Finisterre: the "end of the world" (and the Camino)

The final journey from Cee to Finisterre on Monday was absolutely perfect. The weather was the exact opposite of what you'd want for hiking and climactic views of the ocean, but I didn't care at all. For the final 10 km I was completely drenched from the warm summer rain, water dripping off of my shorts, my hood, and my nose. In fact, I thought the rain made it much more poignant. To quote my dear friend Eli Mau, "The rain was like a baptism!" When I remembered that line while looking out over the beach as I neared the city of Fisterre, I literally laughed out loud because it was so suiting. 

After getting settled in at the albergue, taking a nap, and eating dinner, I decided it was time to complete the final stage of the camino: walking the last 3km out to the lighthouse on Cape Finisterre. Considering the entire city was blanketed in fog, my expectations for some sort of amazing view out at the point were very low as I set out around 8:30pm. On my way up the hill, I passed about 20-30 people who were returning from the lighthouse, all of whom were a combination of angry and forlorn at not being granted the grand climax they were hoping for after walking all this way. 

When I arrived at the lighthouse, the scene was no different: zero visibility and a light mist. The only way I could tell the ocean was directly below me was by the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs. Nonetheless, I set out to "tie a bow" on my camino experience by performing the traditional rituals: burning something from my trip in the rocky cliffside and tossing a stone I'd been carrying with me since I started into the sea. I opted to burn a hankerchief that I'd been using for the duration of my trip, since it had seen more blood, sweat, and tears than anything else I had, and I liked the symbolism. Just as I was finishing up with the burning process, another pilgrim named Joachim whom I'd met a couple days before arrived at the lighthouse and we gave each other a wave.

In a state of disbelief that it was all over, Joachim (who is 29 and an actor from Munich) and I sat on the rocks below the lighthouse for awhile debriefing our camino experiences. It's impossible to walk that long and avoid the opportunity for introspection, and he and I spent quite some time exchanging the lessons we'd learned and the resolutions we hoped to keep upon returning to our "real" lives. I'm not sure how long we sat there talking, but it was long enough for the weather to make a dramatic shift--suddenly the ocean was visible below us. Soon after, the skyline began to open up piece by piece, revealing the picturesque sunset all peregrinos hope for at the end of their journey. I'm not usually much of a believer in fate--instead opting for the more probable explanation of coincidence--but if Joachim hadn't shown up at the lighthouse and we hadn't engaged in interesting conversation, I'm sure I never would have been granted that amazing final camino experience. So thanks, universe!

Since I wasn't quite ready to rush back to the chaos of Santiago, I enjoyed a lazy day at a beautiful beach on the opposite side of the peninsula that Joachim introduced me to. While having breakfast (which is always a croissant and cafe con leche in Spain), I just happened to meet two lads from the PNW who attended Willamette. In true liberal arts undergrad fashion, we proceeded to debate anything and everything possible. Funny how the same conversation that I would have at a coffee shop in Bellingham can transpire around the world in a Spanish cafe.

After an uber- American lunch (hamburger and fries, anyone?), I said goodbye to Joachim and caught the 4:45 bus back to Santiago. It was a beautiful trip along the coast, each of the capes I had passed on my journey visible from the highway as it followed the shoreline...with Cabo Finisterre in the distance, the furthest west.

I'm SO glad I opted to spend three weeks of my trip walking the Camino de Santiago; it was the experience of a lifetime. I would recommend it to anyone and everyone!

More to come,
Kels