My Journey to Santiago

THIS YEAR the ‘Way of St. James’, the pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostela in northwest Spain, marks its 1,200 year anniversary.

Declared a World Heritage Site in 1993 by UNESCO, the ‘Way of St. James’ is said to have been opened between the years 812-814, when the mortal remains of James the Apostle were discovered at Compostela.

James, the son of Zebedee, was one of the Twelve Apostles of Jesus, and is traditionally considered the first apostle to be martyred. He was the brother of St. John the Evangelist, and is also called ‘James the Greater’ to distinguish him from James, the son of Alphaeus (also known as ‘James the Less’). James the Greater is the patron saint of Spain.

 

A Galician hermit

 

Tradition has it that during the reign of Alfonso II in the 9th century, a Galician hermit called Pelayo saw a mysterious brightness during several nights over the wood of Libredón, in Iria Flavia diocese. Angelic songs accompanied the lights. Impressed by this phenomenon, Pelayo appeared before the bishop of Iria Flavia, Teodomirus, who then visited the location with his retinue. In the depths of the forest was found a stone sepulcher with three corpses, which were identified as those of St. James and his two disciples, Theodorus and Atanasius.

At the Saint’s tomb various miracles and supernatural events began to occur which drew pilgrims from all over Europe, and eventually in 1075 a stately cathedral was built over the Saint’s remains. This cathedral continues to be a magnet for countless pilgrims even today.

Millions of people have walked the ‘Way of St. James’ in the past, and millions more will undertake this physical-spiritual journey in the future. Practically all of these people have left Santiago spiritually renewed, and almost all of them have an interesting story to tell.

In this article, I will interview one of these pilgrims: the 48-year-old Italian travel writer Marco Deambrogio, who spoke to me with great enthusiasm about his life and the events that led him to Santiago.

 

Rock bottom

 

Mr Deambrogio, which of the numerous journeys that you have undertaken so far has inspired and transformed you the most?

I have been practically everywhere around the world. I have crossed the Australian desert; I have skied to the geographic north pole; I have been through the forests of New Guinea, yet the journey that has inspired and transformed me the most was, beyond doubt, my pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.

This was not due to the physical hardships of this long journey, but because of the spiritual energy that the experience gave me. When I set out for Santiago I had just hit rock bottom; I was shattered both physically and psychologically, but I returned home from that journey completely renewed – that trip turned my life over, and for the better.

 

Tell us something about yourself.

I live near Valenza Po in a small, solitary cottage set in the countryside of north west Italy. Until the year 2000 I was a self-employed gold dealer and earning a lot of money. However, I was nervous, unsatisfied and unhappy.

I have always been rather turbulent. As a child I used to read the novels of Jack London, Robert Luis Stevenson and Emilio Salgari, and dreamt of their adventures. One day when I was 14 I ran away from home and journeyed 300 km with a motorbike – I felt as though I had climbed Mt. Everest.

When I was 30 and successful in my job I began taking long trips during my summer vacations.  In 1999 I reached the geographic north pole with a pair of skis. In that year I also crossed the rainforests of New Guinea completely by myself, and on foot. In the year 2000 I crossed the Australian desert on an old jeep. During this trip I saw an abandoned, mangled motorbike along the side of the road and felt inspired to cross the whole world on motorbike, but alone!

 

Sudden inspiration

 

And did you actually manage to do this?

Absolutely! I went on this trip in 2001, and it lasted for 9 months. I travelled along Latin America, then to the United States all the way up to Alaska. Then I boarded an old cargo plane and flew all the way over to Japan. I rode down this country from north to south, and then crossed over to the Asian mainland, passing through Mongolia and Russia all the way to Finland. From there I returned home via Denmark and Germany.

From that moment on I have continued to roll over mile after mile on my bike. In 2002 I travelled all the way from Milan in Italy to Kabul in Afghanistan with some much-needed medical supplies for the people there.

In 2004 I left Venice for Beijing. I wanted to visit all the places Marco Polo had touched during his groundbreaking trip in the 14th century, and in 2005 I again travelled across the deserts of Australia, after which I visited Tasmania  and New Zealand.

 

So what led you to the ‘Way of St. James’?

After all of these trips I suddenly fell ill to a condition known as ‘bilateral plantar fasciitis’, which is a painful inflammation of the plantar fascia ligament at the base of the feet. This condition prevented me from walking. I could barely take one or two steps before faltering under the excruciating pain. I consulted a host of specialists, tried all possible cures: anti-inflammatory painkillers, laser therapy, shock waves, osteopathic treatments, massage therapy, all to no avail.

All this went on for two years. One day, when I felt at the end of my tether, I started to think of the Way of St James. I don’t know why this inspiration came to me, as I had never felt any interest in the subject. The idea came suddenly, out of the blue, but it became an obsession.

I knew that it would have been impossible for me to undertake such a demanding journey on foot as I wasn’t even able to take a few steps outside my home! It would have been sheer madness to contemplate an 800 kilometre (500 mile) journey.

 

Like a castaway

 

When did you finally decide to go?

