O Parador do Santiago

To walk under the arch into the parador at Santiago de Compostela is to complete a pilgrimage even if only from your car outside the plaza. The old walls of the former hospital calm and heal you with their cool, quiet depths, as they must have travelers and penitents—and kings—centuries ago.

We came to Santiago to deliver my aunt and uncle to the next stage of their journey that summer, and we woke early to walk part of the pilgrim’s route into the ancient city on its hill. We followed the shells of St. James embedded in the stones under our feet. Finding the first, we sent up a cheer—and for the next, and the next, like a treasure hunt with salvation as its fortune.

Later in the afternoon’s hot sun, we trekked out to Monte Gozo to see the last church, the last station on the main trail, where pilgrims and hikers converge to place tokens and shoes worn through at the memorial—and to wash down the dust with an Estrella Galicia. Such a thirst would be the only reason I’d have one again, as it tastes of the gravel on that barren hillside. Penance enough!

In the cooler evening, we wandered after dinner onto the main plaza again. A tuna played traditional songs under the collonades to singing, drinking tourists like us. I pulled up the words to “Cielito Lindo” on my phone to join in the familiar tune. “Ay, ay, ay, ay…canta y no llores…”