A Long-Haul Pilgrimage: Singapore to Cape Finisterre by Bicycle 2008 / 09

In 2002 I got on my bike and cycled from my home town of Melbourne to Darwin, crossing the Australian Outback in 90 days. I was preparing for an ambitious bicycle tour which would take me from North Cape in Norway to Cape Town in South Africa. As things turned out, I landed a job in South Korea teaching English, and after completing my work there in mid-2004, I needed a real holiday. I decided to travel, using various modes of transport, across Siberia and southern Europe to Spain. There I began a 750km winter walk on the Camino de Santiago, starting at Saint- Jean-Pied-de-Port. Gradually I decided that one day I would undertake a more challenging pilgrimage, by bicycle.

It was no easy task in preparing for such an epic journey: three and a half years would drag on like a gruelling penance. Nonetheless I made progress with having my proposed Cape to Cape Tour (South East Cape, Tasmania to Cape Finisterre) endorsed by an NGO – WaterAid Australia. I also secured a cycle courier job for daily stamina-building exercise and financial support. I collected camping equipment, guide books and maps. Importantly the desired human-powered machine, a Surly Long-Haul Trucker touring bicycle, was ready a year before departure.

I arrived in Singapore from Melbourne and symbolically the flight en route involved a stopover in Darwin, the furthest point reached on the previous bicycle tour. During my 2004 walk on the Camino I had picked up a spare credential del peregrine – as I was now making another pilgrimage, I wished to obtain as many stamps as possible to mark the staging posts. In Singapore on the 18^th September 2008 I obtained my first official stamp at the Cathedral of the Good Shepherd. Here a dumbfounded church official silently took my credential, shuffled off down a dark hallway and returned, in what seemed like hours later, with pilgrim’s passport complete with its first official stamp – up-side-down! During the course of my travels in Asia I would experience scepticism from some church authorities. However a little explanation of the motive for my travels usually sufficed to have my pilgrim’s passport stamped.   

The first 2126km of my bicycle pilgrimage would take me from Singapore to Bangkok, via Malacca, Kuala Lumpur, the Cameron Highlands and Penang before heading up the coast of the Gulf of Thailand to Bangkok. The tropical heat was oppressive, and the sun burnt my feet through the straps of my sandals. A cold shower and a beer were little rewards at the end of each cycling day.

In Malacca I gained my second credential stamp at the Church of St Francis Xavier, and it seemed a sign boding well for my pilgrimage that I should stumble on, and through, the Portal de Santiago.

From the Thai capital – and for the second time out of a total of four during the entire trip – I had to box my bicycle for the flight over Burma to Nepal, from where I planned to ride down from Kathmandu to India. On arrival at Kathmandu, I attracted an audience when reassembling the bicycle at the airport. My first nights were spent in the quieter confines of the Tibetan quarter, around the impressive Bodhnath. Here I met many Buddhist pilgrims, who’d flown in if a tourist or walked if a local, to make their daily circumambulation of the Bodhnath with its watchful eyes of the Buddha! Nepal, once famously Buddhist, is now mostly Hindu, with a scattering of Moslems and an even smaller sprinkling of Christians.

After an exhausting 568km’s cycling, taking two weeks, I found myself receiving the generous hospitality of the Rev Jisay Maharana and his delightful wife Carunia, outside Lumbini. Lumbini is world-famous for being the birthplace in 563BC of Gautama Siddharta – the historical Buddha.

Jisay and Carunia could be best described as a two-person NGO with a mission. For a number of years, through their own hard labour and love, they have built up the Nav Jeevan EnglishBoarding School, which provides an education for all faiths. I would not have found them unless a stranger at a roadside restaurant had pointed me in the right direction, and as I was feeling ill at the time, they offered me their hospitality for several nights’ rest. In a way I felt as though fate had brought me here, and that their good work, helping some of the world’s poorest people, could be compared to that of Australia’s St Mary of the Cross. Each day some 175+ students attend the school. The monthly fee of only £1.50 is paid only by those parents who can afford it. When it was time to leave Jisay proudly stamped my pilgrim’s passport with his school’s seal, which displays an open book and the motto Arise and Shine.

