A hush falls on the darkened church as a pinpoint of light appears in the lower apse wall. It travels slowly up in a smooth arc, drawing our eyes along the dusty, silent stone like a premodern laser pointer. The spotlight lands first on the Virgin, the central figure of an elaborately carved stone capital depicting the Annunciation, Visitation and Nativity scenes. The carving is tucked into an obscure corner, but the play of light draws back the curtain from the most poetic piece of Romanesque art we will see before reaching Santiago Cathedral itself.

The Virgin emerges calmly from the gloom, her robes flowing about her. Her expression is not that of a startled girl but a woman who accepts the implications of her position with faith and grace. She holds both hands up, palms outward, to receive the divine light, or else to shield her 900-year-old eyes from the tourists' flashbulbs.

Afterward, Father José María invites us pilgrims into the half-ruined monastery for garlic soup. Sopa de ajo, also called sopa castellana, is the poorest of dishes inspired by poverty: stale bread boiled in salted water. When there are more pilgrims, the sisters just add more water. This being Spain, they also add a touch of garlic and paprika. By some alchemy, the bread takes on the unctuous texture of something fatty and forbidden, and the broth, enriched with little more than charity, is hot and infinitely comforting. Restaurants tend to embroider their fashionably neo-rustic sopa castellana with chorizo, eggs and meat stock, but the simplicity of this parish soup proves the error of excess. Now this is perfect food for a pilgrim. Why is it that the priceless meals on my gastronomic Camino turn out to be the ones that are free?

Day 16, 339 km — Frómista
I rest for a while in Frómista's heavily restored 11th century church of San Martín, widely considered to be the epitome of Romanesque Camino architecture, before treating myself to a nice dinner. The Church of San Martín is also famous for its collection of more than 100 carved capitals and 315 corbels, but most of the latter are replacements for the original racy collection showing a truly

Most pilgrims I meet don't seem to believe or care if those are really holy bones lying in that cathedral

imaginative array of vices. Only one sinner escaped the censors and continues to seek his illicit pleasure under the highest church eaves.

My food flings are in direct violation of the code of pilgrimage as penance, but I can't seek enlightenment if I'm hungry. I give my fellow unrepentant sinner a last conspiratorial look, cross the street to the Restaurant San Martín, and order pimiento relleno con mariscos, a smoky red pepper valentine stuffed with shellfish and lovingly napped in a velvety seafood sauce. Next comes trucha escabechada, a whole fried trout marinated in vinegar sauce, followed by a soothing arroz con leche, cinnamon rice pudding. I sigh happily, stand up to compliment the manager, and pass out.

When I come to, I am lying on the deliciously cool tile floor and a group of French-speaking pilgrims is anxiously patting my wrists and waving stick deodorant under my nose. Louisette, a French-Canadian pilgrim in her late 70s who always walks too fast for me to keep up, lies nearby, swooning in sympathy. I decide to swear off overindulgence for a while.

Day 23, 463 km — Virgen del Camino
I am already about two-thirds of the way to Santiago, but the spiritual logic of what I am doing here hasn't gotten much clearer. Surprisingly, only a few pilgrims, including my Brazilian friend Karla and a devout retired couple from Japan, look toward Santiago in the traditional Catholic sense of pilgrim faith. Most pilgrims I meet don't seem to believe or care if those are really holy bones lying in that far-off cathedral. At night we dream of reaching Santiago, yet Santiago himself is becoming less relevant to the pilgrimage named for him.

My buddy Emilio, a former teacher from Madrid and Camino history buff, is one of the strictest in following orthodox Camino pilgrim protocol, but he's a staunch atheist. He likes to sit next to me in Mass, contradicting the priest under his breath or quoting the Bible in Latin. Kathleen, a youthful-looking Californian with a radiant smile, explains to me over rice black with squid ink and fried baby eels that El Camino follows an earth-energy line under the Milky Way to Finisterre, and that the Catholics appropriated an ancient shamanistic pilgrimage dating to the Druids. Her vision of universal harmony on El Camino is as compelling and beautiful as she is.

Most of us are a muddle of motivations, finding or revealing new ones as we walk along. When I first met Karla, she said she was walking to celebrate her graduation, but she developed severe knee problems on the first day. She flatly refused to give in to her knees, trying to walk every day, riding the rest of the way. Even her mother begged her to come home. I can't understand why she wants to go through so much pain on what was supposed to be a vacation. She flicks her waist-length blond hair and says she is not a quitter. Besides, she is carrying a petition letter to Santiago on behalf of family members. We are cheering her every dogged step.

Some of us are in it for the fresh air. René has left his marriage and his trademark Canadian maple-leaf cap, but he has picked up another cap somewhere and is now masquerading as a Norwegian. Still, the Spanish sun is turning him into an unbelievable shade of red. Wolfgang, a former engineer from Germany with a wicked sense of humor, is taking full advantage of his retirement. He came to El Camino eager to conquer nature with all his latest hiking technology. But eventually, he gives himself up to romancing a soft-spoken German pilgrim named Andrea and being our commissar of fun. At times, he is too tipsy to find his own bed at night. René is the favorite target of Wolfgang's practical jokes, but they are inseparable. Luckily, El Camino has a tradition of relaxed pilgrim standards, as a centuries-old poem reassures: "The door is open to all, sick and healthy, not only to Catholics, but also to pagans, Jews, heretics and vagabonds." That covers just about all of us.