Santiago de Compostela

It was very interesting to spend a few days in the Galician city of Santiago de Compostela, after having spent the majority of my time in the culture of southern Spain. From the architecture to the food, and even the very language, there are marked differences. The other immediate change was the weather, after the 100 plus degree days of the south, Galicia was misty and cool. The morning fog was always still wrapped around the spires of the cathedral well after noon.

Legend has it that the remains of the apostle James were brought to Galicia and in the early 9th century on a boat made of stone, and were later discovered at Santiago de Compostela. The traditional way of getting to Santiago de Compostela is by walking about 780 km from St. Jean Pied-de-Port in France, on the Way of St. James. Some pilgrims have walked a mere six days, others nearly a month to arrive dusty and tired at the steps of the facade. There was a such a mix of people among the visitors, it was fascinating, young and old, backpackers and pious. 

Perhaps the most impressive bit of architecture in Santiago de Compostela is undoubtedly the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, housed above the purported burial place of the saint. The construction of this church began in the 11th century. At the front of the Baroque cathedral, a golden mollusk shell adorns the altar, a symbol repeated across the city. A steady stream of pilgrims queue there to kiss the shell, as another sign of homage. I imagine that millions of pilgrims have repeated this act not just today and yesterday, but back through time for the past 1000 years.  The cathedral preserves its original barrel-vaulted cruciform Romanesque interior. Unlike many of the other churches I have photographed, this one was adorned and sculpted on all four sides, as opposed to just the facade. The interior of the Cathedral was overwhelmed by the sheer number of pilgrims, a line extended across the rear courtyard just to be admitted. Mass was being held, but people milled around taking photographs as well. It was hard to take in either the peacefulness of mass or the sweeping grandeur of the place. I did find several solitary naves and alcoves, dedicated to the prayer and stillness. 

One of my favorite places in the entire city was the parks, particularly the Alameda. Due to the quantity of precipitation to landscapes are lush and green. A drastic change from the arid and hot southern regions I was accustomed to.  Enormous oaks loom above quiet pathways winding through the parks. Solitary raindrops roll heavily off the leaves, as a light drizzle hangs in the air. Beyond the tendrils of mist coiling across the city, church bells peal, dampened by the fog. I found my pace slowed down, unhurriedly exploring the narrow stone corridors of the city. Lingering in the markets, I take my time photographing and carefully selecting my purchases.  I pick out fresh bread, the soft local queso de Tetilla and some dried meats, and I head toward the park. I can't resist sitting on a bench wrapped around a massive oak, facing back toward the Cathedral. I nibble my cuisine, and thumb through the pages of that days novel, letting the hours pass marked only by the resounding chime of the church bells. 

Perhaps it is blasphemous to say, but Santiago seemed almost un-Spanish to me. The wine as a crisp white instead of heavy red, the pulpo fresh and salted rather than fried, the people quite and mild, rather than well the rest of Spain that I had discovered. After months of sampling tapas in Granada, it was a pleasant change to try the local Galician fare, mostly seafood dishes that made me think of the peasant life on the coast that the flavors had evolved from. Perhaps it was the food, or the atmosphere evoked by the architecture, or maybe the fog, which reminded me of Home, but for whatever reason, Santiago de Compostela stands out to me as one of my favorite places on this journey.