Day 18: Muxia to Finisterre (42km)

The end of the world, 'Finis Terrae'. A fitting destination for the end of my Camino. After having originally planned to travel via Finisterre (Fisterra) and end my trip in Muxia, I decided to do it the other way around and end at the end. The symbolic 'km 0.00' marker also provided an appropriate photo opportunity!

Posing at the symbolic start (end) marker: end of my Camino

A 1,030 km bike ride isn't something I'd have thought I would ever do. It's a nice feeling to be able to say 'I did that' and also of course it's a good feeling to know that you're capable of achieving something like that. Not to mention the wonderful journey itself, together with all the people and characters met along the way.

Apart from the symbolic nature of the destination, it must be said that there's not a whole lot else to attract you to this town. Hans (we'll meet him in a minute) and I felt frustrated in the apparent lack of a nice area (nicely restored building around a pretty square perhaps) or even a town centre. And the weather was absolutely appalling during my arrival and for much of the afternoon, which didn't help matters. "Galician weather" a storekeeper remarked with resignation, as we both sheltered under an overhang watching the water pouring ankle-deep down the street, gutters overflowing causing the water to cascade onto the footpaths.

In yesterday's post I mentioned that although I had met Sarah and Jack (characters from the film 'The Way') I had not met Joost during my travels. That comment proved to be premature; not long after having written the note, Joost appeared. His name is Hans, "van Breda".

It was, as has happened before, the obviously Dutch bike that introduced us. But not a neat and well-organised bike; this one looked like it was a work in progress. So did its owner in many ways. Hans was Joost; friendly in a not-quite overbearing way. Well-intentioned and wanting to be helpful (even if help wasn't necessarily wanted). We had dinner together and of course the next morning I couldn't tell him I'd rather ride alone when he assumed we'd ride together to Finisterre. After all, riding with someone else would be a new experience I rationalised, so why not?

The sun makes a brief appearance near Muxia

I wanted to follow the Camino and small back roads, as I had been doing. Hans had been riding on the main roads and wanted to avoid the hills. He'd ridden from Santiago to Muxia in one day, whereas I had taken two. We set off on a little coast road,  but it was obvious that his heart wasn't in it. Although the views were impressive, the hills were equally impressive, and to his credit, Hans admitted defeat early on; the hills on the little roads were just too steep for him, and he turned around, heading back to the main road. It was a sensible choice on his part. I continued on, on the one hand sorry for him, but on the other hand glad to be riding alone, being able to stop and go as I chose and to be able to pick my route as I came to each fork in in the road without having to consult anyone.

And the rain held off. Although the forecast had been 100% chance of rain and 25 - 60 km/hr wind from the south (the direction I would be heading, of course) we were greeted by a sunrise over the ocean. A promising start. As I rode the howling wind seemed to keep the rain away and even offered a few glimpses of sunshine over the lovely coastline I was following. The downside was the heavy going into the wind with dramatic gusts from the side. And another new experience: having to pedal downhill to overcome the headwind trying to push me back up again.

I wanted to go to Cabo Touriñan, the most westerly point in Spain (and almost, but not quite, the most westerly point of mainland Europe). But when I came to that fork in the road I was faced with a tough choice: continue on, battling the winds and hills, or go to the cape, an extra  10km riding and a guaranteed 5km uphill ride to come back up from the lighthouse and then continue on battling the winds.

But I hadn't come this far to not go so I headed down to the cape. I was rewarded with a break in the clouds and a little bit of sunshine. The howling winds did not let up however.

I found the Camino again near Frixe and followed it to Lires, the unofficial halfway point between Muxia and Finisterre. Here I had to get a stamp in my Credencial (Pilgrim Passport) in order to qualify for a certificate of completion of the Camino Fisterra. One of those little details you find out from others along the way.

Leaving Lires the first drops of rain appeared. I just had time to get my wet weather gear on when the heavens opened with a vengeance. It was like all the forecast rain that hadn't fallen during the first part of the day had been saved up and was coming now. The rain stayed with me all the way to Finisterre.

When you're on the Camino and in or near a town, you generally don't have to stop and look a little lost for very long before someone appears (often as if from nowhere) and offers help to point you in the right direction. Many on the Camino had commented on this.

Confused?  M for Muxia, F for Finisterre

So there I was, stopped on the side on the road. Not lost, just taking a break from riding in the relentless wind and rain. A car pulls up; I expect an offer of directions. The window winds down; a young Spanish couple: "Is this the road to Finisterre?" They are asking me for directions!

I followed the Camino into Finisterre. Of course it doesn't take the easier low road into town, it winds up the hill. Just the thing to to end the Camino; more hills. I see a sign pointing to the Albergue do Sol; it's raining. I've heard of this place; a 'hippie' place according to a French girl I met in Lires. I am tired and think 'why not' and turn off the path towards this potential bed for the night.

Eventually I get there, and parked outside is a familiar Dutch bike. And sure enough, there's Hans, looking dry and relaxed, with a big welcoming grin on his face: "I got here just before the rains came."

Hans and I ventured out to explore the town (this did not take long). I also wanted to get a cardboard box in which to pack the various bits of the bike prior to having it collected (some of my readers will be able to relate to this). And the rains came and the roads flooded and when Hans and I and my box finally swam back to the albergue, there was not much left of my nice cardboard box.

Later on, when the rain took a break, we rode up to the lighthouse and took the obligatory photos with the 'km zero' Camino marker. We also had a look at the place where people had been burning things as some sort of offering to mark the end of the Camino. Yoina, a Japanese girl I had met earlier on in the Camino had mentioned this behaviour, but had said "I won't be burning anything because it's environmentally unfriendly. I'll just leave something there." Sound advice.

Albergue do Sol was indeed a hippie place. Hans and I were the elders of the tribe. And two of the few who wore shoes. But the wine we contributed to the communal dinner was appreciated by all, particularly when it was discovered that we'd lashed out on some 5 euro bottles of Rioja instead of the one euro bottles of local plonk they'd been drinking. Wine is cheap in Spain. We all held hands in a circle and related a memorable moment from the Camino before singing a song. It was actually a nice way to bring some closure to the Camino. Then we ate and all was well with the world.

Final dinner at the  "Hippie"Albergue do Sol e da Lua