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

Where is the Hydrangea Hedge?

On the Road to Santiago

Day five began with a morning walk from Arzua to our lunch spot in Salceda. Our marker for finding the Restaurante A Esquipa was to look for the hydrangea hedge along the road in Salceda. We ambled along easy rolling pathways gently heading downward-most of the way- through farms and forest. 

T-shirt weather warmed the body minus hot sweat. 

Where Am I? Oregon?

Sunlight filtered down upon the lush and verdant 

terrain. Lovely blue sky and fluffy white clouds high above cheered us as we chatted and walked.

A Gentleman

A man in country garb led his cows along the road we shared. His smile was pleasant. He struck a natural pose. His calm assurance suggested he knew he was a snazzy dresser and photogenic. He made my photo day. I am certain he enjoyed the contact with us and the many before us.

His cows gave us plenty of room. We did not seem to ruffle their calm. Pilgrims and tourists like us must be a commonplace event in the routine of their lives.

Happy Cows?

Good news. We came upon a small cantina that served snacks and, more importantly, diet coke. Of course, the Brits were ahead of us and not huffing at all.

Ladies and a Bostonian guy

Onward in search of the hedge we went, our bodily needs addressed for the moment. It is all about making it to lunch. The path slanted slightly upward in a gentle rise to Salceda which meant our stride must push us forward and up. Beware, we learned. Names are precise. We reached a village with Salceda in the name so we crossed the highway and headed toward the buildings. But, no hydrangeas and no restaurant. I used my Spanish to ask directions from a truck driver just as a far-sighted person spotted the blooms down the highway about a quarter of a mile away. We picked up the pace and welcomed the lovely patio where we gathered together until called in to lunch.

At Last, the Hydrangea Hedge

Our vegetarian friend subsisted daily on the traditional egg and potato tortillas and ensaladas. Alas, the ensalada usually included tuna. Today she received a surprise. No tortilla.  Instead, a lovely plate of grilled tomatoes and peppers. Siempre! Where is the protein?

Vegetarian Plato Supremo

A Happy Vegetarianess 

My lunch included a first plate with broad green beans and ham. I ate almost half of the very large plate of beans. Delicious. Perhaps that is what doomed me for disaster.

Pazo de Santa Maria

Our resting place for the afternoon and evening was the restored Pazo de Santa Maria near Arzua. The garden pool and fountain offered a contemplative    spot for resting, reading and ruminating about the walk that would end in Santiago the following day.

Peaceful Pool Amid Farm and Countryside

What an idyllic spot! Beware! The  dark cloud hovers! One small glitch involved the dinner plans. Because we were outside of the town we chose to pick up food and drink in Arzua and planned to share our bounty at the inn. Unbeknownst to all, the inn had just begun a restaurant on the premises, so we were not allowed to bring in our own food and drink. Finally, rested and cleaned-up, we all decided to head back to town for a simple meal of tapas. Big glitch number two for me! Just as the cars were loading up for the drive, I made a pit stop. The stop lasted until the wee hours of the morning. Within my four-room guest house, sounds were heard throughout the night. Eight of fourteen people were hit with a "bug." Thankfully, our guides checked with a doctor in town and returned with an orange powder to be drunk in two liters of water, plus bottles of Aquarius. The doctor told them that many travelers were coming in with the same symptoms. Even though the orange stuff and the Aquarius did settle my body, I did not walk into Santiago on Saturday. 

The Monument Greets us at Our Hotel

The ghost of myself wandered around the hotel numb with exhaustion. I went in search of chicken to eat and returned to the Rua Bella, my first cafe in Santiago more than a week ago. The waiter wanted to help me with my order of plain chicken. Still, it arrived breaded and fried and swimming in butter, but I ate a little and returned to the hotel.

We Dine in the Medieval Cave 

Our finale dinner was set in a medieval cave in our sumptuous hotel. Still weak, I arrived a zombie. My photos of the roasted chicken, a special order for the ill, and our group blurred like my fuzzy head. I left in search of my bed without saying god-bye. Paul rushed after me and gave me a hug. I should have guessed that meant I might not see everyone in the morning. 

