Day 17: Olveiroa to Muxia (34km)

Rain. Rain and wind. That was the theme for the day's ride.

All geared up for a walk in the rain

The day woke to black skies; not promising. By the time I had finished breakfast, the skies cleared a little, offering some hope. But counter-intuitively, the dispersing of the black clouds brought the rain - and the wind. The rain came in sheets. There was nothing for it but to set off and hope that the wet weather gear would go some way to keep me dry. A group of four girls setting off as well made an interesting picture, all in their rain capes: it would be a Camino of hunchbacks today.

One memorable, but unfortunately short-lived, moment the wind was actually pushing me uphill. Another new experience. More often though, it worked against me, or in some ways worse, the wind came in savage gusts from the side, threatening to push me off the path or road. The wind turbines were roaring above, shrouded in the mists as I pedalled below. I could hear them but not see them.

Using a bus shelter to take a break from the pouring rain

Navigation was already difficult without having the map to read (the map case had to be covered to keep the maps dry); it wasn't helped by the almost complete lack of usable road signs. I would come on to a larger road from a small side road for example, to find not a single sign indicating which road it was or where it went. I was glad I had a compass (which earlier in the trip people had derided as unnecessary).

Then suddenly, the rain stopped, and almost simultaneously I saw the ocean in the distance, bringing a big smile to my face. Following a long downhill run, suddenly there was the beach of Muxia!

Riding through the back streets I came across a walker, looking a little lost and obviously having just arrived herself. But she was perfectly dry! 'How did you manage to stay dry?' "I took a taxi." she said with a smile and no guilt whatsoever. 'I've been riding all morning in the pouring rain and wind.' She smiled again. "Don't you know that here it always stops raining at 11:00?" I looked at my watch; it was about 11:30. Later, when I related this story to the woman running the albergue, she confirmed that it generally rained only in the mornings. I could have done without this bit of information, since I could have easily delayed my departure until after the rain and still arrived in good time in Muxia that day.

Early on in the trip I met a Canadian woman who had reminded me of her film counterpart, Sarah, in 'The Way'. Today I met Joe, an Irishman who could have been Jack, his film equivalent. He had a very similar look about him and also spoke (a lot) in the same manner. I haven't met Joost yet, although there have been quite a few Dutchmen (and women) of course.

Looking south from the point at Muxia

Joe made an observation that echoed exactly my feelings about the arrival in Santiago - that somehow something was missing; it had been a sort of anticlimax. "I didn't expect them to put on a marching band for me, but I had somehow expected something, although I can't put my finger on what." Arriving in Muxia is also a little like that and I expect the arrival in Finisterra, which for me will be the end of the journey, will be similar. Still, as Joe reminded us both, this is a good example of the reason behind the saying: 'It's the journey, not the destination, that matters.'

For a change I left the bike at the albergue and walked the few kilometres out to the point where the church, Nosa Señora da Barca, is. It was actually Joe who suggested it; his simple "Why don't you walk the last bit?" somehow made perfect sense. This church is the setting of the final scene in 'The Way', where Tom (Martin Sheen) scatters his son's ashes. He should be glad it wasn't as windy the day he did that as it was when I was there! Speaking of ashes, the church is now unfortunately only a shell after it was struck by lightning on Christmas Day in 2013 and burnt out.

A wind-blown selfie, with the ruins of Nosa Señora da Barca

At least my shoes and clothes are getting a chance to dry in the sun, which has made a welcome reappearance. From where I'm sitting (in the 'Delfin' albergue) I have a view across the road to the bay and the hills beyond (with, of course, their wind turbines). There's white caps on the blue water, reminding me that it's still windy. Winds of 25 km/hr with gusts of 65km/hr said the forecast for today.

Just me and a couple of 'hunchback' walkers, watched by the ubiquitous wind turbines in the rain