Introduction: Yearning for the Sacred Land
Northwestern Spain, in the ancient city of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia. Just speaking this city’s name aloud brings something sacred to the heart. As the resting place of Saint James the Apostle and the final destination of the medieval pilgrimage route “Camino de Santiago,” this place holds profound significance. The stone-paved roads bear countless footprints, granite buildings weathered by wind and rain, and the air itself seems infused with the prayers of pilgrims.
The verdant landscape of Galicia stands in stark contrast to the arid Castilian plains. Moisture-laden winds from the Atlantic catch on the mountains, bringing abundant rainfall to this region. Moss grows on stone houses, and an almost timeless silence drifts through narrow alleyways. This unique cultural region where Galician and Spanish languages intermingle preserves traditions maintained by Celtic-descended people for generations.
What drew me to this land was both my fascination with the grand journey of pilgrimage and the mystical quality of this westernmost sacred site in Europe. Though my stay would be brief at just two nights and three days, I hoped to capture even a fragment of the weight of time that this ancient stone city carries within its walls.
Day 1: Arrival in the Stone City
After a one-hour domestic flight from morning Madrid, I landed at Santiago de Compostela Airport to find a fine mist dampening my cheeks. “So this is Galicia’s baptism,” I chuckled to myself as I took the bus to the city center. The landscape visible through the window was indeed different from other regions of Spain. The greenery was deep, and the stone farmhouses scattered across the rolling hills reminded me somehow of Ireland or Scotland.
Around 11 AM, I checked into a hotel on the edge of the old town. After dropping off my luggage, I immediately set out to explore the city. The stone pavement gleamed wet from rain, my footsteps echoing in the silence. As I emerged from narrow alleyways, my view suddenly opened up. There before me lay the Plaza del Obradoiro.
The Santiago Cathedral standing before me was more majestic and beautiful than I had imagined. Its Baroque façade caught the morning’s pale sunlight, twin towers rising into the mist. The plaza was already filled with pilgrims. People carrying large backpacks wore expressions of exhaustion mixed with a sense of accomplishment. Many of them had walked nearly 800 kilometers from the Pyrenees on the French border.
For lunch, I visited “Casa Manolo,” a traditional tavern near the plaza. I ordered Galicia’s famous pulpo a la gallega (octopus with paprika). The octopus served on a wooden plate was surprisingly tender, its simple seasoning of coarse salt, paprika, and olive oil perfectly balanced. Paired with local white wine Albariño, it offered a refreshing sensation that seemed to carry the ocean breeze.
In the afternoon, I toured the interior of the cathedral. The noon mass had just begun, with pipe organ music resonating through the vast stone space. I was fortunate to witness the ceremony of the great incense burner “Botafumeiro” swinging dramatically from side to side at the central altar. The sight of this massive thurible soaring nearly to the ceiling was breathtaking—an unchanged form of prayer from medieval times.
Watching the pilgrims pray with such devotion, I felt as though I too had walked this long journey. Their faces showed something beyond physical fatigue—a deep sense of fulfillment. When I spoke with them, a 60-year-old man from Germany told me with tears in his eyes, “This was the most valuable experience of my life.”
In the evening, I strolled through the old town. Rúa do Vilar and Rúa da Acibechería were lined with shops selling pilgrimage goods and local crafts. The sound of gaita (Galician bagpipes) drifted from somewhere unseen. Sunset filtering through the stone buildings bathed the alleyways in golden light.
For dinner, I went to “Mesón do Pulpo,” popular with locals. Here I enjoyed arroz con mariscos, Galician-style seafood risotto. The rice filled with mussels, shrimp, and squid spread the ocean’s bounty across my palate along with the fragrance of saffron. Inside the restaurant, locals chatted in Galician, their hearty laughter occasionally filling the air. The warmth with which the owner treated me, a tourist, revealed the genuine character of Galician people.
Walking back to the hotel, I looked up at the cathedral by night. The illuminated building radiated a mystical beauty different from daylight. I decided to walk part of the pilgrimage route tomorrow, listening only to my own footsteps echoing on the stone pavement as I headed to my lodging.
Day 2: Leaving Footprints on the Pilgrim’s Path
At 6 AM, I departed the hotel in light rain. Today I planned to walk part of the final section of the Camino—about 25 kilometers of the roughly 100-kilometer stretch from Sarria to Santiago. I would take a bus to Monte do Gozo (Mount of Joy) and walk from there to the cathedral.
Monte do Gozo is known as the place where pilgrims first glimpse the cathedral towers of Santiago. Though fog prevented me from seeing the cathedral, imagining how many pilgrims had shed tears of joy at this spot filled my chest with warmth.
I began walking, following the yellow arrows and scallop shell markers that guide the pilgrimage route. The path included both paved roads and earthen trails through forests. I naturally exchanged “Buen Camino” (Good Way) greetings with passing pilgrims. This phrase seemed to carry meaning far beyond a simple greeting.
During the morning, I passed through the village of Lavacolla and rested at a small church. This 12th-century Romanesque church kept its doors open for pilgrims. In the dim interior, a flame of faith burned quietly. A notebook before the altar contained words of gratitude from pilgrims worldwide: “I found myself on this journey,” “A prayer for my late mother”—glimpses of individual human stories that touched my heart.
Lunch was at a small albergue (pilgrim hostel) in a village along the way. I savored caldo gallego, Galician soup. This simple soup of white beans, potatoes, turnip greens, and chorizo was the perfect nourishment for a tired walker’s body. The hostel’s proprietress called out “Well done” in Spanish and offered me a second helping of warm soup.