Last on our tour itinerary was breakfast on Sunday morning. Alas, I saw only a few people to say my goodbyes to. I was left without a finale. Words of gratitude were left unsaid to the best of guides and the best of walkers. They so enriched my journey.  

A taxi took me to the bus station where I hopped on the crowded 9:00 A.M. bus to Finesterre. Now  I am on my way on my own to the end of the world.

MANY THANKS TO THE PAUL FRANCIS 

WALKS IN SPAIN TOURS

YOU ARE WONDERFUL!!!

Walking The Way My Way

                  

Day 4 Ligonde to Leboreiro (past Casanova)
Charlemagne stayed in Logonde, they say

One challenge from John Brierly in his "A Pilgrim's Guide the to the Camino Francės" asks the pilgrim to seek, not "the stone altar of the tourist, but an altered state." What did I find? Plastic flowers! After passing  through a few fields a wonderful caramel cow led us down through his farm. In a small village  we stopped to take photos of the thousands of plastic flowers eternally decorating the graves in  the church's cemetery and at the same time cheering up the earthen buildings and dirt. At least, that is what I did. When I turned around to head back on the path, I was alone.  For the first time, I was alone on the camino.

Plastic flowers distract me

The Church of Santa Maria

My steps became longer and my pace faster, as I hurried to catch the other Americans. Ten minutes later, the calm around me invited me to "enjoy what you find." The walk became personal. The walk was serene. My eyes wide open, I soaked in the countryside. Pilgrims passed me with both poles swinging, many alone, many chatting with others. I stayed my course.

Feet hurt? Grab at taxi

Me the tourist slept soundly every night in firm, clean beds and ate three meals a day in quaint inns or restaurants. The pilgrims suffer long days and nights. Lumpy beds and erratic meals and hunts for water can be common occurrences. My feet were blister free and my socks, etc. clean. The pilgrims slog up hills and might encounter mucky trails. blistering heat or downpours. And walk for many weeks. My skies were blue , except in the cloud, and the paths were dryLuckily, taxi rescue is a phone call away for those who are momentarily worn out.. Shirley MacLaine was known to take a bus now and then. Not to mention fleeing from the paparazzis by car. 

Let the Undulations Begin

Day 3  Walk from Vilei to Ferreiros

The legends and symbols of the camino arose around me as we began our third day of the walk. First, the scallop shell dots the landscape. Steve and Rob in the food movie "The Trip" drive around Northern England in search of gourmet dishes. What did they find? The caramelized scallop, presented with a flourish, on their plates ad nauseam. 

My #2 Favorite Scallop

On the pilgrim's trail the scallop shape appears on trail markers, dishes, souvenirs sold in tourist trinket shops and as an architectural decoration. I did not tire of its shape. How did the scallop from the sea end up on 500 miles of the camino far from the sea? The vast majority of the legends connecting the scallop to Saint James and, thus to the road of the pilgrims, involves some one, like a bridegroom, or some thing, like a horse, falling into water and rising covered in scallops. For details, pursuit of these tales are scattered about the web. Today, the primary role of the scallop is to be the guiding shell to keep pilgrims on the right trail toward Santiago. 

What turn did the road of life take for Steve and Rob? Enjoy the movie.

My hope for my path was to walk without pain and soak in the countryside.  Fortunately, my legs and the weather made that goal a reality. Introspection eluded my mind. No revelations popped into my dreams. A new joy evolved though - the growth of community and companionship among our group. A comraderie of fun and fellowship sparked our conversations. I thank our guides for setting the friendly and helpful tone of the trip.  

After walking my ten kilometers daily, sightseeing did not fit on my agenda, but the scallop  fence along the rio Sarria and the morning light on  the water just a dozen steps from the hotel called to me as our bags were being loaded into the vans.   

