Day 52 - The End

The Camino has been around for thousands of years. As a result, it has some well-established traditions. We are not one to buck that kind of history.

Tradition one: Find a shell at the end of the world. Pilgrims carry scallop shells with them for the length of the Camino. It is tradition that upon reaching Finisterre, one must find one's own shell. Scallop shells are most prized, but so long as it is a shell which makes you happy, it is the right one. We went to the shore with some of our trail family, climbed the rocks, and scouted out shells. For me, scrambling barefoot over rocks is the very definition of summer. The fact that we did find some choice shells was a bonus. Soon after we had filled our pockets, the sea fog and a misty rain rolled in, so we headed back up the beach to find shelter and hope for drier weather for...

Ritual number 2: Burn an article of clothing or something which you have carried the whole Camino. In the early days of the Camino, pilgrims would burn all of their clothes when they reached Finisterre. This had both practical and spiritual roots as a physical and spiritual cleansing. Medieval pilgrims would walk back the way they had come, so I´m not so sure how effective this cleansing was, but the tradition continues nonetheless. We climbed to the lighthouse at the edge of the world at sunset. At least we think there was a sunset. The weather remained grey and drizzly, which, though we had no spectacular sunset, did ensure that we had the cliffs nearly to ourselves. We burned our leg brace, and our friends each burned something of their own. We topped off the evening with a grand picinic and many bottles of wine.

It is not an official tradition to leave walking sticks at Finisterre, but a pilgrim develops a bond with his stick, and it seems wrong to just throw it away or to leave it without some fanfare. Yesterday, I left Irish Boy´s stick in the sand where the tide would take it. Today, Cz´s stick became a new sentinel on the cliffs near the lighthouse.

Before all this ritual, however, we needed more celebration. Most pilgrims who arrive at Santiago continue on to Finisterre, either on foot or by bus. As a result, it becomes another renunion site, with yet more wine to be drunk, and more food to be consumed. We met with many of our family and started with clams, paella, empanada and beer at the street fair. From there, we went on a quest for the perfect pulpo. Turns out the perfect pulpo is somewhere over the rainbow. Literally. We had more bottles of wine and plates of pulpo on the rooftop terrace over the Rainbow Cafe. By now we had been eating, drinking, merrymaking, and collecting more friends for nearly 4 hours. We took a break to find our shells. (see above) After our successful shell hunt, we stopped at the only open shop - it being Sunday - run by a round Spanish Grandma. Spanish Grandmas are a breed apart, and are among my favourite people.

Women over a certain age in Spain are rather like mother hens, and every pilgrim is their little chickie. Particularly if the pilgrim is skinny or in any way looks lost (read: Cz. On both counts.). This Grandma made us take (it didn´t take much persuading) The largest quarter of her apple tart, the largest slice of her cheese tart, her finest empanada, and a whole "tit cheese". If you saw one, the name would be self-explanatory. It is a very mild and creamy cheese which is, indeed, quite breast-shaped, complete with pointy nipple. Then a member of our family asked for an ice cream. Our grandma went into raptures over an ice cream she had eaten just this morning and said that our friend must have exactly the same kind. There was no point in arguing. You learn early on in the Camino that Grandma is ALWAYS right. The ice cream was lovely.

So, with Grandma´s picnic-makings in hand, we set out for the Lighthouse. Whereupon we commenced to eat and drink wine for another four or more hours, interspersed with some light arson. (see above also) In fact, there is a special pit in which pilgrims may do their ritual burning, so it was all quite safe.

Then, home again to our albergue. Our room had two beds plus two mattresses pushed together on the floor. We were expecting seven people, so four of us piled onto the floor mattresses in order that the beds would be free. The other three opted to sleep on the beach, so in theory, we each had our own sleeping place. We remained snuggled together on the floor. This what you do with family on the Camino.

Journey to the Edge of the World

We slipped out of the Albergue early enough that most everyone was still sleeping. Rather than wake The Irish Boys for a proper goodbye, we left a note that we would make good on a promise, and off we went to Finisterre.

Finisterre. Finsterre. Finisterra. Finis Terre. Literally The End of the World, no matter how you spell it.

In just under three hours, we covered about four days distance worth of walking. Our Hungarian friend put it very well. Paraphrased here: It´s as if our minds and hearts are go at certain speed. We are so used to being at the speed of walking, it´s almost like our feelings are behind us trying to catch up when we ride the bus.

Perhaps they will meet us on the beach at Finisterre.

When the Camino was young, Europeans believed that the world ended at the coast of Spain. They would walk from all corners, prostrate themselves at the Cathedral, and then continue on to the this edge of creation as they knew it. It is powerful enough to feel the wind sweep across the Atlantic knowing that home is across the water. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for those early pilgrims standing where the earth falls into the sea. For them that wind must have seemed the very breath of God.

Finisterre is a rocky cape, very similar to the west coast of Ireland. It is wild and lovely with equal measure of gentle beaches for swimming, sheer cliffs, and hidden coves. The village itself is, at first glance, a resort town, but only a little time reveals that it has the bones of a fishing village gently tumbling into the sea as brightly painted boats bob in the harbour.

We have had remarkable luck with timing. Pamplona just before San Fermin, Santiago during the international clown and street performance festival (sorry that didn´t get more airtime, it was great!), and Finisterre in time for the local seafood festival. We feasted - yet again - on local Galician specialties and watched contraband fireworks shooting up from an alley to reflect on the sea. We even ran into the Englishman who helps pilgrims by scaling the wild peaks in his camper van with tea and cookies. He was there on holiday, but still seemed pleased to see some of "his" pilgrims. We retired to our room accompanied by the music of a rolicking street dance. The music continued until nearly 5 AM, but it didn´t bother us. Spain does everything with passion, be it work, fiesta, or siesta. We felt lucky to be in the middle of it all.