The twentieth day of the Camino Francés
the end of my pilgrimage
The last day I had hardly any miles to go, but what there were were depressing. Along the main road, and up to the Monte del Gozo, Montjoie, the little hill from which the pilgrim first saw the cathedral. A Montjoie like those of the other two great pilgrimages; the Montjoie outside Jerusalem from which one sees the golden roofs first, and the Montjoie or Mons Malus which gives a first sight of Rome; and in Spain, the Santiago de la Manjoya, a mile out of Oviedo. But today was smoggy, hazy, and I saw nothing but the path leading down again. And then the route lay among suburbs, through modern houses and apartment blocks, along broad traffic-laden roads, and only at last coming out into the Calle de las Casas Reales did we realise that we had arrived, with the bulk of the baroque façades of the cathedral looming over us.
I got my certificate, and I have it still, neatly completed in good Latin, and I am a good deal more proud of it than of most of my other qualifications.; it cost me more. I left the cathedral, took one look at the Portico de la Gloria, and collapsed with heatstroke. Two hours later I was on the train back to England, booked into a sleeper that would get to Irún the next day, and Paris by the afternoon. My pilgrimage had ended.
© Andrea Kirkby 1996