It is among the grandest churches in the world. It is one of the greatest achievements of man that took so long to build that architectural periods changed several times throughout its construction.
Even so, when you walk into Santiago de Compostela the first thing you see is not the cathedral. You neither see the gilded grandeur, nor the ornate.
The first things you see are pilgrims.
You see many, many pilgrims. You hear the tick-tick-ticking of their thousands of hiking poles, striking the flagstone streets with each stride.
They come from all over the globe, the pilgrims. And if you’ve spent any time walking the Camino at all, you have already learned to tell which pilgrim is from which country before ever hearing them speak. It’s all in the way they carry themselves.
The Germans are confident and contained, with tight, economical movements, and magnificently stoic. The French are loose-strided, open-eyed, and smiley; they carry box-wine in their backpacks, and their noses are sometimes slightly tilted upward.
The Italians really do speak with their limbs, and when they tell you a story, they are not ashamed to cry or laugh, sometimes doing both at the same time.
The Dutch are courteous and quiet, often wearing at least one article of orange clothing. The Australians carry their own Vegemite for their toast. The New Zealanders have ninja-like senses of humor.
The South Americans, particularly the Venezuelans, hug everyone, for any occasion, including the onset of Daylight Saving Time.
The South Koreans are calm, polite. They clean up their table for their servers, and walk the Camino faster than U.S. Marines. The Chinese are kind to a fault, and in cafés they insist that others cut in line ahead of them, and place their orders before them.
The Buddhist monks we met hiking the trail all seem to laugh more than any humans I’ve ever met before. The Japanese are so beautifully polite, they make me want to start bowing when I speak to others.
The Spanish hikers are stand-offish, that is, until you break the ice. Then they are effusive, happy, demonstrative, and unafraid to love you. Also, they pause hiking at least three times per day to eat lunch.
People from the U.S. have wide eyes, they say “Wow,” a lot. They wear North Face and Nike apparel, and constantly ask their servers for ranch dressing or ketchup. Still, you can say whatever you will about us: we are a smiling people. Americans smile at each passerby on the trail. Yes, Americans are sometimes entitled. Yes, we are oblivious. But smiles are infectious. One smiling American can set off a chain-reaction smile that stretches all the way to Antarctica.
The Canadians are beautiful conversationalists who listen more than they talk, capable of creating an engaging discussion with, say, a fire hydrant. The Mexicans would give you the shoes off their feet. And if that wasn’t enough, they would give you their feet as well.
The Russians appear distrusting at first, but are unbelievably joyous at last, and some of them have incredibly impressive livers.
The Ukrainians are gentle, cheerful. The girls sometimes cover their mouths when they laugh. The young men are self-effacing and humble.
The Russian college students and the Ukrainian teenagers we met had become friends on the trail. They all attended mass together, although they are not Catholic. They prayed together. They lit candles together.
Similarly, you have the Israelis. They are mostly silent and courteous, but not timid. They are animated and put their whole bodies into each bout of laughter. The Israeli boys we met on the trail are always offering to give their food to others, even strangers. They are resourceful and cook on portable stoves. They prepare dishes many of us have never heard of, and are liberal with their sharing.
Whereas the Iranian boys we met not only invite you to eat with them, they will invite you to their next family reunion. They are confident, outgoing. And they sing. They sing on the trail, unabashedly, arms around each other’s shoulders.
The Iranians have made friends with the Israeli boys. Sometimes we have heard them talking together, and someone said they heard both groups singing together in Persian. But they don’t want their parents to know about this, they tell me. “They would not understand.”
The Irish are cocksure and friendly, and when they cuss, somehow it does not sound profane. Whereas the Scottish are perpetually reminding you they aren’t Irish.
Then you have the British hikers, many of whom stop every ten minutes for tea. And then there is the older couple from Wales, soft-spoken and amiable, portly and robust, who estimate they have eaten 1,283 croissants since beginning the trail.
But here in the shadow of Santiago’s reaching spires and tall campana towers, all national differences seem to pass away. There are no definite stereotypes here. Stereotypes do not actually exist. There is only this. There is only us.
And it was here, beneath the silhouette of one of history’s most captivating and awe-striking cathedrals, that I met a young woman from Oneonta, Alabama. Her name is Anna. She graduated from college recently. She and her friend Lily hiked the Camino.
Back home, she works in Gardendale, just up the road from where I live. This excited us greatly. It seemed like too great of a coincidence to be mere coincidence.
Everyone hugged. Everyone posed for pictures. “What are the odds?” we were all saying to each other. Two people from Alabama, right here in the Holy City, at the same time.
“But we aren’t just two people from Alabama,” Anna said. “Out here, we’re just people.”
Buen Camino forever.
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Originally published on Sean’s website. Republished here with permission.
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