I got up deliberately late at 0730, but awake from well before 0700. No agenda for today.
That immediately felt peculiar, so I unpacked my rucksack, separated items for burning/throwing out, then repacked everything into their respective dry bags, ready for tomorrow’s departure. Talk about being anal…? Looking to kill more time, I also made the bed up and cleaned the room with the aim of leaving housekeeping as little to do as possible.
I had a lovely breakfast at the hotel. All home-made, but really nothing but carbs and coffee. The only thing I’ll not miss when I go home is the food. It’s all become very samey now.
A lazy morning spent wandering around Finisterre and then a quick 3.5km out to the Faro lighthouse. Incredible weather still.
I recorded “the end” here at Faro:
Slight difference versus official readings, but good enough for who it’s for…
I bumped into Irish Jenny who had arrived this morning via bus from Muxia. Time had not been on her side and she wasn’t up to consecutive 30-35km days. She cut her losses to get a bus and enjoy herself, rather than wear herself ragged. She heads for Santiago airport tomorrow.
Some chap started a fire to burn his gear, took a photo, then left the small, but active pyre. Silly boy. Big signs all over the place. Errr, I wouldn’t have dreamed of it myself… so I decided to put it out as a matter of public service… but not before I contributed my own stuff and saw it consigned to the ether. All good.
As expected, the buses and families and tourists are swarming in as the day goes on. The selfie-sticks are out. There’s a piper skirling with his bagpipes, but I can’t really “appreciate it” because it’s obscured by the shrill local songs being piped from “Galicia Radio”. Noise + noise = wretched cacophony. Ugh. Time for me to be where they’re not.
Now what?
I’m looking into squeezing this trip in after Hawaii and before the winter weather closes in, but it may just be too ambitious:
Their blog says 6 days. I think I’d plan for 8 days. Anyway, we’ll see… work to do yet.
Without the routine of the last 5 weeks, I feel somewhere between listless and restless, not exactly sure of what to do with my time, and candidly, with little here to occupy it. Finisterre is much more about the journey than the destination. It’s a sleepy little fishing town, sadly in slow decline. There are a lot of restaurants all serving the same food, the same beer and at the same inflated prices. In winter, it must be desolate.
So, now back to Finisterre for some of the same food and same beer/wine.
After a brisk downhill hike, I meandered around town, settling for lunch at Meson Arco de Vella, which was positively billed for ‘Carmen’s home cooking’. The food was decent but expensive, with starter and main course prices not being far off London gastro-pub prices.
The fishing boats came back in at around 1600 with their catch. These boats are pretty small, operated by what seems like a 4-5 man crew. The catch is not winched off in large containers, rather it’s quickly man-handled directly into the back of a transit van. These vessels clearly operate inshore and the scale of the business is quite small: I only counted 6-8 boats returning.
I saw Terry and Tina, the Irish couple I spent some time with on Day 32. They were getting ready to take the bus back to Santiago and leave for Dublin tomorrow. Terry’s back at work on Wednesday. Back to reality.
I also saw the big, happy Italian bunch minus Davide. It’s been about a week since I last caught sight of them. They arrived today and are berthed at the Xunta Albergue. They’re moving onto Muxia tomorrow, but by bus because of time. This afternoon they’re off to the beach, and then to the lighthouse for sunset. Such romantics…
Now, back to the Prado da Viña and to prepare for tomorrow, the last day of hiking – 28.1 linear kilometers with another 2.7km for terrain adjustments.
Given how little packing I have, I might now make some progress on my Grace Jones e-book. I was able to struggle about 20 pages into it, about 2 weeks ago. I got stuck because it was excessively self-indulgent and ego-centric, unlike Nile Rodgers’ book that actually told an interesting story. I’ll take another run at it over the next 72 hours.
Unless you hear from me before then, manaña…