The northern plain of India is hazardous for cycle touring, so I had factored this into my planning. Instead I would take a train via New Delhi to Mumbai, from where I would cycle some 1893km to the southernmost tip of India at Cape Comorin (Kanyakumari), yet another revered pilgrimage site for the Hindu faith.

In Goa I experienced a traditional Christmas with midnight mass, in the capital Panjim. Christianity had been brought to Goa, then a Portuguese colony in the mid 16^th century, by missionaries led by St Francis Xavier. In fact my first night was spent in his vicinity! It had been my intention to spend a day at Old Goa, but arriving there in the evening I found only one very dirty and over-priced hotel. I decided that, since I was on a pilgrimage, I would knock on the local priests’ door seeking hospitality. Invited in enthusiastically, I soon sat down to dinner with clergy from the Basilica of Bom Jesus. That night in the professed house I was given a large bedroom. In the morning I was able to attend a service in the basilica (c1605), where lie the remains of St Francis Xavier. The church is a site for many pilgrimages. In the 19^th century the saint’s remains were openly displayed, and once a pilgrim bit off one of the saint’s toes, seeking a relic to take home! For my self, a little memento was another satisfying stamp in my credential.

The state of Kerala is also important in the story of Christianity in India. St Thomas the Apostle reached it in 52AD, and established the so-called Seven and Half Churches. One of these is at Niranam, which I found quite by accident, and had my credential stamped. These long-established Syrian churches have interesting features, such as the Hindu-influenced stone candle post where votive flames are lit. On my first full day in Kerala, cycling along, I noticed a very dishevelled man at the roadside. Expecting what I’d become all to familiar with, the automatic hand out for rupees, I was surprised and humbled when in a soft voice he said, “Welcome to God’s Country”.

Once more I had to take to the air, since changes to my original plan of bicycling through Pakistan, via western China, and through the stans of Central Asia, had to be aborted. This was a great disappointment. This was partly due to the political situation in Pakistan. I had been in Mumbai shortly after the 26/11 Terrorist Attacks.

The alternative plan was set, and this would involve a rail-buff’s pilgrimage on the Himsagar Express from Kanyakumari back to New Delhi, from where I would fly to Damascus. From Syria, where I became a “hostage of hospitality”, I would continue by bicycle into Turkey and on to southern Europe and so to Cape Finisterre.

I hadn’t much time to brush up on Syria, so the thrill of this was the unexpected. On my arrival in Damascus I was hit with the problem of not having access to my money due to a bank error back home, and would have to live on the breadline until I reached Turkey some three weeks later. However, along with Arab hospitality and the presence of a living heritage of ancient Christian monastic culture, my pilgrimage through Syria became a genuine experience in a society soaked with religious practice. I was invited into people’s homes for coffee or tea, and on a couple of occasions for a night’s rest.

On the road north of Damascus a fresh dusting of snow mantled the arid hills all around me. I made my way to the Convent of Our Lady of Saidnaya. Here pilgrims seek the Virgin Mary's blessings by praying to an icon believed to have been painted by St Luke the Evangelist. It is notable that Syrian Muslims also pray to the icon as well, for healing and fertility miracles. Some 27km further on is the town of Ma’loula, where Western neo-Aramaic is spoken, said to be the language of Jesus. Here I was made welcome and provided with hospitality by the Greek Orthodox nuns at the St Thecla Monastery. Legend has it that St Thecla was being pursued by soldiers because of her Christian faith. She came upon a mountain, and after praying, the mountain split open and let her escape through a long passage still to be seen today.

