Camino Finisterre, Part 2

Day 3.
Another stunning day.

Some fields and roads to start, but then the track heads up into a range of hills, climbing above the rushing river below.

Windmills turn, and turn, and turn.

Sunshine.

Rocky path.

Blue sky.
Solitude. 

Feeling intrepid.

Up to Hospital, where the path splits; I head left towards Finisterre, the blue haze of the sea at last the only thing on the horizon, far away beyond the hills.

Half-moon hanging above the pines.

Path rising and falling.

Sea playing peek-a-boo.

A perfect perch on a stone wall.

The sun climbs higher.

Red roofs of a village in the emerald-green valley far below, spilling down to the sea; the rocky coast beyond.

Cee, filling in around the curving coastline, is so close and yet so far, and as I watch my feet on the rocky descent, all I can think of is the cold shower I will have upon arrival. I walk into town with Marta, who I met on my very first Camino day. Things are beginning to come full circle. 

Day 4. Cape Finisterre. 9pm. 

The sea is molten mercury, shifting and flowing with the waves and wind, the sun on a dancing path to the foot of the cliffs.

A quartet of Texans say vespers.

A cross-legged man meditates with his face lifted to the sun.

The wind whirls and whistles on the cape, swirling in from two directions, threatening to lift my feet from their tenuous hold on the earth.

I just threw my stick off a cliff.

My only constant companion, my silent supporter.

I couldn’t bear for it to face an undignified end at a dingy RyanAir counter.

It was beautiful but flawed, and somewhere deep inside, I knew it was never meant for more than this.

Scattered among the rocks beyond the lighthouse are charred remains of pilgrim shoes and clothing, burned in (I imagine) equal parts triumph and practicality.

On the horizon, a line of clouds hovers, seemingly below the level where I am perched, waiting to receive the setting sun… but she is reluctant to sink.

****

This morning the arrows and scallop-shell tiles led me through a twisting maze of medieval streets, out of Cee and into Corcubin. Several times I almost missed the small blue tiles, hidden as they were among the clutter of city life. Down long curving streets, past churches, palms and stone crosses in quiet plazas… finally the path cut into a narrow gap between two walls – concrete and stone, old and new- and a giant yellow arrow had been placed as if to say “Yep. This way. Really.”

Up over a ridge, down along a quiet bay, up over another ridge. With the end now clearly in sight, it was with great relief that I slogged through the sand and dropped my pack at the edge of the water.

The water was so cold it made my feet ache, like after a cool summer rain when the backyard ditches ran ankle-deep. 

I tied my boots to my pack and walked the shoreline, deciding that it was fitting to end my Camino here, where I literally can not walk any farther West.

It was early when I arrived, so I wandered over to the ancient castle while waiting for my room to be ready.

A happy accidental reunion with a fellow pilgrim from days ago, beer and calamari and sharing of stories.

A slog to the other side of the peninsula, where the wind blew stronger and the waves broke harder.  I found a shady patch next to the cliffs and dozed, as beach-living hippies went about their daily lives and young people splashed in the waves. 

******
The sun finally touches the line of clouds on the horizon, slowly sinking into a golden pool, heat waves shimmering on the water. The wind is still whipping fiercely, now with a keen edge, sending shockwaves across the water.

The sky is shifting blues.

I can't help it, I wait for the fuschia to fade to violet before facing the wind and heading downhill.

The sky deepening, the stars twinkling, seagulls floating, ghosts in the blue.
Melancholy swirled with contentment, exhaustion and elation.
It's the end of this Camino, for me, for now.
But I will always be a pilgrim.

We are pilgrims on the earth and strangers; we have come from afar and we are going far.

(Vincent van Gogh)

Camino Finisterre, Part 1

Yes, a few months too long in writing, but here is my journey beyond Santiago de Compostela, to the end of the earth: Finisterre. 

Day 1

A slow start, taking advantage of a gorgeous breakfast, finding the set of yellow arrows leading away from the cathedral, casting one last gaze upon its spires.

A lovely forest stretch gives way to a boring city stretch, which gives way to a wooded uphill that is unexpected and seemingly never-ending.  It does, of course, end, and I let the downhill on the other side carry me to the bridge at Maceira.

Here I nestle myself into the roots of a sturdy tree, lean back against the rough bark, enjoy the cool shade and the sounds of the rushing river.  Having bought myself a book at last, I spend a few hours happily immersed. When my eyes start drifting closed, I move to a sunny rock in the river’s flow for a nap, before tackling the final hour into Negeira.

 Day 2

Eager for the road, I leave without coffee. 

A beautiful church on the way out of town; neighing horses and conversation with two Spanish women, some uphill through eucalyptus. 

But no coffee.

Approaching a small village, I spy a line of figures on a bench, leaning against the stone wall behind them, faces lifted to the sun, as a water font trickled.

A bus stop?

Nope. A line of peregrinos taking their morning break, sharing segments of juicy oranges. 

I say hello. I express my desire for coffee in the very near future.

I carry on.

Still uphill, but now there are moments of paths through fields of newly planted corn.

The breeze is lively, the windmills are turning, the views are expanding.

But there is still no coffee.

The group of not-bus-riders catches up with me as I take a quick break for a snack and to shed a layer in the warming sun. I fall in with them as we turn onto the road; conversation begins to flow.

I soon find out that this group of 8 men are Austrians, completing the final stage of their Camino… from Austria to Finisterre.

Over the past 10 years, they traversed the Camino from Austria, through Switzerland, Lichtenstein, France, and Spain on the Camino Norte. Leaving their wives and children behind, they set off every summer, for a few days or a few weeks. A few of them speak English. We talk of children and Tokyo and Camino experiences, until (finally) happening upon a bar with an inviting, sun-filled porch.

It is 11 am.

I desperately order coffee. 

The Austrians get beer.

Singing a toast, they clink glasses. 

A plastic chair is proffered, so I join them in a pleasant whirlwind of German and English and Spanish.

They depart, I loiter, chatting with two young people at the next table over, before picking up my stick and carrying on down the road.

And it is a lovely road, undulating through fields and villages, the breeze is fresh and clean, creating that perfect balance with the warmth of the sun, windmills humming on the background.

Soon the way branches off onto dirt tracks through grassy fields rippling in the wind, birches and pines and oaks whispering… and with no other pilgrims in sight, I am content to stride and sing and twirl my stick, feeling as if I could carry on like this forever.

Eventually, the plateau evens out, and there are some small villages to pass through and a river to cross, before I happen upon a small park that invites me in with a cushion of grass in the shade.

As the afternoon is waning I reach the bus stop in the middle of nowhere that is to be my pickup location for my accommodation for the night.

So out come the journal and the pen, as I perch on the awkward bench and wait.

And then a van arrives, and I hop in.

Within moments I am feeling nauseous.

The van feels as if it is traveling at tremendous speed.

After moving at an average pace of 4 kph for the last 16 days, the 60 kph feels like a bullet train.

Or a roller coaster. 

It is a bullet-train roller coaster.

The hotel was a little off the beaten path, but the dinner and breakfast were delicious, and I was delivered back to the same little bus stop the next morning to continue my journey.