Following the direction of her finger, I see coming towards us what appears to be a centipede as tall as a person, slowly but surely looping its way down the opposite side of the stone gallery under which we walk. Then it draws closer, and it is just an old woman, prostrating herself at the head of a line of serious pilgrims making the last steps of their journey. Behind her is a middle-aged man, and behind them are some children, who because they are shorter are having trouble keeping up.