Born in 1495, the university of Santiago de Compostela is one of the oldest still functioning universities in the world. Initially it was the local archbishop Fonseca who thought that knowledge should be properly cultivated in his local hoods. And so he opened his swanky family palace to serve students and education. That was obviously not good enough as he ended up founding an entire university. The Fonseca college is still functional today – and a charming place to visit.
(Santiago de Compostela, Spain; September 2019)
Tired trekkers stumble into the main cathedral square from a side street. In twos, threes, and sometimes alone they throw down their packings, with scallop shells on string tinkling, before seating themselves on the cold cobblestones. Dusty shoes come off. Hats are pushed back. Many lie down for a nap in the shade. As the day grows warm the square fills up with exhausted pilgrims who have made it all the way.
The Camino de Santiago, or the Way of St James, ends in front of the Santiago de Compostela cathedral. Why do people walk for weeks, often all the way from the South of Spain, Portugal, or France, to sit down on a church square in a small Spanish city? It is hardly to go inside to worship what is believed to be the remains of the saint James. Perhaps some walk in order to rediscover their Christian faith. Or to just jump off from the daily squirrel wheel to reflect on life and bearings. And perhaps some do it for health, because one can only earn the certificate of the compostela after walking for at least 100 km, on an official route. And the popular route from France, across the Pyrenees, is around 800 km of step-after-step. 
Walking the Camino requires organizing, following the route, staying at official lodges overnight, and collecting stamps on a pilgrim’s passport. And choosing the right season and route, as the number of pilgrims has more than doubled in the past 10 years. Now it easily tops 300,000 pilgrims per year – and everybody needs to eat and sleep somewhere every day.
(Santiago de Compostela, Spain; September 2019)
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And the food. Who knew. While I am on a nearly vegan diet at home, in Santiago I devoured mussels in all shapes and sizes, freshly made with garlic, butter, and herbs. And octopus. And fried green pimiento peppers. And cheeses. And wonderful Ribeiro region white wines.
Santiago de Compostela is home only to some 100,000 inhabitants so it is walkable. And probably very liveable, as well. Twenty-four hours in this city was not quite enough and so this lovely place certainly goes on my “cities to return to” list.
In the middle of the forest there was a crystal clear river, straddled by an old stone bridge. There was river water welling up through a small fountain in the stone wall. And an ancient, weather-blackened monastery. Absolutely in the middle of nowhere. I hear it is more than a thousand years old.
As I stood on the tiny inner courtyard overlooking the Eume river valley I could not help but wonder how and why sites for monasteries were once chosen. Was it the result of a spiritual experience of the founder, on-site? Or simply strategic, to keep an eye on the locals? In any case it must have been incredibly difficult to start from scratch, and not just carry up and install the granite bricks, but to create an infrastructure with water and food delivery to uphold survival of sometimes dozens of monks.
(San Xoán de Caaveiro, Fragas do Eume, Spain; September 2019)
September is still summer in Spain. Even in the fragas, the old-growth forests of the cool, rainy Northwest. Walking in a fraga is like walking in a fairytale forest overgrown with old oaks, chestnuts, and ferns; with mosses covering the trunks and and lichens dangling from the branches. 
The water is pure and cool. I heard the Eume river is home to hordes of trout. This is probably what much of the Atlantic coastal forests looked like, before the industrial revolution. Fortunately bits and pieces are still conserved in Galicia.
(Fragas do Eume; Spain; September 2019)
There does not seem to be much light in old Galician houses, what with small windows half-covered by wooden frames. But the way they are built, like old monastery walls out of thick rocks by masonry, they will probably last for a very long time. I have seen old ruins still standing, without any mortar holding the stone bricks together. Certainly helpful in a climate with wind, rain, and snow most of the year round.
Wind, Sunday walkers and runners, a deserted beach, and overcast skies. A Coruña is supposed to be a nice town (when the sun shines). Certainly the beach is white and long enough. And if one loves Zara’s fashion (alas, their clothes don’t fit my body), this is the hometown of the brand. Maybe another time for me.
Me duele la rodilla. My knee hurts. Quite a lot, actually. I could hardly get up into my high princess bed last night. The Dominican el profesor de Zumba (i.e. a young, curly-haired, unprofessorial instructor) took us all through a whirlwind hour-long zumba class in a fiesta del barrio (or neighborhood party) last night in a nearby town.
Last day of class today: this girl has Fin(n)ished Spanish. We played hangman, or rather, nuestra profesor’s version where the poor guy or gal is forced down steps into an ocean full of sharks.
The Spanish preterite tense is not my friend. How can poder become puste, and venir vino? Vino, as in wine. Really.
This blue marble 