And just like that, overnight Pierre and I became "bocadillos".
What's a bocadillo? Actually it's Spanish for sandwich and has been the nickname we gave to pilgrims who transported their luggage everyday, then walked with a tiny wee backpack. All it seemed to contain was, you guessed it... a sandwich.
Today that was us!
We left everything in the albergue except the tiny backpack. Inside was a light jacket, some money, the camera phone and chapstick. The luxury tour bus left Santiago at 9am and our first stop was Muxia, at 10am. Definitely quicker than walking (4 days). Definitely.
What's a bocadillo? Actually it's Spanish for sandwich and has been the nickname we gave to pilgrims who transported their luggage everyday, then walked with a tiny wee backpack. All it seemed to contain was, you guessed it... a sandwich.
Today that was us!
We left everything in the albergue except the tiny backpack. Inside was a light jacket, some money, the camera phone and chapstick. The luxury tour bus left Santiago at 9am and our first stop was Muxia, at 10am. Definitely quicker than walking (4 days). Definitely.
Muxia is an unspoilt little village, tucked into a cove on the Atlantic shore. Every other person is a fisherman and the bay is dotted with sail boats. The coast is rugged and rocky. Strong winds and storms deemed a little magical by the superstitious celtic folk, are frequent. The pagan settlers had handmade boats and legend has it that this place, rather than Finisterre, was the end of the world. If you sailed too far, you fell off the edge of our flat earth!
Muxia smells fresh, clean, oceanic! The road to and from, is winding, green, scenic. It doesn't feel well traveled. The village remains, to this day, primarily a fishing village. Unspoiled, picturesque, quintessentially Spanish costal in flavor.
The next stop was Cape Finisterre (in Galician they call it Fisterra). For Pilgrims who go further than Santiago, this is considered the end of the line... finished. The cape is about 3km out of Finisterre town itself. All uphill. Of course there is a stamp to be had here too and I'm still not feeling guilty that bus deposited me 100 yards from said stamp! I've put in my miles.
From here, there are panoramic views looking out to sea and back to Finisterre.
What is that I see? The Greek brothers, Konstantin and Danis, and Samantha! These three have been crossing paths with me for weeks and it feels good to visit with them one last time.
And now Finisterre. Holy crap! I stepped into a picture postcard! Stunning colors, quaint and perfect in its simplicity... smelling just like you'd expect a coastal village on the Atlantic should. Forging distinct, wonderful, surreal memories that I hope will last to the end of my days.
Some things I always knew would signify closure to my Camino... walking into Santiago, watching the Botafumeiro (swinging incense urn) and the feeling that Finisterre promised me in my dreams.
I'm almost ready to go home. To reclaim my wonderful life and infuse it with the sweet gratitude and sun-filled memories of beautiful souls and magical places I have found in France and Spain this year.
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