Finisterre

I got down to the bus station early, got my return ticket and caught the bus to Finisterre. Two hours each way, and a lot of it is along spectacular coastline, the Costa del Morte, the coast of death. Looking at the reefs visible above the waterline i can guess something of why it gets its name. But in mild spring sunshine it was all extremely picturesque, little fishing villages with brightly painted boats, walled harbors, little sandy coves, fields surrounded with stone walls that look like they have been there for centuries or longer. The landscape in places is reminiscent of the East coast of Tasmania or Wilsons Prom, with large volcanic mountains and lots of granite boulders.

The town of Finisterre is very laid back -  it would be a nice place to spend a few days. I bet it hops in summer. When the bus arrived it was mobbed by the crowd of people clutching bicycles, backpacks, long sticks and suitcases who struggled against the tide of people clutching bicycles, backpacks, long sticks and suitcases trying to get off. General mayhem there but being unencumbered I managed to slip through the crowd and find a bar for second breakfast. The nice man there gave me directions to the Tourist Info Office which were almost correct. He said turn left then left, when it was actually left then right. I found it eventually, got a map  and headed off to the cape, which was about an hour's pleasant walk. The end of the earth had the additional atmospheric contribution of smoke rising from still smouldering piles of stuff which perigrinos had ritually burnt the night before. Boots, some walking poles, and clothing seemed to have gone into the piles, and the smoke had a nasty burnt rubber and toxins smell.  Still I found some reasonably clear air, and sat and ate a celebratory banana, and contemplated the 270 degree view of the ocean from what was for Europeans up till Columbus, truly the end of the world.

Brisk walk back to town just in time to see the doors close for siesta of the museum of the sea, housed in a lovely old fort overlooking the port. As a consolation I walked down to the beach of the little cove below and paddled my feet in the Atlantic for a bit.

Caught the bus back at 3. Quite disconcerting and a bit motion sickness inducing to be whizzing along at up to 100 kph after an average of around 5 for so long. The other thing that struck me was just how great the distance is that you can cover in 3 days walking -which is the time it takes to walk to Finisterre from Santiago. The last thing that struck me was how odd the walking pilgrims looked when spotted from the bus. Perhaps they were just a few strange pilgrims - that guy walking along yelling into his mobile and waving his stick in the air, that woman with a fixed grimace - or do we all look a bit odd to people gliding past effortlessly in motorized comfort?

People are starting to move on, catching flights or buses out. A lot of goodbyes - the farewells stage. In a way, the Camino is a bit like life sped up. You meet people, walk and eat together, share hardships, stuffy dormitories, get to really like some of them, then they go back to their world and you go off to yours. 

Tomorrow a quiet day. Need to retrieve the carry bag for my back pack that i sent on from st Jean Pied de Port way back when.