Aaaugh!!!

This was Caity's reaction when I received in the mail 3 very small, very slim, extremely practical little booklets of invaluable information from the Confraternity of Saint James.

"We said no guides, no tourist crap -- are you trying to ruin this?!!"

So. An interesting mother-daughter dramatic tension is developing here...above and beyond the usual interesting mother-daughter dramatic tensions...

Obviously, Cait wants to plunge, tabula rasa-like, into this experience with no preconceptions or expectations -- lovely, wonderful idea. Life lived straight-out from the heart, bobbin' and weavin' (as my brother says...) around the obstacles. Unimpeded by actual information.

Yeahbut, me...can't help myself. At the very least, my Maternal Instinct nags me to gain a passing knowledge of places to sleep, things to eat and where all the hospitals are located along the route. But more than that...I want to know the stories! We'll be walking through a thousand years of history and legend -- I want to be able to "read" the sturm-und-drang captured in carved stone and stained glass and recognize at least some of the characters and plotlines -- gruesome, goofy, romantic -- attached to this camino. The more obscure and implausible, the better; for heaven's sake, the pilgrimage only exists because someone once found a pile of Holy Bones in an empty field and...

You know this, right? No?

Well, then....here's what I know about Saint James the Great. (If this reads like a jumble, well, it's not surprising considering the wide variation between sources. Mine include the Oxford Dictionary of Saints, the New Testament, Wikipedia, a few Saints-R-Us blogs and my very pretty French book, "Compostelle, le grand chemin", by Xavier Barral I Altet, which has the best illustrations and buckets of satisfying little details...which we're just going to assume I've translated correctly...)

Fisherman by trade, brother of John (together they were known as "sons of thunder" for their hot tempers and impetuous natures), James the Great was one of Jesus' earliest disciples, and the first apostle to be killed/martyred after the crucifixion. He was "put to the sword" by Herod Agrippa -- a poetic term for "decapitated". Now, here's where things get confusing: one legend says James' remains were placed in a tomb "under marble arches." Another says the body was placed in a small boat, which was pushed into the Mediterranean and, seven days later, miraculously arrived in Galicia, where the body was then interred in stone that formed a natural sarcophagus. (Another legend claims that small boat was actually made of marble....so...you're seeing the theme here, right?) At any rate, James' remains were lost to history...Time Passed...Charlemagne established Christianity as the (literally) reigning religion of the western world... Then, one night, a shepherd saw a divine light shining in a field and discovered the holy bones in their natural sarcophagus of stone...which had by now become marble (thematic resolution!) An angel revealed to the local archbishop that this was the body of Saint James, and a church was built on the spot. During this era, the Christian Royals were having a hell of a time trying to rid the land of invading Muslim Moors. During one decisive battle, Saint James appeared on a white steed dressed as a Cavalry soldier and charged the Moors, leading the Christians to victory. Thus, Saint James became the "Matamore" -- Moor-slayer -- and the political and religious symbol of the Catholic church's struggle against The Infidel.




For centuries, the Spanish Army rode to war with the battle cry "Santiago!" In due time, James became the patron saint of knights, horsemen and blacksmiths. For rather more obscure reasons, he also eventually became the patron of pharmacists, tanners, people who suffer from arthritis and rheumatism, furriers, day-laborers, veterinarians, Guatemala...


And, of course, pilgrims.

Okay, one more story. Long ago, a pilgrim family -- father, mother and handsome young son -- stopped at a tavern in the town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada. A randy barmaid came on to the son, who passed. Dissed, and pissed, the barmaid sneaked silver from the tavern's till into the Son's pocket, and loudly accused him of stealing (see: A Woman Scorned). The son was hustled before the town judge and summarily sentenced and hanged. Distraught, his parents continued to Santiago, weeping and praying for help. On the way home, approaching Santo Domingo, they were shocked to find their son still hanging from the gallows -- not dead, but very alive, and being held up by Saint James himself. Overjoyed, and eager to have their son released from the noose, the parents hurried to relate this miracle to the judge, who had just sat down to his midday meal of roast chicken. Irritated at the interruption, the judge scoffed, "Nonsense -- your son is no more alive than this chicken!" At that, his luncheon entree stood up crowing, scampered across the table, sprouted feathers and flew away. To this day in Santo Domingo, a pair of white chickens is kept on an elevated ledge in a niche on the cathedral's western wall. We won't get to see them (this trip...). But folks who have been to Santo Domingo say it's good luck to hear the chickens crow, or find one of their white feathers....

Just...beware of the barmaids.