27/10/12: Fisterra

I've now seen the sun go down at the end of the world :0)

Let me first rewind a little: I left the albergue in Olveiroa around 09:00. I had quickly realised that one of the advantages of private albergues is that there's none of this chucking out time first thing in the morning. On top of this the owners couldn't have been nicer or more helpful - and all of this for 12 euros! A part of what made my stay enjoyable was going into the kitchen to prepare my dinner and finding a very friendly couple of pilgrims in there - Felipe (Brazilian) and his very lovely German girlfriend - whose name I've forgotten (shame on me). We had a laugh and a chat, which I always enjoy after a day's walking alone.

I packed at a leisurely pace and set off under threatening clouds. I soon put on my waterproofs and it turned out not to be a moment too soon. Nothing too heavy and certainly nothing like the approach to Monte de Gozo the other day, but persistent nonetheless. The cloud was moving quickly so the morning was bursts of rain and dark skies followed by periods of sunshine.

The camino itself was spectacular - that's the word I'd give it. Some lovely changes of scenery, starting with climbing onto the moors and walking west past distant mountains and pine forests. I walked among eucalyptus, which really does seem to have invaded the entire northern coast. The sun came out and I saw rainbows. And then, with no prelude, the sea appeared in the distance. I was getting close. There was a small sign beside the camino directing us to a local point of interest. This turned out to be the Cruceiro do Armada, which has nothing to do with Drake (I later found out) but is simply a nomenclature that reflects the fact that this is the point from which one first sights Cabo Fisterra.

I was really enjoying this day's walk. I agreed with Felipe last night when he remarked that since Santiago everybody seems more relaxed. It's true. Even though I wasn't rushing to Santiago but simply making my way, nevertheless the receipt of the compostela does seem to have drawn a line of sorts under things. Now we are walking for the further fun of it :0)

I passed through the port town of Corcubión, nestling in a bay at the bottom of a fairly steep descent. Not too surprisingly our route took us around the bay and back up and out the other side - another fairly steep climb. The rain came down again - for the final time today.

And then a road sign showed 7km to Fisterra. Nearly there :0)

As I rolled into Fisterra I saw numbers of pilgrims swinging left off the camino to walk into town along the beach. I wasn't in the mood to get sand in my boots (or take them off) so I stayed on the paved path that runs beside the beach. Not too long after I was in the centre of town and looking for the municipal albergue. This turned out to be futile, since it is closed until 15 Nov for repairs! Off I went to find the next albergue and struck lucky just a few hundred metres up the road. I say "struck lucky" because a couple of pilgrims who turned up later said they'd just passed two albergues before this one to find them both completely full. There certainly are a lot of pilgrims about on this part of the coast - especially for the time of year.

After showers and necessaries I dashed round a local supermarket and came back to make myself a couple of sandwiches to tide me over until later. I wasn't thinking in any particular terms about the town and its environs beyond the rather obvious idea that I might want to get down to the place where the coast juts into the Atlantic. This turned out to be at the lighthouse, some 3km away.

I had two options - visit now or visit in the morning. Since the weather was now clear and sunny I felt it better to go now than risk missing it all under a blanket of fog or heavy rain. I set off to walk to the lighthouse.

Call me slow if you like - it took me right until the moments I walked out of the town towards this final outcrop of Cape Finisterre (to give it its anglicised name) to realise that the name is virtually unchanged from its Latin roots in the middle ages Finis Terrae: the end of the earth. This is what, at that time, it was thought to be.

It was while making this walk that I felt, to my surprise, a sense of purpose. It was as if, suddenly, here was a completion of this long walk I've undertaken. Not in Santiago but here, at the end of the land, was a place that felt special and that felt as if I could engage in some personal way. This entire train of thought gave a wonderful sense of completion to things and I arrived on the rocky outcrop (alongside dozens of others) around 15 minutes before sunset.

I sat quietly, looking out to sea and reflecting on many things. It felt special to me for no other reason than we were sitting watching the sun go down. I found out earlier tonight (thanks Wikipedia) that this isn't actually the westernmost part of Europe. That honour belongs to a place in Portugal, which juts a further 16km into the Atlantic. Never mind, this information doesn't at all diminish either my sense of achievement or my experience.

There was a cold wind out on the rocks and once the sun was below the horizon we all headed back - the temperature dropped quickly. Once back in the albergue it was time for food and I cooked up the remaining pasta I've been carrying about (along with olive oil, garlic and sundry other foodstuffs) for the past several days - possibly a week.

Tomorrow is Muxia and the end of my walking. I have the enormous pleasure of some luxury in Santiago to look forward to, and a chance to rest my body for a couple of days, but all the hiking and folllowing trails will come to a stop tomorrow. And while I am looking forward to the parts of life I put on hold when I set out almost two months ago, I think I'm also going to miss all of this. We'll see...