Startpoint: Olveiroa; Endpoint: Capo Finisterre; Distance walked: 35km; Steps taken: 44,961.

I think I may be in the opening scene of a horror movie. It’s a couple of days before Halloween. I’m taking a hot bath and drinking a hipflask of cheap whiskey in my room in a small remote hotel. The hotel is in an old lighthouse in an area called the Costa da Morte (the Coast of Death). It’s 3km to the nearest town; it’s a dark, windy, rainy, stormy night outside; and my room is lit up every ten seconds by the revolving lighthouse. I’m the only guest in the hotel. The only other person in the building is the doorman, an ex-lighthouse keeper disgruntled by losing his traditional way of life to technology and automation…

Nobody ever survives the opening scene…

Okay, so the only other person is actually a very charming hotelier with very good English and an open and friendly manner, but the rest of it is true. I am the only person here tonight; the receptionist didn’t even ask for my name or ID – she’d been expecting me. The water in the bath is brown rather than clear, but that’s okay if I’m not going to drink it. Brown water is Mostly Harmless, right?

Okay, back to the blog… I’m finished! I made it to Cape Finisterre! My feet are in bits (hence the bath), so hopefully I can get a taxi to the bus stop tomorrow.

I started late today. My clothes were still drying from yesterday’s surprise arrival of the sea in my rucksack. I begged a few refuse sacks from the lovely people in the hostal so that any further downpours wouldn’t leave me with a choice of either eating dinner naked or dripping. I wrapped everything up in at least 2, if not 3 waterproof layers – naturally it barely rained at all.

When we were kids, every summer we’d go to Brittas Bay for the holidays. Driving down from Dublin took about an hour. When we were getting close to the campsite and driving from Jack White’s Pub on the N11 towards the public carpark, there was always a little competition between the four kids to see who could see the sea first. There was one hill on the road which got us high enough to see over the sanddunes, but we never remembered which hill that was. We climbed every hill with held breath, waiting to shout ‘I can see the sea’ before anyone else. Today felt like that.

I knew I’d reach the coast eventually today, so every hill I climbed expecting to see the ocean on the far side. It took longer than I expected. I can see the sea now. I can also hear it and smell it.

Approaching the town of Finisterre, about 3km back from the headland, I walked along the beach for about 10 or 15 minutes. Recent tradition dictates that pilgrims on the Camino carry a scallop shell to show that they’re pilgrims. I always thought the rucksack and hiking boots were sign enough. At one stage, a very generous Englishman gave me a small scallop shell for my bag, which he had blessed by a priest in Lourdes. I attached the shell to the front of my bag as it lay on the ground and pushed the bag under my bed for safe keeping. As the shell hit the bedframe, it shattered. The generous chap happily gave me a second blessed shell.

I attached the second shell only the next day, so the same thing wouldn’t happen. After two hours I dropped my pack to the floor while I had a coffee and the second shell broke. I decided then that I’d wait until I got to the sea myself and pick my own shell rather than pay for one or risk the entire Lourdes stock.

I found a shell. It’s a bit old and battered, but it portrays the general idea. As soon as I picked it up, the Galician rain started up and soaked me, almost like in spite. I walked away wondering if the Province of Galicia is really out to get me and other questions about life, the universe and everything, but then decided to eat a bag of mixed nuts, which was considerably more satisfactory.

Finisterre means ‘end of the earth’. This headland was previously thought to be the most westerly point of Europe (it’s not), of the Iberian Peninsula (it’s not), or of Spain (it’s not), but it is pretty far west. I arrived in time to enjoy sunset and beers with a few pilgrims who’d travelled here from Santiago either by foot or by bus. One of the pilgrims gave me an excellent caricature he’d drawn of me (see below). Another chastised me for taking too long, which was exactly what I wanted to hear.

The wind was so strong coming off the ocean that it nearly knocked me off my feet a couple of times, but seeing the (cloudy) sunset over the ocean was worth both the wind and the bit-part in a horror movie.

Two of us ate dinner in the hotel restaurant – we were the only diners. The menu was entirely fish dishes – understandable considering our location. They were good enough to make allowances for me being a vegetarian and cooked me some scrambled eggs, which was a nice change from the fried eggs, the omelettes and the eggy flan. When we finished eating, one of the hotel staff had to drive her back to her hotel down in the town, as reportedly all the taxi-drivers had all gone to bed. At 10pm. Leaving me alone with the doorman…

I’ve locked the door and opened the window in case I need a quick getaway. There are lots of noises, but whether they’re from the wind, the sea, the creakiness of an old building, or from someone with an axe to grind, I can’t tell.

If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, so long and thanks for all the fish.

Otherwise, buen Camino.

At the distance marker: 0.0km

At the End of the World

Last Yellow Arrow

Me and my shell