The afternoon path continued through forests. Walking through eucalyptus groves and listening to occasional babbling brooks, the post-rain forest showed deeper greens and pleasant earthy scents. I found myself walking alongside a woman from Switzerland. She told me she had been walking the Camino to find meaning in life after losing her husband. Her quiet profile showed both deep sorrow and the strength of someone continuing to seek something meaningful.
Around 4 PM, Santiago’s cityscape came into view. When the cathedral towers appeared through breaks in the mist, I stopped involuntarily. If I felt such emotion after walking just 25 kilometers, how must those who had walked for weeks or months feel?
In the evening, while resting at a café near San Roque Church, I met an elderly man holding his “Compostela” pilgrimage certificate. He was a retired teacher from America who had walked for 35 days from Le Puy in France. “It was the most meaningful journey of my life,” he said, his eyes holding both accomplishment and deep peace. His words stayed with me: “I don’t know if God exists, but there’s definitely something sacred on this path.”
For dinner, I went to “Fidalgo” restaurant in the old town to try Galician empanada. The tuna and tomato filling wrapped in pastry was simple yet deeply flavorful. In the back of the restaurant, local musicians played traditional Galician music. The melancholy sound of gaita resonated through the stone interior. Listening to music while drinking wine, I felt the richness of time that flows through this land.
Before returning to the hotel, I visited the cathedral once more at night. Several pilgrims sat quietly in the plaza, gazing up at the building. Seeing the satisfaction in their weary faces, I couldn’t help but feel the tremendous power of pilgrimage. Even after walking just one day, I felt I had touched something precious.
Day 3: Final Morning, Eternal Memory
On my last morning, I rose early to attend the cathedral’s morning mass. Despite the early 7 AM hour, many pilgrims had gathered in the sanctuary. Witnessing people from around the world transcending nationality and language to pray in one space felt like observing a truly universal human endeavor.
After mass, I joined a cathedral rooftop tour. Climbing the narrow stairs to the top revealed a panoramic view of Santiago. The red tile roofs of the old town shrouded in morning mist were beautiful, with green hills stretching into the distance. Looking down from here, I felt anew the wonder of how people from around the world gather in this small city. According to the guide, on clear days you can see all the way to the Atlantic Ocean.
During the morning, I explored the campus of the University of Santiago. Founded in 1495, this historic university sits in the heart of the old town. Walking through the courtyard cloisters, I could hear the youthful voices of students. In this city, the medieval pilgrimage tradition coexists naturally with modern learning. In front of the library, I chanced upon a Japanese exchange student researching pilgrimage. She told me that even today, over 300,000 people walk this path annually. Her words resonated: “Everyone is walking in search of something.”
For lunch, I savored my final Galician meal at “A Taberna do Galo,” locally renowned. The vieiras (scallops) gratin, fragrant with butter and garlic, was appetite-stirring. The Galician beef, ternera gallega, was tender and delicious. For dessert, I ordered tarta de Santiago, a traditional cake. This moist almond-flour cake topped with Saint James’s cross drawn in powdered sugar had a refined, subtly sweet flavor.
In the afternoon, I visited the Pilgrimage Museum. The exhibits spanning from medieval to modern times revealed the history and culture of the pilgrimage route. Seeing displayed pilgrims’ staffs, water bottles, and hostel registers from centuries past, I could feel the footsteps of people who had continued this journey for hundreds of years. Particularly moving were the journals and paintings left by pilgrims from different eras. Faith, adventure, self-discovery, hopes for healing—the varied reasons people had for walking this path came through clearly.
In the evening, I took a final shopping walk through the old town. I purchased a scallop shell badge, the pilgrim’s symbol, and Galician honey. The elderly shopkeeper warmly said, “Come back again.” Even in this brief stay, I could feel the depth of local people’s kindness.
My final dinner was at a small family-run restaurant near the hotel. While savoring arroz con bogavante (lobster risotto), I reflected on these three days. Though just two nights and three days, I had definitely felt the special power that this city and pilgrimage route possess.
That night, I made one last visit to Plaza del Obradoiro. Before the cathedral sat pilgrims who had just arrived that day. Seeing the achievement and peace in their exhausted faces, I felt the universal joy of human accomplishment. As someone who had to leave the next morning, my desire to stay longer in this city only grew stronger.
During my final moments before the airport bus departure, I sat in a café reading the local paper while savoring Galician coffee. The newspaper reported that many pilgrims had arrived again today. In this city, important life moments are born daily.
What Was Felt Clearly, Though Imagined
This two-night, three-day journey to Santiago de Compostela was, in reality, an imaginary trip experienced only in my mind. Yet strangely, it remains in my heart as vivid memory, as though I had truly walked those stone streets, felt the Galician wind, and exchanged words with fellow pilgrims.
Perhaps this demonstrates the power of human imagination. Through detailed visualization, even unexperienced events can be etched as clear memories. The universal appeal of Santiago—something that speaks to the human soul—may be something that transcends physical presence.
The sight of people walking the pilgrimage route, the simple warmth of Galician people, the gleam of rain-wet stone pavement, pipe organ music resonating in the cathedral, the taste of pulpo—all of these remain vivid in my heart. Perhaps because it was imagined, I could touch the essence of this sacred place without being bound by real-world constraints.
Will the day come when I truly walk this path? When that happens, this imagined memory and real experience might overlap to create even deeper emotion. Or perhaps this journey of the heart alone was a sufficiently valuable experience. Either way, Santiago de Compostela has certainly left lasting footprints in my heart.
