To the End of the Earth
Travel Day 102 – 105
April 9 – 12
Camino Day 35:
Santiago de Compostela to Negreira
Daily distance: 21.0
km
Total distance: 796.0
km
I fought my alarm for an
hour. It was easy; the rest of the room
was motionless. I told myself that it
wouldn’t take me long to be ready anyway.
My backpack was already packed; there was no reason to use my sleeping
bag or hang my towel to dry. The real
bed and the real towel at the hotel more than sufficiently covered these. Before I walked out the door, backpack ready,
pilgrim’s garb donned, I embraced Claudia and we said our goodbyes. She has become a good friend of mine on this
Camino, and I hope that our paths cross again.
But now, she was flying to Barcelona, leaving Dale and me to continue to
Finisterre, the end of the earth. Legend
holds that the Camino de Santiago is a metaphor for the trail marked out in the
sky by the Milky Way in its journey towards the ends of the Earth (Finis
Terre). It is the earthly manifestation
of a route through the heavens, and the completion of this route will mark the
end of my personal complete Camino. I
never intended to end my Camino in Santiago; Finisterre was always the final
destination. While my pilgrimage to
Santiago was finished, there was one last four-day leg of my journey to
complete.
From the hotel, I walked west. There were no markers on the ground, but
there was only one direction to the coastline.
Dale and I left at separate times with plans to meet up back in
Negreira; whoever arrived first would find an albergue and message the
other. We were back to standard
routine.
 |
| And then there is the first sign for Finisterre. |
As much as I enjoyed my day
off yesterday, my feet were happy to be back in boots and my body was happy to
feel the weight of the backpack. The
edge of the city faded into the wilderness.
The smell of car exhaust was traded for the aroma of Galician flora, and
the sound of thousands of collective voices was exchanged for the light
drumming of raindrops on my umbrella.
Already, the road to Finisterre had a tranquility absent from the last
six days from Sarria to Santiago. For
the first time in a week, I regained the feeling of being alone with
nature.
I walked the twenty-one
kilometers of the day’s trip without taking a break. My body has acclimated well to the physical
demands of the Way, although my feet have not yet adjusted to the constant
presence of water squishing in my no-longer-waterproof boots. And I suspect they never will. The endless Galician rains will be the
least-missed element of the Camino.
The first night on the way to
Finisterre was spent in classic Dale fashion: with good food, good drink, and
good company. Even if laughter doesn’t
heal all wounds, it always abolishes the bad memories of minor pedal
discomfort, allowing the beauty of the day’s walk to fully marinate.
Camino Day 36:
Negreira to Santa Mariña
Daily distance: 21.5
km
Total distance: 817.5
km
I’m glad that I got so much
sleep yesterday; my nauseous stomach and absent desire to eat was mostly
relieved. Although I couldn’t say the
same for Dale. This morning, he was feeling
far worse than I was yesterday, and I suspected it was something that we ate in
Santiago. As I started moving around, my
right hip tightened up again. I knew I
shouldn’t have walked 21 kilometers yesterday without a break. I let out a sigh; there was no point in
worrying about yesterday, especially with the 34 kilometers to Olveiroa we had
to worry about today.
Walking outside, I suspected a
disconnect between the weather report and reality; it was not dumping
rain. The sky was patched blue. This combined with the early morning sun and
the first three kilometers along a picturesque river promised a good day. In Dale’s words: “It’s a great day to have a
great day.” I was happy to obey my hip’s
command to slow down. But the universe
noticed I was getting comfortable and conjured a combination of wind and
rain. A familiar squishiness returned to
my boots, and my lips pursed into a Mona Lisa smile: here we go again.
Dale and I met up at a
restaurant in Vilaserío,
and his face told me that illness was taking its toll. My hip and stomach weren’t feeling too hot,
but I wasn’t going to start complaining given Dale’s condition. We were happy to change plans and find an
albergue in Santa Mariña,
cutting the day’s kilometers from 34 to 21.
That evening, over dinner, we strategized
our next move. The original plan was to
spend four days walking to Muxia and
Finisterre, but since we shortened today’s walk, it would take four days just
to walk to Muxia or Finisterre, plus
another long day of walking to get to the other one. As we brainstormed possible plans, we came to
realize that we had different end goals in mind for each of our Caminos. I wanted to go to Finisterre and didn’t care
much about Muxia; Dale wanted to go to Muxia and didn’t care much about
Finisterre. We agreed to sleep on the
decision and called it an early night.
Maybe we would both be feeling better tomorrow.
Camino Day 37: Santa
Mariña to Cee
Daily distance: 31.4
km
Total distance: 848.9
km
Dale and I both woke up
feeling better than yesterday. Rejuvenated,
we set out on an early morning towards Hospital, the last hamlet before the
road split between Finisterre and Muxia.
When last discussing out plans, we each had a strong desire to go to
opposite places. Not that we didn’t like
each other, but that I felt a calling towards Finisterre and Dale felt a
calling towards Muxia. We decided to
meet in Hospital to see if the day’s first 18 kilometers could change either of
our minds, but Dale brought up a valid point: “We each have to walk our own Camino,
no matter where it calls us.”
Like the last two days, the
Way was paved with vibrant greenery, and time flew by. Also, like the last two days, there was rain,
and I sloshed around in my boots again.
By this time, wet feet was routine, so I did what I could to prevent
blisters and trenchfoot and just enjoyed the walk. But I enjoyed it so much, distracted by the
sudden explosion of yellow wildflowers along a slow-moving river, that I missed
a trail marker at an intersection.