Next, I skirted the Syrian Desert and arrived at the impressively located Deir Mar Mousa. This monastery is like a set from Star Wars, and I was anticipating a warm welcome by some Jedi Master. Instead I was greeted by its French and Armenian caretakers, who manage it as an eco-friendly monastic community open to all weary travellers. For a change I was in the company of other western travellers / pilgrims who were also a little off the beaten track. I felt as though I had come to the right place for spiritual wellbeing and could have stayed for ever, instead of only two nights. I was very much stretching my time so as to reach Aleppo via Krak des Chevaliers and Apamea. This journey took over one week and in Aleppo I was once more taken in like a true pilgrim, by the Maronite Church in the old Christian quarter. The Maronites have been described as more catholic than catholic! They are a branch of the Eastern Catholic Church in full communion with the Holy See in Rome.

From Aleppo I made my way to Antakya (ancient Antioch) via the ruins of the Byzantine period St Simeon Monastery. It was here in the 5th century that Simeon the Stylite made his Christian ascetic refuge on top of a stone column for some 37 years. Little of the column remains today, since pilgrims in the Byzantine period made off with souvenirs. The following day I was poking about in St Peter’s Cave, said to be the world’s oldest church. I was now in Turkey, with some serious travelling ahead of me. I cycled some 300km on to Adana – famous for its Islamic orthodoxy and spicy kebabs. From here I took a bus to Göreme, renowned for its ancient rock-hewn churches. A further 375km took me to the capital Ankara. En route I slept one night in a road house mosque!

Due to the huge distances and my dwindling budget, there was that ever-pressing time factor to push on without delay. Some 2803km in cycling distance remained before I would reach my goal of Cape Finisterre. Entering Greece, by way of bus from Ankara, I made a short four nights stopover in Istanbul to experience the true majesty of Hagia Sophia.

I had the unexpected good luck of being admitted to Mt Athos. This was very much a pilgrimage, since I made my way on foot. It was a truly wonderful experience to be out in nature, wandering between monasteries in the footsteps of Chatwin and Dalrymple. My first night was spent at the Dionysiou Monastery – the fifth most important of Mt Athos and dedicated to St John the Baptist. Its most remarkable feature is a fresco of the Apocalypse.

After Mt Athos I crossed the north of Greece through Thessaly and Epirus, via Mt Olympus and Meteora, with its mountain-top monasteries. The Greek Orthodox nuns at St Barbara’s Monastery were happy to leave an impression in my credential with a sticker of their patron saint. Once beyond Meteora I experienced the last gasps of winter and had to make use of the newly-constructed Egnatia Odos, more commonly the E90 motorway. I avoided high mountain passes and snow by traversing some of its 99km of tunnels. However, after about 30km, a loud announcement over the security intercom – and eventually the police – informed me ever so politely that I wasn’t supposed to be bicycling on the motorway. Once more I was on the quiet back roads, but in the icy rain, eventually sheltering in the porch of a church outside Ioannina.

Once in Italy it was my intention of to make my way along the Via Appia and the Via Francigena. In the end I didn’t travel the latter, but made my own way from Bari to St Giovanni Rotondo – a pilgrimage site for devotees of Saint Padre Pio and those interested in the contemporary architect Renzo Piano. I then went across the peninsula to Rome via San Marco La Catola, Isernia and Fossanova. At all these places I was taken in by the kindly Capuchin and Cistercian monks. By the time I hit Rome, my modified credential del peregrine had been filled with some 43 stamps or seals.

I had a rather amusing, but frustrating, experience in the Vatican City Pilgrims’ Office. Here I expected to be able to pick up a new pilgrim’s passport for the road ahead. The chief staff member, after my inquiry into this matter, informed me that they hadn’t any such pilgrim passports, nor a stamp for mine. He appeared a complete buffoon when I noticed behind him a huge wall banner displaying Rome and Santiago de Compostela. However he was having none of this, and eventually was almost brought to tears screaming “I know nothing!”

From Rome the Via Francigena, this pilgrims road, is primarily for walking only. Instead I had a nightmare experience getting onto the train at Termini bound for Le Puy-en-Velay, by way of seven changes. The day before I had been reassured that bicycles could be taken on the train, and I was booked on the 10:55PM. But I wasn’t allowed to depart, and soon the bicycle and myself were removed by the railway police. Things were going badly until a kindly fluent English-speaking official got me onto the next train bound for Turin.

