Of Sinners and Saints, of Showmen and Ghost towns

Written in Léon, España, am 02.11.2009

On the Way of St. James from Le Puy, France to León, Spain

“Your son is as dead as the fried chickens on my plate”, shouted the judge, who had sentenced the young man to death and who had let him hang. Yet before he had finished the phrase the animals flew off his plate cawing loudly. Then he believed what the parents said, that they had found their innocently hanged son alive when returning from Santiago. So is the story told of the most famous miracle of “Santo Domingo de la Calzada”. In memory of this episode two chickens are held in the local church still.

Flowery legends, extraordinary personalities and lots of art history pave the Way of St. James, which I followed in the last weeks. I walked along the classic main route “Camino francés” connecting Le Puy and Santiago. I went southwest through the diverse landscapes of the French Central Massive to St. Pied de Port on the northern edge of the Pyrenees. After crossing the mountains the Spanish province Navarra awaited me with wide autumnally-brown fields. Surprisingly fast I left Pamplona behind, walked through the vineyards of the province “La Rioja” and arrived at the Castilian city Burgos. I then walked the long, flat and straight roads of the “Meseta” heading to Léon. From here I have only 300 km left to Santiago, but it pays off to rest a couple of days in the Castilian capital.

I have been on the road exactly fifty days since Le Puy. It is a good moment to record some thoughts and to drink glass of a good “Vino tinto”. After the troubles with pulmonia this summer I am twice as glad to be able to trek through France and Spain alive and kicking.

Crossroads
On the road, I have thought about how differently the summer and autumn would have gone, if I had not gotten ill; which other ways I might have gone, which other people I would have met and which other adventures I would have experienced. I realized clearly, how much life depends on short moments and encounters. Perhaps it is luck playing its game. But aren’t all our thoughts and words, our feelings and intuitions crucial in each second?

I am more than happy about how things turned out. Many positive opportunities evolved out of the fact that I had returned to Austria to recover: writing the article about “Growth and Degrowth”, doing the FM4 radio interview and finishing the “Low Voltage Rock’n’Roll” project. Besides that, I used the opportunity to hang around with my godchildren Mara, Anna and Carina, which we all enjoyed alot. Even more enjoyable was the weather up to now on the “Camino”. It only rained five or six days. An almost unbelievable gift!

A Middle Age Life – Colourful people on the way
As you know, the tradition of the pilgrimage to Santiago is more than a thousand years old and inspires dreams about the past. When I walk through such a preserved middle age village every now and then, passing cathedrals, monasteries and hospices, passing the statues of the saints or passing the old bridges over the numerous rivers, then I can well imagine how things were for the many hundred thousands of pilgrims in the middle age.

“The country road was the place of encounters – happy, funny, disquieting and scary encounters”, describes Ulrich Grober of the middle age traffic routes. On the road, you would find the “colourful mix of the migratory workers, chapmen and gypsies, jugglers and musicians. In addition the legions of homeless: Vagabonds, prostitutes, deserters and dismissed soldiers, beggars.” The hiking routes overlapped the routes of the salesmen and wagoneers, the students and young aristocrats on educational journeys and the members of the upper class, who travelled on horses and in carriages.

Still colourful are the people on the road in the 21st century. In 2008, the Archbishop´s office Santiago has registered more than 125.000 thousand pilgrims who have travelled on foot, horses, donkeys, bikes and buses to visit the apostles’ grave. Just as different as the origin, the age and the motivation of the people, are everyone’s individual experiences. Here is my personal story of sinners and saints, of showmen and ghost towns.

Music and monks in Conques
It is evening half past nine in Conques. I had arrived in the afternoon and instead of my tent, I had chosen a bed in the monastery hospice, in order to inhale the historic flair of this famous French pilgrimage site. I was pleased by the friendliness and the coffee, which the voluntarily working hosts had welcomed me and other pilgrims with on arrival. Spontaneously I had followed the invitation to the vespertine benediction. On this occasion one of the Benedictine monks had explained the history and the art of the famous monastery finished in the 12th century. Now, an organ concert is on the schedule and I sit right next to the organ, where the monk has taken his place. Below us the mighty nave of the roman style monastery church. Its size is as impressive as its simplicity. The new designed windows show their effect only now. During the day they were boringly grey, now the intention of its creator can be seen. They sparklingly break the light from the streetlights outside and cover the columns and bows in a strange orange tone.

The monk plays some classic pieces, the concert is more of improvisation. Notation is not necessary, he is probably performing daily. He does well. I am really surprised at the end, when he intones a fat version of “House of the Rising Sun”. Almost a bit infamous for a church, I think. And while he is pulling out all the stops for the solo, a bird flies through the arches majestically. Doubtless, a special moment, magic! Playing the “1492” theme of Vangelis he gives another bonus track, continues nonchalantly with his right hand and his feet, while he looks several times on his watch on the left hand. Yet before the 10th stroke of the clock the concert ends. Work has been done for today. Tomorrow new pilgrims will arrive. Closing time.

