Finisterre

I shall try my best to tell of the epic journey to Cape Finisterre, the "End of the World"...

Lying awake, late into the night in Santiago, my body surged with the sensory tingles signaling an adventure. Quietly going back and forth until midnight, Kelsey and I spoke of our Camino, of what it all had to meant to us, and the significance it would play in our lives. In the morning, I was walking on my own, and I fell asleep dreaming of an optimistically ambitious day. For me, the sense of closure had not yet begun to set in, as hours of walking still lay in store. A restless sleep for a little more than a few hours, and I was up at 0530 to begun the ritual preparation of my mochila. 

It felt strange to be moving quietly in the dark packing my things, as Kelsey still slept. Before I left, she woke and we gave each other a hug full of strength and deep friendship. I was going to sorely miss the comfort of walking with a companion, and the sense of security and togetherness that it brings. Rarely are people talented at saying goodbye, and so as we fumbled through it, and we knew in our hearts we would see each other soon. Aloha, Kelsey. 

 

Solo.

Walking past a sleepy hotel receptionist at six in the morning, I mentally revved up my resolve for the day's toil. I walked to the plaza in front of the Catedral and said a silent prayer, feeling very much on my own in the light of the gently illuminated facade. The night can be darker and more intimidating when you only have yourself for company, the hunt for the way markers and yellow arrows all the more pressing. In the darkness, with sunrise over two and half hours away, my thoughts skipped over all manner of buoyant thoughts (like acai bowls) in order to distract me from my over reactive imagination (of zombies).

Hawaii in Spain?

I left Santiago prepared with my rain Packa, and the drizzle pattered off and on through the gray sunrise and milky dawn. Up and over a mountain, through quiet and sleepy villages, I pressed onwards. It was a welcome solitude on the trail compared to the busy days leading up to Santiago, but I was glad to see other pilgrims after walking the silent path for over four hours. I was walking at a rapid clip, so my conversation was limited to "Buen Caminos" as I raced past slower pilgrims. 55 km (34 mi) was my goal for the days walk, leaving only 35 km for the following day to Cape Finisterre. It was honestly a silly distance, but a combination of travel logistics and a "can-I-do-it?" mentality had me set on tackling it. 

Gulping down a croissant, toast with butter and a giant hot chocolate (a scrumptious side effect of walking long distances is the uninhibited consumption of carbs) after five hours of walking, I was primed to keep the press. About this time, a little more than 22 km in, I thought my goal may be a real possibility. I mentally prepared myself for a 14 hour day, imagining pulling into my destination, Olveiro at 2000. 

Rain distorted.

Notice the mud soaked shoes. Poor feet.

Onward! The rain steadily began to build, but I was walking through scenery that resembled Ferngully, so I was too distracted by the natural beauty to be humbled by the elements. Hour upon hour passed. Squlmphch, squlmphch, the sound of my shoes in the miles of dead leaves and mud was my soundtrack with my bastones adding a pleasant click as they landed upon a rock. 

Around two in the afternoon, however, things took a dramatic turn. 

I imagine a god of the sky, like Zeus, suddenly clapping his hands in a flurry of sound. With the incessant drizzle as my only warning, the sky suddenly seemed to press down onto me in a deep, dark angry depth of gray. The temperature dropped, the pressure shifted, an energy was released into the air, and sheets of rain began to wallop me from above. The wind howled as it drove the rain like shards of hail into my face and hands. I could hear nothing other than the shriek of the wind, I couldn't lift my eyes for the driving pain of the rain. All around me trees bent at their boughs, and grass whipped around in a frenzy. My heart was racing as I pressed my body forward against the wind, desperately hoping I was still on the right path. The fields of trees and grasslands around me began to flood, pouring the dark brown runoff into the trail, sending a river of water up and over my ankles.

The bent trees before the real storm even started.

"Okay" I thought, "no storm like this can last for long." Wrong. For the next three hours, I and the few pilgrims I passed endured unbelievable conditions with zero shelter. We pushed our bodies forward, with a singleminded focus of making it to our destination. It was fitting that we were walking to the end of the world, as it felt like a fairly apt description. Later that evening, I would learn that the wind had been blowing at over 62 mph and it rained over 2 inches over the course of the afternoon. As one pilgrim put it: "Estamos loco." We are crazy.

