Santiago to Finnisterre to Muxia Sept. 6th to 9th
I left Santiago at the square saying goodbye to Eric from Gaspe. I was a little down after saying goodbye to everyone the day before even though all the aquaintances had been brief; there was a strong common bond. Even so I told myself it was St. John de Pied I Port all over again starting out knowing nobody, but looking forward to a fresh new adventure. In the square I had heard somebody come up behind me whistling the Popeye theme song and as I turned around there was Emmanuel grinning. I asked after Pascal his walking friend but he said with great sadness she had gone home already. Sure enough he had already had another female accompanying him. I marked him up as a player and he told me he was also setting out for Finnisterre as soon as he had a good breakfast. Almost immediately I fell in with a Spaniard and two Germans, a mother and daughter act. The walk was uneventful through the same beautiful Galician countryside. I crossed the bridge where legend has it God destroyed the bridge as James followers carried his remains towards Santiago escaping from the Romans. By one o’clock I was in Negriea and in the middle of a medieval festival. One thing that blew me away was a Galician pipe band that had the crowd enthralled. I thought of my eldest son Nathan and knew he would love this sound and probably wouldn’t go home without a set of pipes. I found the Albergue which was fast filling up, did my routine, then wandered back to the festival, admired all of the Celtic jewellery, had a pizza and hit the sack. At the albergue I had a reunion with Bushido who I hadn’t seen since the beginning of the Meseta weeks ago where he developed a shin problem. We had a good chat about Kurosawa movies before turning in. The next morning, even though I never left till seven it was still dark, even the full moon wasn’t much help as the trail immediately headed into the woods. The walk was uneventful although I did see the German mother and daughter head down the wrong path ahead of me at a confusing marker. The rule is that the direction of the ribs on the Camino shell emanating from the spine or back bone is the direction. There have been times though where these have been misplaced. In any case the women had seen me unsling my pack and stop to check and I am way too old to be chasing women down garden paths. The countryside was more of the same, beautiful woods and pasture. Two Spaniards a Basque and Galician caught up with me and then passed.
I had stopped for a latte and toasta and also had a ham boccadio made to go for lunch. The two Spaniards, Manuel and Valente knew a little about Toronto because of the Raptors basketball team which I gather had signed a couple of their countrymen. I walked with them till the next Albergue which only put me a day from Finnisterre where the Celts worshipped holding the place as holy because the sun dropped from the sky there. They used to have a copulation rock there where they had performed a fertility ritual. The Catholic Church in a burst of priggishness had it destroyed. Killjoys! The albergue was pretty full in Finnisterre but I managed a bed. And later in the evening watched the sun go down. I spent the next day walking with Valente just the two of us and finally ran out of road in Muxia. I stood outside the church where they were having a service for drowned sailors and I got a room in the totally modern but sterile albergue there. It was an early rise to catch the seven am bus back to Santiago where we pulled in at nine. I found a room at the hostel Linda the Norwegian nurse had recommended and bought a ticket to Madrid for the next day then spent the rest of the day wandering the city still running into friends like Ben from Holland and Javier who was in my albergue the very first night way back in St. Jean de Pied. We would see each other every week or so even though he spoke not a syllable of English we always had a warm greeting for each other. But hey, that’s the Camino for you. The next morning as my bus was pulling out of the terminal I saw Bushido getting off a bus and then his hiking stick clicking away as he headed into the city. A fitting end for my Camino.