Espagne

Before I knew it, we were in the city outskirts then the historic centre outskirts and then we were there. End of the line. I've had 33 days to get ready for this and I wasn't.

I stood there in the graduating crowd and felt around in the dark for an emotion. I couldn't get hold of one, they were too slippery. Myths and murmurs of long processing times at the pilgrim office made me scurry down there after a few minutes.

How it goes from here is this:

You go online and pre-fill your name, route, start date and location, and whether or not you did this for religious reasons. I did this last night, but lots were doing it on the street. This form spit out a QR code. You show this code to the security guard (I'm not making any of this up) who lets you into the foyer.

You scan the QR code and it gives you a ticket. You wait (not even a minute… those liars) until the screen shows your ticket and a desk number. You go to that desk. You hand over your credential and scan the QR code again. They inspect your credential, stamp it, and, if it is to their satisfaction, issue your Compostela, look at you, and say congratulations.

You shake their hand. You walk through the gift shop (still not kidding) and buy a little cardboard tube to keep it safe. She rolls it, seals it, takes your money. You walk out the door, find the closest bench, and collapse. You burst into tears and let out the cry you have been carrying for 945km.

You go back up to the Cathedral, find and fall into the arms of pilgrims you know. You laugh. You hold people as they have their turn to cry. You exchange Instagrams, cheek kisses, international number codes.

You walk 4km back out of town to find a bed. You have a beer. You tell some people what you've done. You sleep.En savoir plus