I walked to the end of the world...and then kept going

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In medieval times pilgrims who got to Santiago and still wanted to do some walking (before they walked all the way home again; I´m so glad we have planes now) walked to Finisterre, which was the end of the known world and pretty special because you could see the sun disappearing into the ocean at the end of the day and apparently the waves crashing masked the sound of the water pouring off the end of the earth.

I decided to do a test on my boots that had carried me all the way to Santiago, and see if I could make the extra 89km to the ocean. They (the boots) were in pretty bad shape, but the day I set off it was sunny and warm and I thought it would be a nice stroll.

2 hours in, it started to rain heavily...and rain and rain and rain and rain. There were no beds at the first albergue (superfast Germans) but they did have some tents; canvas ones that didn´t look like they´d been used since the crusades. So, using my cunning girl guide skills (putting up those stupid bell tents had to come in handy one day), I chose the least patched (duck tape again) tent and tightened up all the guy ropes and told everyone NOT TO TOUCH the sides. It pissed down rain all night, but we were the only tent to stay dry! I award myself the ´camp skills´badge.

More rain and rain and rain the next day, and the ´town´with the next albergue was tiny. Again, not enough beds and the overflow had to sleep in the kitchen. Possibly preferable because I ended up in a room with 14 German men and one German woman. I spent the night feeling like exhibit A. They watched everything I did, and it was disturbing to be taping my ankles or something and look up to find 4 men observing and discussing my technique (in German). I think that some of them could speak English, but they didn´t speak it to me, they´d just speak at me in German until I made it clear from my blank expression (and saying in English and Spanish) that I had no idea what they were saying.
2 of them started the most ferocious snoring competition in the night (earplugs were no use, I could feel it in my chest) so I was a little bit glad when they got up at 5am to start walking.

Apparently the scenery for the 3rd day is beautiful, vistas across the ocean, rugged mountain views. Pity it rained and when it wasn´t raining there was thick thick fog. I decided not to go all the way to Finisterre that day, but stop just short and walk in the next day. Luckily after getting lost wandering around the mountain with another lady (German, with no language in common) and then the town of Cée we found the only quiet albergue with the hardest drinking hospitalero I´ve ever met. He was from Astoria and showed us how he drank from his wineskin (a lot), and poured cider in the traditional way - from a bottle held above the head to a glass held at knee height which he drank (a lot).

Finisterre (or Fisterre) was gorgeous. The sun finally came out (and its now possibly the only place in Europe where it isn´t raining, though the floods haven´t gone down yet) and I walked through the gumtrees to the beach! The tradition is that when you get to Cape Finisterre, you burn your clothes, watch the sun go down and in the morning you´ll find that you´ve achieved the purpose of your pilgrimage. I was expecting hordes of naked Germans dancing around, but I got up there early and I was only slightly disappointed that there were very few people around. I burnt (rather melted) one of my t-shirts, which I had just found out was 100% polyester - no wonder it stank, and spent the rest of the day at the beach collecting shells.

The next day to Muxia was one of the hardest of the whole walk. There were few waymarks (yellow arrows or shells) so I kept getting lost. My boots had finally given up (got holes though I still wore them) so I had no foot support except elastoplast. There was also a chest deep flooded river to cross, or a 6km detour - I took the detour.
Muxia is where the virgin Mary sailed in a stone boat (there were lots of stone boats sailling around in early AD, St James also sailed in one to Padron) to urge St James to keep preaching. Or possibly there´s a Da Vinci code explanation, but I can´t remember from the book. You can still see the stone ´boat´ (apparently a tri-maran) near the church at A Barca. They also give you a certificate (now I have 3) for the end of the Ruto de St Jaxobea.

The boots went in the bin, I went to bed and thats the end of the pilgrimage.

I´m back in London on Wednesday. Not really looking forward to the life-administration, but really looking forward to seeing everyone.
Oh, and ´back to Australia part 2´the high-speed rail bit.

Photos to follow, haven´t been able to get them off my camera yet. Thanks for reading if you got this far! Epic.

KT

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