Santiago de Compostela, we have arrived! Not exactly how we imagined it but hey, we made it, and that’s what counts.
Naturally, the big draw here is the cathedral. And while we didn’t arrive smack-dab in the middle of peak tourist season, there was no shortage of fellow awe-struck wanderers.
We scored a room just one block from the cathedral for two nights (yes, we’re calling that divine intervention), and we made full use of that primo real estate.
Getting in the cathedral involved tight security. We dutifully unzipped our fanny packs and displayed our collection of tissues, chapstick, phones and the occasional forgotten granola bar. (We didn’t really have granola bars but it sounds like something pilgrims carry simply because we are always eating).
Once cleared, we entered… and were completely unprepared for what lay before us.
Mouths agape and eyes wide, we gasped in sync. Every direction …….. up, down, and sideways offered jaw-dropping beauty. It was a feast for the senses and a gentle slap to the soul.
Once we regained our composure (or most of it), I spotted the candles and we lit some in memory of our Mothers.
As longtime readers of my blog know, I’m a certified crybaby, and yes, the tears flowed right on cue, in true Katy-Ala-Surprise form.
We explored the church for at least an hour before the 7:30 p.m. mass, squeezing wonder out of every nook and cranny. Honestly, it took a solid hour just to absorb it all. The word stunning doesn’t cut it. The altar alone was dripping with opulence!
After wandering, we snagged seats facing the altar and just sat. For an hour. Quiet (mostly), calming, contemplative, spiritual. The kind of peace that hits you in the chest, but in a good way.
Mass was beautiful. It was in Spanish, but thanks to being a “Cradle Catholic” of a certain vintage, I followed along surprisingly well. Some things never leave you—like the ability to recite prayers you grew up saying everyday.
Post-mass, we wandered outside, found a great outside dinner spot, and did some people watching. We were told to try pulpo, (octopus), while in Spain. It was delicious. Poo, on the other hand, politely declined. (I think it was the tentacles.)
We lingered until around 9:30 or 10:00 p.m., and it was still light out, a lovely reminder that magic happens when you’re not checking your watch.
The next day, we took the English-speaking tour of the cathedral museum. It was a bit of an information overload (my brain tried to tap out a few times), but it was fascinating nonetheless.
Luckily, our tickets let us come and go for two days, which gave us plenty of time ……… and me the chance to rest and elevate my foot.
I’ve included pictures, but let me be clear: they don’t even come close to capturing the grandeur. You really just have to be here.
And yes, I cried again. But this time, it was with gratitude.
Xoxo, Kate