I hate summer... in Santiago
This is my tenth summer in Santiago de Compostela, where I also lived for two full years. I can't say I'm not a climate refugee, as I can stand the heat less and less, but it's true that the reason I first came here a decade ago wasn't climate change, but inspiration. The deeply green landscape, for me, as someone who grew up on dry land, and the stifling humidity give me everything I need to write. It relaxes me that people shut themselves in because of the drizzle, leaving me the entire city to wander around, a city built entirely of stone that I fell in love with from day one—although in this latter respect, Úbeda isn't far behind.
Just imagine how small the country is, and how small it is. A couple of months ago I had dinner with Rodrigo Cuevas and we were amazed to learn that we both sang under the same arch of Compostela before we were famous: the Palace Arch, located on one side of the cathedral, where the bagpipers play during the day and the rest of the lyrical musicians play at night.
"Do you know when I'll walk the path? When my father is gone. It will be a way to remember him and feel him."This was my job for ten summers. It wasn't easy, especially after a guitarist had to have his finger amputated after being bitten by another musician who wouldn't take his turn. Last year was the last time I sang there. I said goodbye with tears in my eyes, but happy to no longer have to fear for my fingers. I have a lot of affection for them, even my pinkies. On the last night, I closed with Amancio Prada's version of Negra Sombra , right after singing one of my songs dedicated to a platonic love who will never return: Xoel.
Many of you may be wondering about the title of this column, if I love Compostela so much. And it's true that I owe you an explanation: of all the places to spend the summer, Santiago is the best, hence why I've left it for last. Although it's not immune to this horrible and tiring season of summer, and not least because of the blessed Camino de Santiago, which has done as much good for the city as it has harmed it, just as the Guggenheim has done for Bilbao, but that's a different matter I don't have to get into.
What was the Camino before? A spiritual pilgrimage route that involved physical exertion in a sublime landscape and a significant component of sacrifice, charity, and solitude.
What's the path forward now? The above is for a very small minority, but for the rest, it's a scavenger hunt: an amusement park, a cruise ship that floods the streets of Compostela, suffocating them, gentrifying them, and emptying them of local businesses and habitable housing.
It's been happening for a while, but the change in these ten years has been incredible. To give you an example: in 2015, I was paying 250 euros to rent a duplex facing the mountains. Now I have to live with a friend and her children because, in addition to the exorbitant prices, you can't find anything anywhere.
Santiago's old town is a shell inhabited by people who come and go, and I fear that many of them may be the same tourists who would go to the San Fermines festival. Do you know how I noticed the insensitivity of tourists? Because of the silence. Silence is a good that is sometimes scarce in this country. In Santiago especially, there are sacred and peaceful places where it should prevail. But these are sullied by the clamor of the masses that roam the city as if they were in Disneyland. How many times have so many people passed by the street musicians that their voices drowned out ours and the sound of the instruments! They sang over us, mocking us. How sad! I find it hard to accept human insensitivity.
Do you know when I'll walk the Camino? When my father is gone. It will be a way to remember him and feel him, to keep him in mind. And then I'll walk the entire Camino, the original one, even if I have torn menisci and can't walk upright. And it won't occur to me to pay a company to carry my bags between stages. And I won't treat each path as a race to get to a hostel that's almost a hotel. And if I have to pause the Camino, sleep in the open, or come back another year, so be it. Otherwise, I'll never do it. And, of course, I won't want any documents signed at each stage; this isn't Peking Express .
I'll close this seven-column series with something more hopeful. Despite Santiago having more souvenir shops than registered inhabitants and becoming a less spiritual destination every day, as even the Church itself takes advantage of this—there's a reason the only exit from the cathedral is through the souvenir shop—the city remains a wonderful haven of rest.
It's true because the people of Compostela are friendly and, despite the wear and tear of mass tourism, very hospitable. It's true because it has two of my favorite libraries: the ancient one at the History Faculty and the beautiful, contemporary Ánxel Casal, from where you can write while overlooking the mountain. It's true because it's embraced by neighboring mountains that I adore, like Pedroso, which aren't frequented by pilgrims and where I'd like to make a home someday. It's true because, despite the hustle and bustle, I don't read anywhere else on the peninsula better than on the floor of Obradoiro. And it's true because I'm the official bell ringer of the cathedral, and if I didn't go up there to ring at least once a year, I wouldn't know what to do with my life.
By the way, the last time I rang the bells was on the Apostle's Day last year. When I found out Feijóo was at mass, I deliberately rang the main bell incorrectly for a while. What a rascal I am! Happy summer, readers! If that means anything.
'I Hate Summer' Series I hate summer... at the beach David Uclés
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