Some 12 hours later I was in Le Puy-en-Velay, and after my experience I was more than ready to cycling the remaining 1700km to Cape Finisterre. I had always wanted to visit Le Puy, and here I was at last, walking up the steps to the impressive Romanesque church of Saint Michel dʹAiguilhe, high on a volcanic plug. On my last evening I attended a special pilgrims’ mass at the Cathédrale Notre-Dame du Puy. At last after 239 days of peregrination, I was in the company of other Santiago pilgrims.

On Sunday 17^th May 2009, with a ready supply of Créanciale du pèlerin de Saint-Jacques de-Compostelle in my handlebar bag, I began the final long haul to the apostolic city and the ends-of-the-earth beyond it. A hot European summer was well under way, so cold showers and humble bedding were a welcome sign of relief each day as I approached journey’s end. For three days I rode with a German cyclist, through the Lot Valley, stopping at Estaing and Conques. There I experienced an illuminating evening inside the splendid Abbey Church of Sainte-Foy, with its alabaster windows, while later there was an organ recital concluding with The House of the Rising Sun!  

Fellow pilgrims met in the gîte dʹétape along the Via Podensis provided good company. One evening in the French town of Arthez-de-Béarn I was treated to dinner by a Dutch pilot, while on the next day in Maslacq I had a home-cooked dinner with a small group of ladies from the Dordogne. We all shared a common interest and affinity in being pilgrims – looking out for each other in whatever way we could. 

I reached Roncesvalles on 2^nd June and was at last in Spain, having crossed the Ibañeta Pass with little effort. I had actually spent a night here in the winter of 2004, when first walking the Camino, and so had fond memories of a cosy dormitory set aside for the twelve or so pilgrims. However times had changed on, and now during the summer peak season they had over 350 beds filled this evening. Cyclists we found were at the bottom of the pecking order, since forty of us were crammed into an airless dorm for the night! I was to experience much discrimination along the Camino de Santiago for being a cyclist: travelling 8000 kilometres was not good enough for several of the albergue hospitaleros. I took a side trip to Lugo, and was shocked that on my arrival at 11AM I would have to wait until 7PM before being admitted. My valuable bicycle would have to be left in the street for the night. But as I was the only cyclist, the management relented and allowed me to bring it in to the spacious hostel. That said, I have come to accept that walking the Camino is indeed a better option, for one gains the genuine pilgrim’s experience.

I reached Santiago de Compostela, and importantly the Pilgrims’ Office, to receive my compostellae on Sunday 21st June. The office staff were quite impressed to see my credential, which had now grown to the considerable length of an arm span. On the following morning I commenced the final days of my ride, to Cape Finisterre. But first of all I had an interview with the Pilgrims’ Office concerning my Cape to Cape Tour*. Several days later, on my return to Santiago, La Voz de Galicia (the regional newspaper), conducted an interview adding to my modest fame. The woman at the news stand was ecstatic when she saw that it was me, and a hardened-looking café proprietor gave me a powerful hug and coffee on the house after discovering my means of reaching his home town.

It was on Wednesday 24^th June 2009, by way of Muxia, that I finally reached my destination of Cape Finisterre. The total cycling distance from Singapore clocked on my bike odometer was 8961km. What only lay ahead of me now were the blue-green waters of the Atlantic Ocean. I had indeed reached the ends of the earth! There was no fancy reception, and all I could do was thank St James for the safe journey. That evening, at the Albergue de Paz, the friendly hospitalero gave a finishing touch to my credential del peregrine when he wrote simply, in English – “Game Over”.

Last but not least here are details of my arm-span length Pilgrim's Passport - it also spanning the globe at a distance of 9000KM bicycled between Singapore and Cape Finisterre.

From the comfort of your own couch:  A Long-Haul Pilgrimage Photo Journal