Santiago in the rain, which is to say Santiago

There is a saying in Galicia that the rain in Santiago is a form of art. Having spent five days in it, I would say it is more of a performance piece: long, wet, deeply committed, and impossible to leave.

We arrived from Pinhão in a hire car, a small grey Peugeot that we came to love the way you love anyone who has seen you at your worst. The drive was four hours and three snacks and one rendition of The Wheels on the Bus that went on for most of the A52.

The pilgrims

Everyone else in Santiago has walked there. You can tell them by their boots, their tans, and a look in the eye of people who have recently discovered what their knees are for. They gather in the square in front of the cathedral and cry, or lie down, or both. Pip went and stood among them and clapped, which several of them seemed to find helpful.

Food, mainly octopus

The local dish is pulpo á feira: octopus boiled in a copper pot, cut with scissors onto a wooden plate, and covered in olive oil, salt and paprika. Pip ate it with her fingers and the appetite of someone who has walked from Le Puy.

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On the rain

It rained four days out of five. The old town is built of granite that turns silver when it's wet, and the arcades along the streets are there so that you can walk the whole town without an umbrella, which we did, slowly, with a pushchair, under the stone, for hours. It's the most beautiful wet city I know, and I live in Bristol.

In Santiago you don't check the weather. You check whether the rain is the vertical kind or the other kind.

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