After our walk in to Santiago, and excited greetings with people I’d met along the way, I went to my nice hotel (real towels!). I collected the little bag of clean clothes I had sent from the start of my walk and the box of excess from my pack I had mailed from Estella on Day 9. I got cleaned up, rested a little, and headed out again. It was my intention to stroll, eat something quick (not, really, a Spanish concept), locate the Pilgrim Office, and arrive an hour early to get a seat for the 7:30 Mass in the cathedral.
I did acquire some food “para llevar” (to go): at 6, it’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner. Drinks and tapas can be found, but I didn’t want to loiter in a bar. Walking across the main square by the cathedral, I encountered the Danish ladies, Ulla and Heidi (why don’t I have their picture? I guess we are always busy talking when we meet!). They walked me to the Pilgrim Office where they had waited in line for two hours the day before to get their Compostela certificates. Suddenly Pedro was greeting me, brandishing the cardboard tube containing his newly-won Compostela. I started to introduce him to Ulla as one of the guys with whom I had ridden horses up to Cebreiro, but with mock indignation he insisted, “no horse! a pié! [on foot!]”! Then, with Spanish and gestures, he firmly indicated that I should get in line right then and there to get my certificate. Well, okay! 
The line seemed to be moving along, and Ulla kept me company for a while. After she left, I chatted with a guy from Belgium who had done the Camino on his bike. As the line moved forward into the courtyard, I looked back toward the street and saw my South African friends Herbert and Makkie of a few days ago. But I was still some way from the front of the line at 7 o’clock, so I decided to leave for the Mass. 
In the huge cathedral, a thousand or more people filled the pews, sat on steps, and leaned against stone pillars and walls. I scanned the crowds as I circled the three main seating areas, hoping that one of my new friends might make room for me.
It was only later that it struck me how astounding this was: a little over a month ago, I had come to Spain knowing no one. And yet here I was with the expectation that people who were strangers to me just days ago would care enough to save me a seat.
And it was so! After I had circled nearly all of the crowd and resigned myself to standing for another hour, I heard a hiss. There was Pedro sitting on a step; he waved me under the rope that demarcated the stairs to the exit doors, and then his son beckoned me across to a spot on the steps, half-behind an enormous stone pillar that supported the barrel vaults of the ceiling far above. 
Jonathan explained that no cameras could be used during the Mass itself, but I should prepare my camera (phone) for the spectacle to come afterwards. He pointed out the enormous brass incense burner hanging from a metal support high up near the ceiling: the famous Botafumeiro.
Most of the Mass, in Spanish, was lost on me, but I enjoyed hearing a woman’s clear singing voice fill the cathedral. Special mention was made of the numbers of pilgrims who had arrived that day (and registered: I hadn’t yet), their countries, and where they had started. The Mass ended with handshakes with one’s neighbors and “peace be with you.” There were so many jubilant pilgrims smiling at one another; I think I shook a dozen hands.
Then, the cellphone cameras came out! Eight men dressed in red grasped a thick rope extending to the structure from which the Botafumeiro hangs. After the censer was lit and given an initial push, their coordinated efforts made it swing more and more, higher and higher, until it was swooping in a 65-meter arc over our heads. It seemed to swing straight at me, spewing its fragrant smoke! It’s said this tradition began in order to dispel the stench of sweaty dirty pilgrim bodies! My lucky last-minute position was ideal.
I plan to return to tour the Cathedral, but here’s a taste of what’s inside.
You can see the dark shape of the Botafumeiro, suspended from its long rope in front of all the gold. 
As I walked home after post-Botafumeiro dinner with John and Glenys and 8 or 10 other newly arrived peregrinos and peregrinas, I heard two guys playing guitar at the edge of this plaza next to the cathedral.
At the end of this long, tiring, exciting day, I felt that I was still waiting for the reality to sink in that I, too, had completed my Camino.
42.883895
-8.542687
If it had been one street over, on Rue St. Jacques (= Saint James = Santiago), it wouldn’t be spurious at all! The French pilgrimage route to Santiago traditionally began at Notre Dame Cathedral on the Île de la Cité, the oldest part of Paris in the middle of the Seine River. 
I made a sketch from almost exactly this spot the last time I was in Paris (2008). Matisse had a studio halfway along on the right; he made several paintings from his fifth-floor vantage point. 
I have visited Paris maybe half a dozen times but never explored Notre Dame before this evening. Outside: selfies! Segways! accordion music!
After, I considered a quick meal at one of the restaurants near the river, even sat down in one, but changed my mind and walked instead to a place the front desk had recommended. I had two of the best wines, and the most satisfying dinner, of my whole trip! And, in true Camino style, ended up chatting with a couple at the next table through much of my dinner. 
I spent part of the day in the cathedral museum.
Religious armor and warrior armor are not always distinct. This jeweled solid-silver priest’s capelet in the museum loudly announces who has the power.
I
On the Camino Francés 2015 