I drove myself forward, inexorable, spirit strong, marveling at the fury of the storm. My only fears were that I would be crushed by a tree, or receive a massive infection from the dirty water I was continually walking through. My body didn't begun to suffer until the last few kilometers of the day. A deep ache set itself into my feet and shin bones. I was going much further in one day than I had ever gone in my life. This distance wouldn't have been possible without the preparation of walking for over a month on the Camino. 

Risking my iPhone in the rain because this looked like a wet, cold version of Joshua Tree.

Finally Olveiroa was in view, hallelujah. Ducking into the first albergue, I was greeted  by a warm smile and the promise of laundry. Hobbling in a stupor of fatigue, I realized I had walked the distance in just under twelve hours. It is safe to say that I was in beast mode all day. 

Sitting in the albergue's cafe, consuming three KitKat bars, an omelette sandwich and a hot chocolate, a string of beaten pilgrims continued to stumble in wide eyed and exhausted. One such pilgrim was my good Camino friend Tobias. He had left Santiago in Sunday, the day before me, so I was so happy to see a familiar face. Watching the news in the cafe, the top story was the extreme weather and "coastal phenomena" all along the Galicia coast. To make matters worst, the next day was predicted to have even worst weather with the added bonus of lightening and thunder.

A visual of the route I accomplished from Santiago to Olveiroa via Negreira.

For the first time, I was facing the real possibility that I may not be able to overcome the obstacles the Camino was placing before me. I could endure another day of rain and wind, but lightening... I collapsed into sleep that night, fearful of what morning would bring.

Setting out at seven, the sun still hidden, I began walking as swiftly as possible. My rationale was that the weather had been clear the previous morning, so I would try to get as far as possible before the storm descended. Within the first 5 km, I saw three flashes of lightening, the wind was roaring in my ears, and rain was sporadically falling in great drops. Suddenly it was clear. Rain, okay. Wind, okay. Lightening, not okay. Arriving at the last cafe before a 15 km stretch of nothing, I knew my Camino was over. Every flash of lightening had my heart racing, scanning the horizon for shelter that was not there. I resolved to wait for the first pilgrim to come through and see if they wanted to share the cost of a taxi to the town of Fisterra to see the Cape and lighthouse. I was heartbroken. After 850 km, I was defeated 30 km from the end.

Nursing a cafe con leche, I looked up and Tobias walked in the door. He was smiling, exuberant at the calm weather outside. Wait, what?! Over the 45 minutes I had been sitting in the cafe, the foreboding clouds had morphed into a civil wispy gray, the rain had ceased, and a soft breeze lifted the leaves gently from their branches. It took him 30 seconds to convince me to pick up my mochila and walk with him. We would walk and see, maybe we would make it to Fisterra, maybe not. But it wasn't time to quit. I had given up, but God, the Camino, life, Tobias hadn't let me.

We set out, and commenced to walk faster than I had the entire Camino. We covered the next 15 km to Cee in a little over two hours. The weather still loomed, but miraculously, we seemed to be outpacing it. Faster and faster we turned our legs, talking about adventures, relationships, travel, and as the time slipped away we crested a steep hill with a bright neon green Camino marker near the top. 

Turning the corner over the hill, my breath came in great gasps, my heart thudded thunderously within me, and a great shout went up from the two of us!

It was the ocean. The OCEAN! The scent of tide pools and salt filled our nostrils. We had walked over mountains, across plains, through cities and the Meseta, and we had reached the ocean. Jubilation is an understatement. That feeling of euphoria, of tears of joy that had eluded me in Santiago came sweeping into my soul. This was where I was meant to continue to. I had been so close to quitting, but something had kept me going. And as if the blessed sight of the ocean wasn't enough, we were walking into blue skies.

The next 14 km to Finisterre were like a dream. Walking along the coast, smelling the beach and ocean filled us with renewed vigor and life. Rounding a final turn in our path, we beheld the town of Fisterra, red roofs and white buildings, a magnificent beach as its entrance, and in the distance the furthest point in Spain, the Faro (Lighthouse) de Finisterre. 

Fisterra.