The morning surprise was a quick trip to a monastery where the pilgrim passports were handed out for a few euros. Again the dilemma. Am I a pilgrim? Am I a tourist? If I choose to pick-up a passport, am I cheating? I am not a pilgrim. I am a tourist. Is it a sacrilege to carry a passport and get a stamp when I will have traversed by foot and by car (mostly car) under three hundred kilometers of the camino? But on the other hand, some of the stamps are really cute and the book will make a nice souvenir. As I mull these thoughts over, I join the group exploring the very ancient cemetery across from the monastery as we wait for the doors to open.   

The couple from Calgary

My conscience conceded that I am a tourist. Souvenirs are acceptable. Plus, everyone has one.  I joined the crowd. 

One prime goal of this trip for me was to minimize stress, so I decided not to compete for the most stamps in my book and not to be deflected from the joy of walking because I was on a hunt for places where I could add one more stamp to my collection. The primary places  to gain a stamp are hotels, bars, restaurants and shops. My success in abiding by this goal is reflected in the number of stamps in my book and the number of bars and shops I did not enter. Do not try to guess what my tally was. 

After leaving the monastery, we Americans were dumped on a street in town and left to follow the yellow arrows, but we lost them. We did find a highway at the edge of town which intersected with a path that led us up and down the rolling Oregon-like hills. The freeway rolled away from us.

What a pleasure to walk under the arcade of trees. We ambled. No huffing and puffing. Walking on the flat was easy, but the hills soon begin to undulate.

Two days of steep uphill walks toughened our legs. We strode with ease and enjoyed our conversation. Did we make good time? Yes, but we chose not to rush to the front of the pack.

How many windmills do you see?

We rolled over the hills. But WOW! What a surprise! The windmills poked above the hilltops. The energy from windmills provide ten percent of Spain's power.  When traveling by air across Spain, I saw the windmills dotting the tops of hills and mountains all over Spain. The claim that Spanish companies lead the global market in wind power is very impressive. We passed a very large windmill plant  situated  beside the highway near a city and, also, sighted the very long trucks that transport them to their site.

"On one record day, March 4, 2008, wind gusts sweeping the country provided 28 percent of the country’s total electricity."

Sadly, many young men leave the area because of lack of employment opportunities. Now, women rake the crops in the fields of Galicia. Today, 75% of the female population is employed on the farms and in the cities. Traditionally and understandably, the women are seen as quite independent.

I shared the path with a tractor by stepping up into the weeds. Still, many farmers use carts pulled by oxen for farm work. Many other farm jobs are also done by hand. As I strolled in the midst of the fields and farmyards, I felt sorry for the people whizzing by on the freeway who would not have a chance to wave to the woman in the field or say hola to the man on the tractor. 

Crops of potatoes, collards, turnips and other vegetables were ready for harvest as we passed the farms. Some gardens were obviously for the use of families while others were large enough to help feed a village. These staple foods become the base for special dishes like Caldo gallego, a regional soup. Delicious.

An old horreo

Old and new granaries speckle the landscape.

The older granaries traditionally housed all grains and vegetables to ripen and hold until eaten.

Traditionally they are made of granite, elevated on legs with rodent proof soffits, and timber or granite side panels. The roof is usually tiled and there is a small cross at one (and possibly) both ends. Access is gained by either, swing doors at the narrow ends, or the removal of the wooden side panels.

The new granaries stand proudly by the roads to welcome all to Galicia and announce to all that Galicia is unique. Just one of the ways tourism promotes the countryside of Galicia.

Greetings rang out to us as one last push up  to the top of an "undulation" brought us to Ferreiros and a stop for a cold drink.

My trek for the day ended here. We walked over to Casa Cruceiro to delve into another three course meal with wine. Snooze time for me. Two of us headed to Pousada de Portomarin, our hotel in Portomarin. There was a pool. The blueness of the water glistened at the bottom of the 100 steps to the pool. So, I read my book The Angels' Game." Bar exam gal and I meandered down to a grocery store to pick up cheese, meat, bread and drinks. I settled on the terrace and shared my bounty with anyone passing by. Later I carried my leftovers up to a gathering in one of the rooms. The easy chatter back and forth with new friends lulled my body enough to head off for a good night's sleep. 

Tomorrow I walk alone.