Told as a few quick memories, the poem is a traveler's recollection of walking the road to Santiago in 1978, as the title says. Each stanza is one sharp image. First comes a stone horse in Logroño, with its "terrible phallus," a blunt, almost shocking detail that suggests the speaker still remembers the jolt of seeing it. Then come the steps once bloodied by pilgrims' knees, set beside a "jolly lacemaker," so old devotion and ordinary cheerfulness sit side by side.
The last stanza widens out. "We yield the road" to sheep, a bicycle race and old men bowling, which suggests that the travelers are guests in a place that keeps its own rhythm. The speaker doesn't explain or judge. The feeling is affectionate and a little amused, with a touch of awe at the violence and faith of the past. The mood is relaxed and observant, like flipping through a photo album and lingering on whatever stuck in the mind.