To the End of the World and Back

October 21
Our walking days are not quite over.  This morning we have to walk to the bus station--a few steps compared to the distances of the past weeks.  Only one bus company is open with ticket agents on duty and it is not the one we supposedly want.  According to the posted information on the window of the bus company we do want, on weekends we wait by platforms 6-10, and when the bus comes, we pay the driver on the bus.  We eat breakfast at the station restaurant to kill some of the time, then sit on a bench by the appropriate platforms.

It's a good thing we have the look of peregrinos about us.  As we're sitting there, a woman approaches and asks, "Finisterre (aka Fisterra)?"  We tell her that, yes, we're going to Finisterre and, when it's clear we all speak English, she tells us the bus behind us is going to Finisterre, leaving at the time we are expecting.  Several people are waiting by the bus and they all have tickets--the bus is operated by the company with the open counters in the terminal.  My bad, apparently.  On the backside of the bus schedule given to us at the tourism office is a different list of weekend itineraries, run by this Monbus and another company.  We trudge back up to the terminal and buy our tickets; I'm extremely grateful that woman thought to approach us.

It's a three-hour ride out to Finisterre because there are so many local stops.  Since only about eight of us boarded in Santiago, Jerri and I sit on opposite sides of the aisle so we can each have a window seat.  When we get beyond the city, we see water on Jerri's side of the bus.  We had remarked earlier in our trip that we had never seen anything bigger than ponds of water on farmland.  This looks like a huge lake.  It turns out to be a bay.  We are driving along the coast.  I totally enjoy this trip--it reminds me of the Pacific Northwest:  ocean to one side--mostly rocky shoreline, some sandy strands--and pine forests and hills to the other.  The villages and towns do not have a beachy feel to them, as if we were in Florida.  They are rather more like Oak Harbor, Washington and the San Juan Islands.

During the drive, we start to spot Camino markings.  Some part of me regrets not walking this--I'm positive the view alone would be worth it.  My feet, on the other hand, are relieved that we're riding.  From my side of the bus I miss the highlight of the trip, though--dolphins in one of the smaller bays.

The bus disgorges us onto a street close to the water, surrounded by shops and bars/restaurants.  It doesn't take us long to find the Camino markings directing us to the cabo (cape) and the faro (lighthouse).

We are not the only pilgrims making our way there; some have arrived by bus, some are still walking from Santiago, and others have made the town of Finisterre an overnight stop to visit it properly.  As we walk, I spot more bits of Ireland here and there.  We pass a pilgrim monument--our last--

 ...as the road begins to climb and wind its way out to the point.

Cabo Fisterra (Cape Finisterre) is more than I expected.  There is so much more than the lighthouse.  There are various things to see--a cross...

...a peace pole, plaques, the 0.0 km Camino marker...

...art, a hotel and restaurant, and souvenir stalls.  The standing mosaics are very cool--my favorites are the mermaids and Sponge Bob.

The souvenir stalls offer practically as much Celtic fare as they do items related to the coast, lighthouse, and Camino.  I'm sorely tempted, but I think of how ridiculous it would be to backpack six weeks across Spain without buying anything beyond Camino items that I can wear (bracelets and pilgrim shells), then go home with Irish souvenirs.  The lighthouse itself is now closed to the public, but the adjoining building contains a small museum/art gallery (of course we get a sello here).  We explore this all leisurely.

The most meaningful part for me, though, is standing at the "end of the world" (Cape Finisterre is the westernmost point of Spain and, looking out at a horizon of water, it is easy to see how people back then would have thought so).  By the peace pole...

...I pick my way almost to the edge (I do respect the height of the cliff, the wind around me, and the rocks below me) for a photo.

When we venture to the other side of the museum to view the entire lighthouse (situated behind the museum), I realize the promontory extends farther here.

Also, there is a cross and scorch marks I want to investigate.  Apparently, pilgrims burn clothes, boots, or other significant items here.  I wouldn't do it myself, but I get it.

I convince Jerri to come out this far so I can take a photo of her for her kids to see.

Then I start picking my way to the point.  In my path is a woman sitting on the rocks, what looks to be a bodhrán (Irish frame drum) at her feet, crying; to respect her privacy, I veer away from her.  There are more burn spots scattered about among the rocks.  I had planned to go to the tippy-tip, but I realize that I'm descending the farther out I go and will soon drop out of Jerri's sight.  I would also wind up disturbing a man, not visible until now, who is perched out here, staring out at the ocean.  I wouldn't dream of intruding upon him for a photo.  So I turn and wave at Jerri until she signals me that she has taken the picture.

On my return, I give the woman an even wider berth and think about her and the man, reminding myself again that everyone has a story.

Before we leave the cape, Jerri stops at one of the stalls to look at postcards and we meet up once more with Linda and Andy.  They are the only familiar faces we get to say goodbye to.  Seeing them makes me wonder about the other people we met, how they have fared since we last saw them, whether and when they arrived in Santiago, and what tales we would tell each other if we had the chance.  A sort of surreal feeling--a bit of sadness to know it's over, this Camino that has been my life for six weeks, and now bumping into the door of my real life that has been there all along, waiting for me to pass back through tomorrow.

The walk back to town doesn't feel nearly as long as the one we took to get to the cape.  On the other side of the road, more people are headed out, including a small of group of pilgrims carrying firewood, and a pilgrim family with two donkeys.  We speculate about the possibilities--assuming they traveled at least the last 100 km--of what they do with the donkeys when they stop and how they feed them along the way.

Back in town, we can only wander.  Our guidebook does not include the trip from Santiago to Finisterre.  We see quite a few cats and leave kitty treats for all of them; there is no reason to hoard them anymore.  There is an old castle overlooking the harbor, housing a museum that has closed minutes before we discover it.

Below the castle is a tiny sandy beach, where we take photos--again, especially for Jerri's kids to see (the one of Jerri is on her camera, another hole in the blog).

We eat at a seaside restaurant (yep, we get a sello here, too), drafting posts and journaling until it's time to wait for the bus.

Quite a crowd is waiting for the bus to Santiago.  The company must be aware of this pattern because a double-decker bus arrives to pick us up.  Most of us boarding in Finisterre are pilgrims or tourists.  However, at the various stops on the way back to the city, mostly students board.  The scenery is just as beautiful the second time.

Back at the seminary in Santiago, the man in the reception office helps arrange a taxi for our trip to the airport in the wee hours of the morning.  Then we go to the basement and use a computer to check in online.  After that, it's a matter of preparing ourselves and our belongings for a 4 a.m. departure, then climbing between albergue sheets for the last time.

Total distance walked:  8.8 km