Finisterre October 25-27 Santiago to Finisterre, another 55 miles
Finisterre is a quaint seaside town known as the end of the world with a lighthouse perched above the Atlantic and a marker for kilometer 0. It's a place where the sun sinks directly into the ocean. I knew that this was where I wanted to finish this journey.
Time, however, wasn’t on my side. What is usually a four-day walk, I needed to complete in three. So I pushed -- fueled by Andrew’s vitamins and pluck. By the final morning, my body was protesting loudly. New blisters. Shin splints brewing. Joints aching. Holes forming in my shoes. I found myself negotiating with my body: Just one more day, I promised, and then you can rest. I thanked my shoes profusely for getting me this far.
Halloween is big in Spain
These structures were used to hold grain
My last early morning hike
10 miles with no services
My heart leapt when I finally saw the sea on the third day and I knew that I made the right choice to finish my journey here. I checked into an albergue and, in perfect Camino fashion, the first people I saw were Mi and Eric. After dropping off my pack, I made the last 3 km trek to the lighthouse (where I ran into Joe!) and then headed over to the West side to watch the sun drop into the ocean.
Kilometer 0 and lighthouse
Sunset
Sunrise at Km 0. Photo credit: Mi Jang
The next morning, I found a cafe near the bus stop for breakfast before heading back to Santiago. Tables were full, but a man I had been weaving with over the last few days motioned for me to sit with him. He had just finished his ninth Camino -- this one beginning all the way back in April when he walked out his front door in Germany. We talked about what keeps calling him back: clearing the mind, healing the body, and connection to the divine spirit.
I asked him the hard question: How do you bring Camino back with you; how do you integrate it into your life? And he had a beautiful answer. He said he imagines the spirit of the Camino like a bell with the sound reminding him of everything he learned and who he is out here. When he can no longer hear the bell ringing, it simply means it’s time for the next Camino.
He told me that he bought a few bells at a souvenir shop and handed them out to people; most of who were grateful but bewildered by the gift. I excused myself to go to the restroom and when I returned, he said, “I didn't know who I was going to give my last bell to, and here you are.” Then he handed me a bell and, with my eyes glistening, I smiled, gave him an hug, and boarded the bus back to Santiago with the bell in hand.
I awoke to the faint scent of smoke. It didn’t seem alarming at first until I stepped out into the dark and a woman hurried past me. She told me she had just come from a wildfire -- it was growing -- and I should start walking and not stop for 10 km. No taxis at that hour. The Camino following a narrow dirt path, winding upward toward a tiny mountain village.
Folks, I panicked. I was told later that my hands were shaking.
I asked a group of fellow peregrinos what to do. Australians who, with wildfires stitched into their DNA, were entirely unfazed. While it felt like I was walking through molasses, I scurried up the rest of the mountain determined that this was not going to be how I go out, especially since my mom had already informed me she would not finish the Camino in my stead to avenge my death.
When I finally reached O Cebreiro, I was relieved to run into the local police. They assured me the wildfire was under control and too far away to pose any risk.
And that’s how I arrived in Galicia. The final stretch.
The official start of Galicia
The weather up until this point had been uncharacteristically perfect so I was due for a change. After the wildfire scare, the heavens opened up and the rain came bearing down along with gusty winds. At one point, I opted for the road because I was afraid that I was going to be blown off the side of the mountain.
Galicia is lush and green. Its terrain feels like a remix of everything that came before with steep hills, cows and sheep, vineyards and wheat fields. A veritable postcard of the Camino’s greatest hits.
Cows
Horses
One night I opted for a different albergue from my travelmates (I essentially stayed in a treehouse) and the next morning, two paths diverged. They chose the one I was not already on which was significantly longer, so by the end of the day, I was half a day ahead. And now I was truly alone and feeling it.
But the Camino always provides.
I started bumping into people I hadn’t seen since Week 1 — warm little reunions when I needed them most. Because even if you’re by yourself, you’re still never alone. There were a couple that stood out. The first was Joe, an Australian who frankly, rubbed me the wrong way when I met him the first (and second and third) time. He was loud with no filter. Part of my growth journey is finding some piece of humanity to love in everyone; especially those who I would traditionally avoid. Or to think of it in another way, the fewer people who annoy us, the happier we'll be. By the end of Week 1, I had found enough in him that I didn't run away when I saw him, but I knew that wasn't good enough. By Week 4, we started crossing paths again and kept trying to find time to walk together but it didn't happen. After I parted ways with the last crew, I was walking by myself in the forest for quite a while when someone came up next to me. We turned our heads to wish the other a "Buen Camino" and ahhh! it was Joe! The Camino gods decided it was finally our time and we walked for several hours. He is, of course, a very sweet man and taught me a lot about gratitude and offered a new definition of friendship (people who are unconditionally happy when good things happen for you). I was sad when we parted ways because I knew it would likely be the last time we would see each other.
When Camino worlds collide: Joe (back) and I stopped at a donativo oasis and ran into Allison and Jeremy (chair and banana), who I had been crossing paths with both on the road and in albergues for several days.
The next best moment occurred when I ran into Glenn at a cafe. Glenn was one of the first people I met and I taught him how to play gin rummy. He’s 77 years old and was outpacing all of us so I was shocked that I had caught up with him. After a couple hours, we decided to stop for breakfast #2 and sitting at the very first table was Christine, who I sat next to at dinner the first night. The Camino is funny about weaving people together.
