Delightful trek today that didn’t adhere to original plan.
Left on schedule at 0530, but succumbed to false marketing about 5km in, at Hospital, just past O’Logoso, when there was a sign that said “no further facilities for the next 15km”. I was walking for about 2km with a German girl I met outside the albergue who didn’t have her headlight. We both decided to load up on water, caffeine and carbs – that’s about all there seems to be in Spain.
It ended up being fortuitous. She re-connected with her other travelling Fraulines, and I waited for first light to give me some wonderful views and photos. Quite uplifting and unexpected. All-in-all, an unnecessary but delightful 45 minute diversion, though far too early in the “working” day.
The next stop was at Cee, about 9.8km further along, as opposed to the advertised 15km. Even early on a Sunday in Spain, this joint was open and teeming. I saw beers, sherry and a little, dark, viscous something being mixed with coffee and served before 0830. I think that beats the Scots and Irish for unfashionably-early, tacky, drinking habits. That takes some doing, right?
It was beer-o’clock when I hit Playa de Langosteira at around 1300. This is a 2km stretch of pristine, white beach that leads, seductively, into Finisterre. It’s a beautiful setting, but for obvious reasons, teeming with people. This was a stark reminder of the cross-over between pilgrim/albergue mentality and proper tourism. Back to reality.
I lingered a while, taking my boots and socks off for the first time in the day. It had become very, very hot and despite there being a mere 3km to destination, it was a better move to take a brief time-out than to plough on. Two beers. €7. Back to reality.
I had pre-booked my accommodation on strong advice. I chose a place out of the centre of town because it was very-highly rated and because I will be spending most of today and tomorrow at the shore, so I don’t need to wake up to the view, despite it being “romantic”. I can still hear the seagulls from the hotel and I can still hear the clatter of rope and chains against metal as the wind pounds it. All senses and synapses firing.
I think I lucked out. Very polite, spiky-haired, English-speaking, Lesbian front-of-house staff. Potential for breakfast there if I want it. Swimming pool. Big, clean room with strong, hot shower. Decor that doesn’t cause an allergic reaction. Very modest price point at €40/night for own (double) room/loo (though expensive by comparison with prior night).
I got my “Finisterrana” certificate from the Xunta (municipal) albergue which, at 1600, was “completo” (full). Why not? Another great memento of a unique trip (that I plan to repeat – Norte, Alps, Pyrenees – I am already scheming, and thinking about some post-Hawaii, early-November action)
I saw the Lithuanian girl from way back (when I first met Rasputin and Yasser), the one who’d been bitten by bedbugs and had some ugly, oozing welts as a consequence. Thankfully, she’s healed well. She’s been hanging out with some hippies and been camping and roughing it, as opposed to living albergue-style (which I though was ‘roughing it’). Yasser had mentioned that that was her preference. She certainly didn’t look any worse for it – nor did she smell. Lesson for others! I’m told that camping is actually illegal in Spain, but she and her alt-lifestyle friends seem to have got away with it by being clean, tidy, polite and not creating any fire-hazards.
So, here am I. Almost at the “end of the world” – until they discovered it wasn’t. The Faro lighthouse, 3.5km from here, defines it. Until it didn’t. Yasser left his boots there. “Hi-Tech”, I recall. I want to find them. He left his sunglasses somewhere else. Oh well, a casualty of the Camino.
That’s for tomorrow. In Tevas, not boots. I’m pushing the bounds…
Tonight, I need to decide on what I am going to burn tomorrow. It’s a bit of a tradition. Catharsis. Phoenix-ashes-rebirth-stuff.
Oh! Could FedEx please deliver me one Donald Trump…? I’ll pay for excess baggage. I also know to use diesel and not gasoline for safe/effective immolation, for reasons you really don’t need to be acquainted with…
Manaña.