would happily have stretched out over an additional week, if I had had the time.
Initiated in the ninth century after the discovery in northwest Spain of a tomb identified as that of the apostle James, son of Zebedee and brother of John, the pilgrimage to Santiago ranked third in importance, after Jerusalem and Rome, as a religious journey for western European Christians. In the 16th century, with the Protestant Reformation and resultant religious wars in France and other regions to the north, the international character of the pilgrimage was much reduced. Even in Spain the practice declined. Since World War II but especially in the past four decades, interest in walking this trail has revived. Associations to research and promote the pilgrimage were formed, guidebooks written, and in 1982 its classic route across northern Spain, the Camino Francés, was waymarked with yellow arrows, thanks to the efforts of a Galician priest, Don Elias Valiña Sampedro. The route was declared a European Cultural Itinerary in 1987, and Pope John Paul II, visiting Santiago two years later, gave an important endorsement. To be an official pilgrim (and receive a Certificate, or Compostela, from cathedral authorities in Santiago), you need only have walked the last 100 km/62 mi. or cycled the last 200 km/125 mi. Thousands have walked or cycled the route during the past 30 years, many for much longer than 100-200 km. The numbers of those receiving the Certificate have swelled from 2,491 in 1986 to 74,614 in 2003, the year Caroline and I walked, to 114,026 in 2007, to 262,459 in 2015, and even more since, at least until Covid struck, with a sharp upsurge each Holy Year (when the Feast of St. James, July 25, falls on a Sunday). All have called themselves “pilgrims,” and carry a small booklet, or “passport” (credencial; créanciale in French) that declares a religious motivation (this “passport” is required in Spain if you wish to stay in the many low-cost hostels established by cities and towns for pilgrims). Even pilgrims walk the route for a variety of reasons, however: not only spiritual, but also cultural and physical, the sheer pleasure of hiking.
I myself was attracted by this mix. For one, I wanted to do a long hike. In the 1980s, I had hiked in the Himalayas (in Nepal and Kashmir), around Mont Blanc (France, Italy, Switzerland), and in Yosemite Park (California), and loved it. In the 1990s, when I joined the Kinet Höyük excavations, there was no longer the time for such hikes. Second, this route promised a great variety of things to see, including Romanesque churches at Conques and Moissac that I taught in my introductory art and architectural history courses. And importantly, I looked forward to the spiritual dimensions, an opening up of the soul as I walked through the countryside, villages, and towns, an expression of thanks and joy for the many blessings in my life.
Caroline and I, carrying backpacks of (after we unloaded extraneous items in the first week) approx. 9 kg/20 lb. (Caroline) and 12 kg/26 lb. (me), walked an average of 25 km/15 mi. each day. Trail conditions varied, from narrow forest paths to unpaved and even paved roads. In France, there were more hills to climb and descend, although in Spain we hiked up and over three sets of mountains. The French route passes through beautiful countryside, farms, villages, and small towns. The largest is Cahors, a town of 25,000 dating from Roman times and strategically located on a bend in the Lot River. In Spain, in contrast, large cities dot the route: Pamplona, Burgos, León, and Santiago itself. Before reaching the historic city centers, always picturesque, one spends much time crossing dull outskirts filled with factories, warehouses, and generic modern housing.
We stayed in the hostels established to serve hikers and cyclists. In France, these hostels are often privately owned, although some are sponsored by municipalities and religious groups. Kitchens are available, but we signed up for prepared dinners and breakfasts whenever offered. Dinner with five to fifteen others was an excellent way to meet other pilgrims. People of many nationalities and a variety of occupations treated each other in a friendly, relaxed manner – a model of how human relationships should be. In Spain, municipalities run the majority of hostels. Facilities are simpler, prices much lower: we paid 3-5 euros per night, per bed. In both France and Spain, the hostels are dormitories, men and women together. This group living can be trying: the snoring, the early leavers rustling around as they prepare their packs, the hot water that has run out, the stuffy air from windows shut at night. So from time to time we treated ourselves to a hotel.
When we reached Santiago, we performed the rituals that all pilgrims do, shared even by those not particularly religious. We visited the old Romanesque portal, putting our fingers into well-worn holes on the sculpted Tree of Jesse and saluting the sculptor himself, Master Mateo, portrayed in stone, by touching our head to his. We climbed up behind the main altar and embraced from behind the medieval gold-covered statue of St. James, and descended into the crypt to pay our respects to his remains, kept in a silver casket. Finally, we attended the Mass held for pilgrims every day at noon. The nationalities and places of departure of those pilgrims who have arrived during the previous 24 hours are read out: such as, “from Le Puy, two Americans, one Belgian, two French . . . ” And for us, a special treat, because we arrived on a special day, June 24th,, the Feast of St. John the Baptist (patron saint of Quebec): at the end of the Mass, the cathedral’s famous botafumeiro, the mammoth (53 kg) brass incense burner, was hoisted up on a pulley by eight men and swung back and forth, higher and higher, faster and faster. I held my breath – wouldn’t it fly out of control? But eventually down it came, the Mass ended, and we went outside to enjoy two more days of sightseeing, relaxing, talking with friends made on the long journey before we headed back home, to Ankara and to New York.
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