The night before Santiago was full of anticipation
The three of us traveled together for the next couple of days until it was finally time to arrive in Santiago. I left early and made it to the Cathedral by 9:30, received my Compostela (and nearly had a meltdown because they insisted on issuing it to “Abigail Volin”), and walked around town. I went to the noon Pilgrim’s mass and was fortunate to witness the botafumeiro swinging high across the Cathedral dispersing incense (originally to mask the smell of the peregrinos).
The final shell
Afterwards, someone grabbed a table at a nearby watering hole as familiar faces from Day 1 and Week 1 slowly began to appear and laughter was plentiful. It was the perfect way to celebrate a long journey.
And then, in true Camino fashion, the 20-somethings and the 70-somethings alike ran off to get their shell tattoos.
But even with all the celebration, something still felt unfinished. I hadn’t come here for a religious pilgrimage. And while I appreciated every church and cathedral along the way, they didn’t spark anything spiritual in me for obvious reasons. I knew there was still another part of my journey ahead. So I slipped away early that night, resting up for the long days to come.
The scenery has shifted back to rolling hills and endless greenery. Beautiful, yes, but that can only mean one thing: it’s getting hard again.
I’ve settled into my Camino rhythm and love starting before dawn, when the world is still pitch black. Those quiet hours are perfect for thinking, and watching the sunrise spill over the mountains never gets old. There’s something meditative about walking in the dark. My headlamp only reaches a few feet ahead, so I never know how long an incline or descent will last. It forces me to stay completely present, step by step, with nothing to worry about except when I’ll stop for breakfast #1 (usually around the 6 mile mark).
Crossing La Meseta cleared my head and I made a few decisions that had been lingering. One of which was to buy a return ticket, which meant parting ways with what was left of the band and continuing on my own. As hard as it was, I find that walking solo enables me to be more open to my surroundings and other people along the way.
They say the Camino provides, and it truly does. During the time I was really dragging, I kept crossing paths with Andrew who gave me some vitamins that made a world of difference. When I needed a laptop, it turned out that my current walking buddy was carrying one. And it took only a day until I fell into a new trail family: Mi (a Korean living in Spain), Eric (a Frenchman living in Mexico), and Ruben (a Spaniard). Mi has a gift of making you feel like an old friend within minutes. With this crew, I wandered through charming villages, walked under chestnut trees (and collected them for later roasting), and climbed a mountain that nearly rivaled that first epic day over the Pyrenees.
The Cruz de Ferro (Iron Cross) is located on the highest point and peregrinos are encouraged to place a rock they brought from home as a symbol of what they are leaving behind. It was so dark out that I almost missed it.
This past week was the third section of the Francés route, which goes through the Meseta — a region in Castilla y León characterized by large swaths of treeless flat land with hot sun and very little shade that can feel endless. It’s known for challenging your mind as you learn to find beauty in the monotony and it mostly lived up to its reputation. The landscape was flat and the road felt interminable. You just had to have faith that the next town would appear and it always did.
With little visually stimulating, the scenery offered the gift of focusing on being present. No music, no podcasts; nothing to make the time pass by more quickly because that defeats the purpose. This is the ultimate “it’s about the journey and not the destination,” as there’s often not much to do at the day’s stop other than shower, laundry, and have a drink. The walk became an exercise (hours and hours and hours of exercise) of noticing the anomalies within the mundane: a rustle of the wind, the music of chirping birds, the ingenuous way an inchworm moves, the subtle shades of blond found in wheat. It’s a gratitude practice - finding the joy and beauty in the every day.
I spent the week enjoying walking mostly by myself while working on staying present and quieting my mind. At night I met up with friends old and new at the Albergue. While many towns along the way are a shell of what they once were, we came across some gems, like Castrojeriz which has a striking castle on a hill and mouthwatering pizza, or Frómista with a Gregorian chant every night in the cathedral that’s known as a model of Roman architecture. Carrión de los Condes had a lovely art museum and park.
The star of the week was León, the capital city of the province, with a stunning cathedral (my niece’s reaction: who lives in that castle?!), Roman walls, a Gaudi structure, and lots of street life. I crossed paths with many from the Week 1 Camino family and it felt like nary a day had passed.
Confession time: I’m dragging. Currently fighting off a cold, my body is fatigued, my feet have blisters and my hands have sores from the poles. I’m puffy from lack of sleep and insufficient nutrients (and perhaps a little too much wine). My hygiene is slipping. This pack isn’t feeling any lighter. I’m tired of sleeping on paper sheets and praying that the blanket doesn’t have bedbugs while dealing with snorers.
Every day has brought something new and eye-opening and I know I’ll regret it if I give up now. So I forge ahead, awaiting happy surprises. Like someone creating a peregrino oasis (donativo) at the top of a tough hill or running into a friend I thought was at least 2 days ahead of me. It’s easy to take on the struggles while it’s fun; the challenge is finding the beauty when it’s not. Kind of like a metaphor for life. Funny that.
This is pretty much what it looked like all week
Ghost towns
My travel partners for the week: Paul, Angela, and Sarah
Surprisingly delicious pizza
An unexpected 3,400’ climb
Still a bright, full moon at 7 am
He makes wax stamps
The official halfway point!
Signs of vibrant Jewish life in the past
In León, of course
León Plaza Mayor
León cathedral at night
Gaudi building in Astorga
Gaudi building in León
A very kind soul puts this out every day for pilgrims after a tough hill.
