This morning at 10:30am, much earlier than I imagined, I wound my way through the suburbs of Santiago to the first pilgrim hostel I could find. After a quick stop and change into thick rain pants -- big drops were falling at this point -- I walked the final 2 kilometers (30 minutes) into the city center. Either because it was rainy or because I was distracted, I never saw the cathedral spires. After rounding many corners in the old quarter and veering through slowly ambling crowds, I turned a corner at the bottom of some stairs. There I found myself in a large plaza with big groups of school children, tourists, and grinning pilgrims flashing photos and giving hugs. I craned my neck to look upward and got my first glimpse of the cathedral. On the camino, I´ve seen countless photos and posters of the cathedral, but now, in concrete flesh, I saw the first view of the end of my journey.

The pilgirms' Mass would start in about 20 minutes, so I skipped the postcard view from across the plaza and rushed right up the grand staircase entrance, through the two porticos, and into the interior. Unlike many other cathedrals, once inside, the view of the high altar is a straight shot, and you get an eyefull of the gold and silver altar right away. It was anticlimactic actually. The Tree of Jesse pillar is sectioned off for renovation, so the traditional first pilgrim ritual was out of reach -- putting your fingers in the five-finger grooves worn over centuries into the marble pillar by pilgrims giving thanks for safe arrival. With the Mass starting soon and the seats filled up, I searched for a seat and finally found one between two people who didn´t want to move. With a deep breath and stretching of my legs, there I was, at the end of the journey. It felt, so, unexpectedly ordinary. :)

I don´t like cathedrals really. They´re large, impersonal, and cold. Baroque retablos don´t inspire me, and the figure of Santiago Matamoros ("the Moor slayer") striding atop the cupola, with a sword in hand to murder Muslims, is a weird, jarring image for prayer. So I leaned forward, put my face in my hands to rest, and gave thanks for arriving.

I made it through the Mass without nodding off since I was more tired than I thought, and as we made our way forward for communion, one of the priests led the congregation in singing a German hymn to the tune I know as "Praise to the Lord, the Almighty." This is a song which I have sung many, many times on the open camino road. I was struck still inside. The Mass thus far did little to inspire, but here was a tune which had accompanied me along the way, and now to the very end. It was like a faint, wisened smile from the universal Spirit, a reminder that a presence larger than my language or understanding can draw all things together, beginning and end.  Afterward, a nun led the congregation in singing Ubi Caritas in a familiar melody because we sing it at the Taize service at home. A few tears welled up but didn´t fall, as I enjoyed a really nice reminder of the gracious way to Santiago.

There is much more to say, but this post is long enough. For now, I can say that the city is big, smoggy, and impersonal, and I don´t find it beautiful (yet?). It is exhilirating to see pilgrims I know, to shake hands, to hug, and to offer words of congratulations. It is sad to see pilgrim friends slowly fade away to their homes and other destinations. It is scary to think of moving on and changing lifestyles, again. It is thrilling to think of marching out tomorrow onto the penninsula in Finisterre to see the end of the ancient world. It is fascinating to wonder how this journey will continue to shape me and impress me as I take it all in over the next few days.

Mostly, it is humbling and moving to think of all my friends and family whose support, prayers, and even money made it possible for me to be here. And it is lovely and delightful -- a right and good and joyful thing, always and everywhere -- to give thanks to the One whose love called me here and calls me onward.

Love to my friends and family on this my 30th birthday.  I thought of you all much today.

With sun, a breeze, and a lovely walk to Astorga, today was a fine way to celebrate my 30th birthday.  Once here, I found a pizzeria to satisfy my craving, and I even asked for a candle with my dessert to make a wish.  I wished for happiness on the camino, and the joy mixed with hope I felt brought a small tear to my eye.  I am grateful for being here -- for the pizza, for the delightful cathedral and Gaudi palace, for fellow pilgrims who sang happy birthday to me in the albergue, for sun, for healthy feet that can continue walking, and for all those people who have loved me into being who I am and more than I ever could be without them.

Today is a day of rest for me, and it is sorely needed.  Yesterday I arrived in Burgos, a 24 kilometer walk, soaked. I had sopping wet socks, a slight limp, and a feeling of desperation for warmth.  On the outskirts of the city, my tendons refused to go further, and I had to stop for a short break, one of only two since it rained the entire day. Because the city is large, the walk took another hour and a half after the break. I was contemplating suffering and pain a lot, though really it was more discomfort than real pain.

The camino winds through the city and then outside the city to the large albergue, or pilgrim hostel.  I was incredibly angry that the camino did not post signs for other closer albergues, and the large one was cold, dirty, and far from the city center. But I kept telling myself that all I needed was hot water for a shower, and a dry place to sleep.  I had both, and for that I gave thanks. I ate the remainder of my sausage and cheese, curled up in a blanket, and napped for a few hours.

What woke me was not noise from other pilgrims but my cold feet, which were out of luck because all my socks were wet, as were my boots.  I had to go into the city to buy food and to find a place to sleep for my rest day. But if I left, I´d have to wear my sandals without socks, exposing my feet to the wind and rain.  Uggghhhh.

But something inside me roused myself from bed.  I put on my sandals, grabbed a hot chocolate from the machine, and braved the weather to search for things needed in the city.  Thankfully, the rain diminished to a sprinkle, and my feet were not too cold.  I headed for the Cathedral to tour it and to get warm inside.  It is quite beautiful and well laid out, which it should be for the $5 admission price. :)  After, I found a sporting good store for more socks and a new, smaller sleeping bag. I even found a budget hotel with a full bathroom, and so I darted back to the albegue to grab my things and move to the hotel.  I was headed for comfort!  I even took time on the way back to the albergue for my things -- yes, me, taking time! -- for a tea at a cafe.  I was beginning to heal from the day´s trek.

Remarkably, despite all the rain and cold, nothing really dampened my spirit or my sense that I am happy to be where I am.  During the day on the way to Burgos, the rain picked up, and I began to chuckle to myself, "This is not what I envisioned, and I hate the rain. Why exactly am I here again?"  The answer was quick and as close as my breath, "Because I love Jesus."  Remarkable.

Sitting in the cathedral, contemplating a 16th century altar piece that did not inspire me, I began to wonder what it would be like to soak in this weird, strange, Spanish Baroque faith.  I stopped thinking and just invited the Spirit to pray in me, to pray the camino and this cathedral and this faith in me.  It´s like what Paul said in Romans, that our spirit bears witness to the Spirit with groans and expressions we do not understand.  I asked that I might be taken up into prayer.

This sounds a bit more mystical and sentimental than it was (or perhaps I´m afraid of being seen as mystical or sentimental), but the end result was an affirmation that the road of rain and cold was the route to prayer.  Not that I HAVE to experience discomfort or pain in order to pray, but this is the way I took and what came of it.  To get to Burgos on May 10 required walking in the rain.  Walking the cold way I did is what brought me to a place and space of prayer.  For that I am grateful. And for the love which it evokes I am very happy.

Plus, a bath, a private room, and a regular meal will do wonders for a road weary traveler.  Tonight I may even eat dinner at the Pizza Hut down the road....