The End of the World

Good-bye Santiago de Compestela

Early Sunday morning is quiet in Santiago.I drank in a last look across the city to the west. My bus would head west to the coast. I abhor riding the bus. As a preteen in White Bear Lake, I would take the bus into St. Paul. The big day meant a trip to the counter in the basement of Woolworth's for a grilled cheese sandwich, fries and a coke. But first I had to endure a crummy stomach on the bus. Food helped me feel better. It still does. So I ate breakfast quickly, left my big bag at the hotel, carried my tote, and grabbed a cab to the bus station. I was one of the last ten people to board and I snagged the last seat. My seat mate was an older gentleman from Geneva. He had retired a few months ago. His first adventure was to walk from Geneva to Santiago. He walked for four months. He felt it was okay to take the bus to Finesterre. Maybe, I should have felt like a wimp for my small walk, but I was still proud and happy with my week. We conversed for a while and then enjoyed the passing of the scenery. The bus followed the bay around to the northern point and arrived at Finesterre. As we debarked we wished each other well and said goodbye. My stomach was fine thanks to Dramamine.

Finesterre and Muxia are the final town stops for Pilgrims. Here on the coast they burn their boots, throw clothing

or mementos into the water, make peace with their journey or just take in the views. Many tourists arrive to watch them and stay to feel the pull of the waves and gaze at the vast Pacific. This is the finale.

At one time this spot was believed to be the westernmost spot of the Iberian Peninsula. Only ocean remained. And it is here that the yellow arrows end with the final clamshell arrow - the 0.00 kilometer marker greets the traveler. It sits on the bluff where bay and ocean meet 3.0 kilometers up the road from Finesterre. The old lighthouse there now feeds and shelters visitors. It is my destination for tomorrow.

I checked into my newish hotel on the east side of the city center; pleasant and airy and a two minute walk to the beach on the bay.

Finesterre, the fishing village

The active fishing village of Finesterre was only a ten minute walk away but that afternoon I settled for the sand and the laid back feel of of the beach. I crossed the street to the beach and wandered and sat and wandered and sat and gulped in the sea air.

People strolled along the boardwalk to and from Finesterre. I never went to the end. For all I know it may have followed the beach all the way around the the bay to the southern point. Instead, I sat and watched the kids play with sand, wade in the water and and search for live things among the rocks. I was content to do nothing.

Not a Lonely Beach

People strolled along the boardwalk to and from Finesterre. I never went to the end. For all I know it may have followed the beach all the way around the the bay to the southern point. Instead, I sat and watched the kids play with sand, wade in the water and and search for live things among the rocks. I was content to do nothing.

.

I spent the first night in my room continuing to read the saga "The Angel's Game". The story is set in Barcelona. Soon, I would be wandering the streets there and walking a different beach on a different sea.

My room reminded me of the bathroom we papered in Fair Oaks-including the ceiling- with three kinds of pink flowers and checks. it was during the seventies. It, the hotel, was clean and fresh and not rustic. I was even able to print my boarding pass for the flight to Barcelona from the computer in the large lobby area. Again, I ate in the hotel as I was too lazy to wander into town and explore the seafood restaurants in search of pulpo gallega. My somewhat still queazy stomach hankered only for chicken.

Blue, blue sky greeted my morning. My mood was anything but blue. I was headed up the road to the lighthouse. I wandered through the town with its narrow streets until I was forced to trek up the highway. The lush ferns and trees covered the landscape. No wonder there was mist and clouds in the air. Galicia is the rainiest part of Spain. Today was slightly warm, but I never broke a sweat on the uphill walk. Instead, I gazed at the water and let it soak into my heart.

Walking the Road to the Lighthouse

Blue, blue sky greeted my morning. My mood was anything but blue. I was headed up the road to the lighthouse. I wandered through the town with its narrow streets until I was forced to trek up the highway. The lush ferns and trees covered the landscape. No wonder there was mist and clouds in the air. Galicia is the rainiest part of Spain. Today was slightly warm, but I never broke a sweat on the uphill walk. Instead, I gazed at the water and let it soak into my heart.

My friends would warn me about trusting to MY memory. So whose bust is this? What did he do?
I have no idea. Possibly, he is Dr. John Shaw. Many names have been etched below the bust over many years.

Many battles were fought off this coast as France, Spain and England fought for supremacy of the seas.

Many battles were fought off this coast as France, Spain and England fought for supremacy of the seas.

The lighthouse was built in 1868, but did not prevent the 1870 shipwreck of the British ironclad HMS Captain  which caused the loss of nearly 500 lives. The loss of many ships along the coast triggered the name Costa Morte (Death Coast). But the day and I were sunny as can be.

The lighthouse is an inn, a restaurant and a deli. I opted for the deli and munched on calamari and fries. People were friendly. I met a father and son from Russia at our farmhouse three nights before running into them here. They were lucky enough to stay in the lighthouse. We chatted about the trails we had shared and the end of our journeys.

These two guys-one from Germany and one living in Australia-finished up the walk in Finesterre, also. I do not remember how many weeks they walked. Our pleasant bantering was fun. I was staying in a place with all Spanish speakers. The future would hold many hours of talking to myself, so I was happy to chat awhile.

Time to leave the coast and the lighthouse and to head down the hill.

Again, I know nothing about the sculptures, but they grace the bluff with playfulness and joyfulness.

German Woman Chats and Leaves Me in the Dust

My encounter with another German woman on the Camino was brief but cheerful. She, also, walked by herself and exuded energy and goodwill. I applauded her long stride and strong will.

YUM! Diet Coke and More Calamari

I made a stop in town, but spent very little time there. I sat outside on the deck of a cafe overlooking the harbor and soaked in the fishing village atmosphere. 

The Modern Sculpture is Dedicated to the Town's Fishermen

The harbor was across the street for the cafe and many other restaurants. As you can see, the fish seemed to jump from boat to table. The fish was very fresh. Many tourists, were drawn here for the food. I headed back to my room, my book and one last trip to  the beach.

Not a Blaze, Just an Enlightenment

So, I missed the flaming sunset over the water. No matter. The air, the last light infused me with contentment and peace. The walk is at an end. The dark falls quickly over water, land and sky. In the morning the bus will return me to Santiago and I will fly to Barcelona. This tale is over.

THE  END