My first steps in the sand. Please excuse my destroyed feet. 

Tobias and I knew what we had to do. We had been tested the previous day (and many days before) and had been given the gift of blue skies and sun the day we reached the end of our Camino. It was time for the Way to literally cleanse us of the weight of life's worry. We were going swimming.

We swam and turned our laughter towards the sun, and I never wanted the moment to end. God was smiling upon us, there is no other way to describe it. Emerging from the ocean, my skin tingling from my scalp to my toes, I felt so alive and in the moment. This was what the Camino was all about.

Tradition has it to burn or leave behind your clothing upon reaching Finisterre. My faithful purple shoes had seen their time come and pass on the Camino. Literally falling apart and smelling rather awful, it was time to leave them behind. Once I took them off to walk in the ocean, they did not go back on. The scallop shell was one of two perfect, unbroken shells we found on the beach. Tobias has the other.

Exhausted we found our way to the Municipal Albergue where we presented our credencials and received our Finisterre Compostelas. 90 kilometers in two days, having walked the last 35 km at a 6.5 km pace. I was drained, but full of divine contentment.

Our albergue, Albergue do Sol e da Lua, was strikingly similar to the hippie albergue before Cruz de Ferro. There was a no-shoes-allowed meditation room, the tree of life was painted on the ceiling of a lounge room, and they offered vegetarian meals. Walking to our room, I saw a sign on the door. Of course, it was called the "Mikael@" room. Everything clicks into place, everything makes sense and is as it should be.

Wandering through the town of Fisterra, both Tobias and I were feeling the strain of the day's walk. We decided to wait to walk the last 3 km to the lighthouse for the morning. Parting ways, I found a bakery (big surprise) and Tobias headed to an Internet cafe. Winding my way back to the albergue as the sun began to slowly set over blue skies and wisps of clouds, I was suddenly seized with the urge to go the rest of the way, to finish it right then and there...the last steps of my Camino were calling me. Dashing into the Internet cafe, I tapped Tobias on the shoulder and said simply "we have to go now." Giving me a huge grin, he packed up his stuff, and we were out the door in less than two minutes. 

We left the town practically at a run. We streaked up the hill, curving around the coastline, the lighthouse dipping behind the hill with every curve. And suddenly, cue my racing heart, we were there. The Camino could go no further, we were at its end. Stopping by the 0.00 km marker, the wind blowing around me, I was engulfed in the enormity of the moment. It is impossible to describe the feeling. It was as close to perfect happiness as is possible. 

Just beyond the marker, we passed the lighthouse, stepping into the whipping wind beyond its shelter to one final cross on the rocks. The deafening roar of wind, the constant crash of the ocean, we were shouting with exaltation, laughing, crying, feeling, being. It was everything, all the Camino in a flash of moments. 

The last yellow arrow.

Tobias leaning against the wind.

 

We celebrated in true pilgrim style with a huge communal meal, new and old pilgrims from my Way. Paella and ice cream for me, heaps of seafood and a bottles of wine for everyone else. Returning to our albergue past midnight, I could barely sleep despite my exhaustion. What an immense feeling.

On the bus.

This morning was straight up lazy. It was my first morning in over five weeks that wasn't designed around walking. Finally the time came, Tobias and I said our goodbyes and I boarded a bus to Santiago. Sitting in the very front of the upper deck, with just a windshield separating me from the rushing world, my Camino lodged itself in my heart, as the physicality of it fell away. I will admit a touch of fear, as the bus sped up to 90 km per hour. I felt myself reaching for an invisible brake to slow everything down. It was all going too fast. I saw Camino way markers disappear by the side of the road in seconds, the earth gobbled up by the movement of the bus. What took hours of walking and strain, was accomplished with zero effort in a few minutes. I was a little bit sad, and I always knew it was inevitable, that at some point my Camino would be in the past. The Way will always be a pinnacle moment in my life, and I will carry what I have meditated on forever...but it must have a sense of conclusion.

I sit now again in O Paris in Santiago, taking in my last night in Spain. I have loved this beautiful Way, with its hardship, the expectations met and not met, it's every step and every emotion. I would not have had it unfold in any other way, in any other time in my life. It showed me my Way.

To all, Buen Camino, en todo de vida.