We walked into Santiago de Compostela today. It rained all morning as we walked through forests and city streets. I didn’t really mind the rain, and my wild pink poncho with white polka dots kept me fairly dry and visible on the path.We stopped for coffee. We saw a witch.We passed and were passed by other soggy pilgrims. We got lost then found… But mainly we just walked. And then we arrived.The square in front of the cathedral is immense and, for a brief moment, it was ours. Bagpipes played. People jostled for good selfies. It felt a bit like a graduation ceremony – millions of people had arrived in that cathedral square over the centuries and millions will continue to pour in over time. But for that one brief moment, it was about us, our story, our arrival.And then we walked on, to find our hotel, to have a meal, to rest before beginning our onward journeys back to our normal lives. We have decided not to get our compostelas, the certificates that are issued to pilgrims who have met the criteria. I don’t need to collect anything. What has happened for me is internal and personal and cannot be expressed with an impersonal certificate that will inevitably get crammed into a filing drawer.Instead I will keep my credencial, my pilgrim’s passport that I have carried this week, with its colourful stamps carefully collected, each of which evokes a memory.We also opted not to attend the traditional Pilgrims Mass, held each evening in a smaller church this year while the cathedral is undergoing massive renovations. Instead we visited La Corticela, a tiny 13th century chapel that was part of an even older monastery that is now within the cathedral, in order to light a candle and pray for someone who needs that small act from us. Personal. Intimate. Heartful.And then we celebrated with fine food and a glass of champagne.