Godlessness in Navarra
The middle age pilgrims must have also been astonished by the enormous church they found in the small French village of Conques. It was one of the obligatory stops on the way to Santiago. So it is written in the famous “Liber Sancti Jacobi” from the 12th century. This first pilgrimage guide lists in detail all the relics to be visited, tells sagas and legends and gives all kinds of practical information. The French monk Aimeric Picaud is to be considered the author. It is definitely not written by a Spaniard, that is proven by the loads of prejudices against the Iberians. My favourite quote (original text!) is a good example of the flavour:

“When one watches them eat, one thinks he is watching dogs or pigs devour glutonously; in listening to them speak, one believes he hears dogs barking. (…) They are a barbarous people, different from all other people both in their customs and their race, full of wickedness, black of color, ugly in visage, debauched, perverse, perfidious, disloyal, corrupt, voluptuous, drunkards, expert in all types of violence, ferocious and savage, dishonest and false, impious and rude, cruel and quarrelsome, incapable of all good sentiment, full of all vices and iniquities. (…) The Navarrese fornicate shamefully with mules; they say a Navarrais hangs on the posterior of his mule and his mare a lock, so that no one else can get in.”

Well, that created positive anticipations, when I crossed the Pyrenees from St. Pied de Port to the province of Navarra. I am confident, that most of the middle age pilgrims were as positively impressed as I was. Perhaps one must grant the Basque and Navarrese people a certain originality, but they are definitely not unfriendly monsters. By the way, the same is true for the people of my origin “Mühlviertel. :-) Well then, I did not meet any vicious bastards on my way through Navarra, but I met a group of showmen in Pamplona.

Showmen in Pamplona
Dark clouds cover the sky of the Navarrese capital on this Saturday morning, but the small streets of the old town are crowded. Together with two other pilgrims I am coming from the organic food store, where we just had bought provisions for the hike. We are on the way to the cathedral, when two other pilgrims cross our way. “Buen camino” we wish each other on passing, but one of them seems so familiar to me. It takes three seconds, until my brain puts all necessary information together. Sometime somewhere I had read, that they had shot a movie right now on the Way of St. James. Yes, now I remember. “Martin Sheen, that was Martin Sheen”, I shout and follow them. And really: On the “Plaza Consistorial” the camera team is already installed there for a location shoot. I want to take a little souvenir photo, when the assistant comes over and asks me, if I would like to participate. “Of course”, I say and laugh about the case, that I am at the right place at the right time again. So we walk over the closed off square four times, until the scene is complete. Man, the director Emilio Estevez must be really happy to have got such a good pilgrim to grade up his movie. :-) Well, my cinema tip for next year: “The way”. And then watch out for the cool guy with the huge backpack in a black rain cover!

Accommodating pilgrims in the ghost village
But now to those who support the pilgrims fearlessly in far off regions. One of the most famous hospice founders in history is Domingo de Viloria, the town “Santo Domingo de la Calzada” is named after him. He rode himself a way into the dense woods and built a bridge over the “Rio Oja”, back in the 12th century. I also walked on his street, nowadays the “Calle Mayor” of the village. Just as good old Domingo took care of the pilgrims with commitment and charisma, you find also today people who respond to the call of becoming “hospitaleros”. One I met just around the corner of Santo Domingo in Cirueña, the ghost village.

It is late afternoon. I am walking tired in blinding sunlight along the field path. I am looking for a good camp spot for tonight, but my feeling tells me to go on a bit further. Look, there is somebody coming up the way. I ask if it would be okay to put up my tent right here next to the little pond. But he says: “Why don’t you come up with me to Cirueña? I am hospitalero myself!” And since I am the only pilgrim this Saturday in mid-October, Pedro-Mari does not only invite me to sleep in his hostel for free, but also to have dinner and breakfast. Perfect! I am very glad for this surprise and together we spend a nice evening.

My host tells me that he had gone the Way of St. James three times before he decided to open this little hostel. He says, Cirueña was actually a ghost village, only 25 inhabitants lived here the whole year and the houses decayed continuously. But hadn’t I seen plenty of new apartment buildings when we entered the village? Yes, 400 apartments have been built in the last years, but no one has moved into 300 of them. Now the penny drops: that’s why there was a golf course aside. Everything fits: a classic example of real estate speculation and its sad consequences. Spain had been Europe’s leader in the boom phase. Now nobody wants to live in the boring row houses in the middle of nowhere. Most of them are for sale, but the owners are stuck with the apartments. Well, I guess, somebody has made money.

On the way
You see, the times have not changed in some areas. Towns and villages grow and die. Men and women from all around walk all the way to Santiago creating a colourful collection of people on the road. Many old habits continue to exist, held alive by people who make the way something special. Every single person has the responsibility to what the way means to himself and to others. Just as in life. It is a pleasure to be among so many people, who share my wandering spirit. But about those I will tell you next time…

All the best and timeless greetings wishes your wanderer

Reinhold.

Some Impressions