I organized the trip in great secret because friends and relatives were dead against it. I could only rely on my mother who, strangely enough, has always been sympathetic of my daring personality.

I left on 13 June, 2011, the feast day of St. Anthony of Padua, just after receiving the umpteenth medical result which advised a regimen of absolute rest!

I threw my rucksack in the car and left for the French town of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, at the feet of the Pyrenees. This town is one of the official starting points for The Way, and one of the best equipped. My condition prevented me from walking, but I had no problems driving.

At Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port I parked the car and spent the night at a hotel. I had a restless night because I knew that the following day I would become like a shipwrecked sailor without a lifesaver.

 

So how did the first days go?

The first leg was from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Roncesvalles, a stretch of 27 km. This was one of the most difficult parts of the journey because one has to climb for 20 km and then go down steeply on a slope that literally breaks one’s legs. As I had studied this trip via the internet beforehand I left at 3 am in the dead of night.

After a mere 3 paces I was already fainting from the terrible pain. But I gritted my teeth and continued, stopping all the time, though. The fits were terrible and I was afraid that the ligaments in me feet would break. It took me 12 hours to cover those 27 km all the way to Roncesvalles, a small village on the Pyrenees. The pain in my feet and back was simply unbearable, and I realized that I just couldn’t go on, that the trip was a physical impossibility for me. Going back home was my only option.

 

Inexplicable encounter

 

And what happened instead?

I knew that every evening in a large church in Roncesvalles a Mass was held for those setting out on the Way, and this was followed by an ancient medieval ceremony called, ‘The Blessing of the Pilgrim’. Out of sheer curiosity I decided to attend, so I dragged myself painstakingly all the way to the church.  

It was 30 years that I had never stepped inside a church. I had live my whole life since childhood away from the faith. However, that Mass and the subsequent blessing ceremony moved me deeply. I waited for all to leave until I was alone. I then approached a statue of Our Lady and suddenly felt a feeling of warmth in my whole being. My legs were shaking, and I couldn’t take my eyes off that statue. I wanted to pray but I couldn’t remember the words of the ‘Hail Mary’. So I began talking as though I was talking to a real person in front of me. I entrusted my whole life, and that of those close to me, to the Virgin Mary. I then heard a sort of voice, I do not know if it was inside or outside of me, saying, “Marco, don’t worry. I am with you; I will accompany you all the way to the end.” I was so moved that I wept, and I came out of that church transformed – I was a different person.

 

What did you do on the following day?

As a consequence of this experience I knew that I had to continue the journey. So on the following day I started walking and praying at the same time – the extraordinary thing was that my feet weren’t giving me the slightest trouble! In actual fact they were only hurting me whenever I stopped walking. I couldn’t remain still, I was compelled to go on walking if I wanted the pain to stop.

It was clear that something inexplicable had indeed happened but, whatever it was, it was not a healing because on the third day I started to feel pain again. And it continued in the next days. The pain came and went. In all this, however, I was changed. I had mysteriously rediscovered those religious values that I had as a child, but now with the maturity, the rational capacity, of an adult. I therefore confronted this pain with a spiritual motivation that infused strength and courage in me. Despite this spiritual comfort, I still went through some very bad days, some even worse than the first day.

 

A happy coincidence

 

When did you finally reach Santiago?

On the evening of July 25, which by a happy coincidence, was the Feast Day of St James. I entered that magnificent Cathedral, my heart racing with emotion, and hastened to the crypt under the altar where the body of the saint is kept. I walked down those steps with my legs trembling, and knelt before the saint’s relics. I thanked Saint James for having protected me along the Way, and prayed long for myself and for my family as well.

I then visited the rest of the Cathedral, where solemn celebrations were being held. I admired the imposing botafumeiro, the largest censer in the world which requires eight priests for it to be kept swinging while it spreads incense over the heads of the faithful. I stopped to admire the Portico da Gloria, which was the entrance to the church in medieval times. To walk past this door was, for the pilgrim of yore, the ritual completion of the journey.

When I walked out of the Cathedral it was already dark, but the city was illuminated for the occasion and the light from the fireworks was reflected on the façade of the cathedral while a celestial medieval melody was sounding from loudspeakers around the shrine.

Despite the numerous crowds, people were quietly watching the spectacle in the sky. I began to feel terribly alone among that huge crowd, and my mind was brought back to all the experiences of that long pilgrimage. All the labours, the sufferings, the desperation, the prayers, often said aloud, and which could be heard echoing back from the mountains. But I also recalled the moments of peace and quiet, the joys and that mysterious encounter with Our Lady.

I went to bed. On the following day I felt better, and on the days after that I felt even better. In short, this journey, which the doctors said would have destroyed my legs completely, actually saved them!

 

What are your plans for the future?

Two years have passed since that trip, and my health remains fine. Some months ago I went on the Via Francigena, the pilgrim path that winds across central Italy to Rome, and I prayed at the tomb of St. Peter in the Vatican. As soon as the tension in Palestine dies down a little, I really want to go to Jerusalem.