At ‘world’s end’, a people who are the salt of the earth!

SANTIAGO DE COMPOS-TELA, Galicia, Spain – All roads lead to finis terrae, which the ancient Romans dubbed "the end of the world". If you sailed out too far beyond the horizon from the Bay of Biscay and across the Atlantic ocean, it was believed, your ship would fall off the edge of the world.

Finis terrae is Spain’s province of Galicia, inhabited by 2.7 million doughty Gallegos. On the map, you’ll find Galicia’s geographical location indeed on the northwestern edge of the Iberian peninsula. Its coastline covers over 1,600 kilometers. From its surf-battered coast, the sea flows inland to form "rias", interior rivers filled with marine life from the ocean, not fresh water rivers or lakes. In Galicia, things often work in reverse. And the result is wonderful.

In teeming urban A Coruña where you’ll discover the longest malecon in the world (one can jog for ten to 17 kilometers to the salt tang of the air, and the musical accompaniment of the heaving waves – yes, Virginia, those crazy surf-riders still propel themselves into the swells in temperatures as chilling as four degrees Centigrade! If we are plagued with suicide-bombers elsewhere, which is not a joke, in A Coruña the suicide-surfers still test muscle, brawn, perseverance, fortitude – and a madcap quest for adventure – by trying to prove they are more impervious to the weather than the arctic seals. Surely, some of them must end up in the hospital with pneumonia.

As it is, owing to the sudden drop in temperatures, the gusting of the wind, the encroachments of niebla (autumn fog), and the treachery of the climate, everybody in Spain seems to be coughing. If you’re coming here on a pilgrimage, trust in God and Santiago, but bring along your cough syrup and your Tamiflu.

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Why are we here in Santiago de Compostela? To pray at the shrine of one of this planet’s most revered saints, St. James – the Apostle of Jesus known to all Spaniards as their patron saint – "Santiago".

This miraculous saint used to be known as "Santiago Matamoros" – or St. James the Killer of Moros. But it is no longer politically correct in this troubled planet to speak about killing Muslims. Indeed, there are already so many Muslims thronging the streets of Madrid, Barcelona, and Spain’s major urban centers.

Aside from those descended from the Moros (Moors and Arabs) who ruled most of Spain for more than seven centuries, thousands of illegal Muslim immigrants flood in daily from North Africa, Africa itself, and from the rest of Europe across the Pyrenees. There seems, by dint of baby-explosion, a sort of reconquista in reverse occurring in the Iberian peninsula.

But here we are in the Holy City of Santiago de Compostela – a city built up from the early years of the 9th century when the remains of St. James (Santiago) were discovered by Theodomirus, Bishop of the Pavia. Doubt not. When you go to his cathedral, all fretted Gothic and fragrant with sanctity and incense, you can feel his powerful vibration there.

It seems that Santiago’s grave was discovered by the hermit Pelagius (known in Spanish as Pelayo, and in Galician as Paio). Since my sainted, late mother’s name was Pelagia Villaflor, this pilgrimage thus had special significance for me. (Her unglamorous but beloved nickname in the family was Peng or Pelang!)

In any event, Pelayo saw certain portents manifesting themselves in the nearby woods, then an Angel appeared. He was led deeper into the forest by "heavenly lights" which beckoned him on, until he stumbled onto a little house containing a marble tomb. King Alfonso II, informed of the discovery, renamed the site "Compostela".

Why Matamoros? According to the Codex Calixtinus, St. James the Apostle appeared to the great King Charlemagne (Carlo Magno) at the time Christian warriors were assembling to beat back an advancing Muslim tide, which had already engulfed much of Spain. Santiago told Charlemagne in the apparition to launch his armies into a reconquest of the land for the Faith and the True Cross: enjoined Santiago – "You must go with a great army to fight the wicked pagans and free my Way and my land, and visit my basilica and tomb. And after you, pilgrims will go there from all lands, from sea to sea, asking for forgiveness for their sins and singing the praises of the Lord."

There were many French pilgrims in the church the other day. They had come – some of them by foot – all the way from Paris. Santiago de Compostela is dear to the French, for their history’s most romantic tale of heroism, valor and chivalry is the Chanson de Roland (The Song of Roland) in which Charlemagne‘s most noble knight, Roland, battled the Moorish legions in Roncesvalles not far away, and when the fight was being lost and his rearguard all but cut off, Oliver his adjutant had blown a mighty blast on his horn, heard for leagues around, to summon help from the great Emperor.

When can that story fade? Even as far north as Chilly Dremon in the Hansa of Germany, you can find a statue of Roland the Noble Knight dominating the square.

And there, as in a dream, was Santiago on horseback, leading the charge, smiting the Saracen right and left.

He smites no more. He exudes peace and love from his tall altar in the shrine. Yet, who can doubt that when Christianity is imperilled and besieged, Santiago will ride again. To this day, Spain’s armies reputedly go into battle with the war cry: "Santiago y cierra España!"

Mighty St. James, be our protector in war and peace!

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The Road to Santiago has been, and still is, the most celebrated route of pilgrimage, next to Rome and Jerusalem. The first pilgrims came in the XI – eleventh – century, and they still flood in.

Some 4.7 million visitors came to Santiago and Galicia in a single year – the year 2001. There will be millions more next year, in 2004, since it is the coming Holy Year for Santiago de Compostela – many of the pilgrims will be derived from the 400 million who speak Spanish all over the globe.

Yet, all nationalities come. You’ll see Japanese and Chinese, not to mention Filipinos. They come on foot, carrying the staff, the gourd (for water or wine) and the symbolic vieira or conch shell (much like the symbol of Shell petroleum).

They come to beg favors, in fulfillment of a vow, in penance, or in joy. There is the "French Road" in which pilgrims – including those who arrive by car or motorbike – can stop at a church or monastery, or convent inn along the way, to reinforce themselves with prayer and a repast. On the way from Paris is the Gallego own of O Cebreiro, whose pallozas or pre-Roman dwellings were, until recently, still in use. In the Meson de San Xiraldo de Aurillac is the heraldic symbol of Galicia, the Holy Grail, the sight of which is said to have inspired the German composer Richard Wagner’s immortal Parsifal.

There is the Road from the North – the Camino del Norte. There is the Silver Route. There is the Portuguese Road – from Fatima. There are the Sea Routes.

Did we come on foot? Or by sea? We cheated. We came by Iberia. Meaning the national airline’s flight from Barcelona – flying in from East to West across the top of Spain.

We arrived in driving rain. It rains all day, almost every day n Galicia. It’s rain, rain, rain – which is why Galicia is green, green, green. What put sunshine into our hearts was the warmth, the hospitality, the courtly, old-fashioned good manners of the Gallegos – the people of Galicia, whether waiters, shopgirls, vendors, officials, or passers-by. There used to be an expression of a great nation which goes: "They are the salt of the earth." This encomium the Gallegos truly deserve. Nowhere in Spain are you greeted with such kindness – even to strangers in a strange land.

The car of Spain’s Grand Old Man, the President of the Autonomous Region of Galicia (Xunta), Don Manuel Fraga, was waiting at the airport to fetch us. We were sped straight to the Edificio Administrativo, the Presidencia, for a meeting with this icon.

He kissed my wife Precious’ hand in the dignified and gallant manner so redolent of the old days of caballeros, and, of course, damas.

Our warm reception was due, I don’t hesitate to say, by the fact that we’re accompanied by the President’s friend, our crony, Pepe Rodriguez of EFE in Manila. A true Gallego, too, by birth and by devotion.

Yet, I must come to the end of today’s tale. Hopefully, there will be more to tell tomorrow.