The
detour cost me five kilometers and an extra hour, and by the time I made it to
Hospital, Dale was already gone. With
WiFi again, I checked my messages, and saw he waited for me for a while before
continuing on towards Muxia. Dale has
become a good friend of mine on this Camino, and it was strange to think I
wouldn’t see him again. But our split
was inevitable, and it was best to remember the good times rather than vie the
end.
 |
| The road where two Camino split: Finisterre or Muxia. |
To my fortune, the sun
returned and remained in the sky for the rest of the day. The trail weaved through forested hillsides,
devoid of any other people. There was a
peace to this portion of the Camino, like I was truly on my own to the
finish. I crested over the top of a
hill, and for the first time in my life, I saw the eastern edge of the Atlantic
Ocean. The horizon was cleared of
clouds, visibility was high, and the sun was out. I saw the town of Cee two kilometers away at
the base of a 300 meter descent. And in
the distance, I saw the tall and dramatic peninsula that was unmistakable: Finisterre. I was here, and tomorrow, I was going to walk
to the fabled end of the earth.
 |
| As the hill crested, the Atlantic ocean came into view. Far in the distance is Finisterre. |
In Cee, there is a small beach
enclosed in a small bay where small fishing boats are moored. I was eager to find an albergue to drop my
pack and change into shorts and sandals.
As if she was reading my mind, the host directed me towards the beach
once I was checked in. Carrying my
sandals in hand, my feet jumped at the first sensation of the course sand
beneath them. After so many miles of
feeling the asphalt, dirt, and mud through the soles of my boots, sand on bare
feet came as a shock. Each step I took
was like my first time walking on sand; my feet had never been so awake. The world around me shut off, and all that
existed were the soles of my feet and the rough crunching of shattered rocks
and shells that formed this beach. When
I reached the waters, the frigid early-Spring Atlantic waters didn’t feel cold;
they were soothing. I stood there for an
eternity, letting the waves wash over my feet, staring past the fishing boats
moored in shallow waters, looking towards the infinite span of the Atlantic as
it crested over the edge of the Earth.
I felt alive.
 |
| The first beach I've seen since Barcelona. |
 |
| Through the clear waters, I spotted a scallop shell amongst the other shells. |
Camino Day 38: Cee
to Finisterre
Daily distance: 15.4
km
Total distance: 864.3
km
I woke up to rain. Within the first ten minutes, my feet were
wet. It’s better this way, I
thought. No one believes fairy-tale
endings anyway. I walked down a carless
street in the downpour, happy to be surrounded by trees to shield me from the
coastal winds. After six kilometers, the
road intersected with the coast again, and the constantly-changing winds made
it impractical to use my umbrella anymore.
It wasn’t worth breaking another part of it.
Rain bombarded my left side,
and I squinted my eyes to keep my vision.
A week ago, this would have been intolerable, but I was riding the high
of today’s destination. I pressed
forward, my feet sloshing in my boots, my pants sticking to my legs, and rain
running down my face and into my jacket.
In a few more hours, none of this would matter. I could see the cape from here anyway.
 |
| Cape Finisterre was getting closer with every step. |
The road descended to sea
level, and I walked parallel to the beach.
A warmer day would have temped me to go for a swim. The combined sound of waves crashing and
winds blowing was deafening, and the unique scent of ocean spray and Eucalyptus
trees filled my nostrils. I was lost in
the moment. And then I was in the town
of Finisterre. I only had three
kilometers to reach the cape, and I no longer had to carry my pack. I found an albergue to drop my gear and get
out of my boots; it was the last time I walked the Camino in them. With shorts and sandals and a rain jacket, I
continued towards the cape.
The first rock wedged itself
between my foot and my sandal. I stopped
for a moment to reach down and pick it out.
The rain hitting my feet gave permission to the cold air to drain their
heat. I regretted changing footwear, but
I was too far to turn back now. This
last bit of the journey already felt anticlimactic, anyway. No need to exasperate it with mid-scene
wardrobe alterations. I carried only my
walking stick, my last walking stick, the bamboo that has endured 700
kilometers of the Camino with me. The
wear from the ground has shortened it significantly, almost a whole foot. Both ends were splitting and held together
with duct tape, and then there was the part that had sheared completely that I
glued and taped back together. This
stick was present for many memories.
But now it was time to part
ways. I abhor souvenirs, and I did not
want to tote a bamboo stick back to the States.
It has proved its utility. It has
served as a symbol of my Camino. It has
aided my journey, both physically and mentally, providing a post to lean on and
a cadence of white noise. But I decided
long ago that I was going to toss my walking sticks into the sea from the
cliffs of Finisterre.
 |
| I traced the coastline on my ascent towards the cliffs at Finisterre. |
A sideways mist blew as I
traced the coastline up to the cliffs.
When I reached the end of the earth, I stood in awe. It was not my first time seeing an ocean, but
I had never arrived at one like this. I
just spent the last 38 days walking 900 kilometers from France all the way
across Spain to reach this point, Kilometer 0.
And beyond was the never-ending span of the Atlantic Ocean, subtlety
curving on the horizon. At this height,
118 meters, the world disappeared 40 kilometers away, so far in the distance
that it only made sense that our ancestors believed this to be the western edge
of dry land on earth.
I removed the tape from my
walking stick, thanked it for all of its support, reared back into full swing,
and cast it into the ocean. The winds
carried it far, dropping it into the crashing waves at the base of the cliffs.
My journey was over. It didn’t hit me until now. The symbol of my pilgrimage was gone; I had
reached my intended final destination.
It felt strange, like the feeling of a relationship ending, or a loved one
dying. It feels peculiar to say this
now, but I suppose only those who have also walked here will truly understand
this post-Camino vacuity. There was a
moment when I didn’t know exactly where to go, like I never imagined what would
happen after the pilgrimage was finally over.
But even in times of being lost, gratitude is always a good start. I thanked the Camino for this wonderful
experience, turned my back on the ocean, and walked back to town. A new journey begins tomorrow.
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