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In Which I Reach The End Of The World
September 27, 2007 by Mike
Finisterre
Route: A Coruna - Malpica - Laxe - Muxia - Fisterra (Finisterre)
I couldn't leave A Coruna without seeing the Tower Of Hercules, but now that I have, you neededn't bother. it's quite high, it's been a lighthouse for 2,000 years and there are the remains of its Roman foundations in the basement. You don't see much of them, and the view from the top just reinforces the fact that the city is ugly and industrial. I did notice rainclouds heading south, though, so made my excuses and left -- trying to outrace the rain again.
Passing via the cape at Muxia, where Mary, mother of Jesus, once landed in a stone boat in order to chivvy along the locals into converting to Christianity (it might seem unlikely, but the Catholic Church says so and who are we to argue with them?) I ride through quiet countryside to the End Of The World: Finisterre. (Fisterra in Galician).
Now then, I've been to Lowestoft and survived, so I know a thing or two about the end of the world. I've even been to The Uttermost End Of The Earth (Tierra del Fuego) but way back when, the world was a smaller place, and the Romans didn't make it to South America or, I suspect, coastal Suffolk.
So Finis Terre -- Land's End, or the End Of The Earth, was the spot that western Europe saw as the most westerly point on earth. As the sun set out in the Atlantic, that was it. (Until next morning, obviously.) It's also the end of the Camino de Santiago de Compostela for those seeking answers beyond those offered by the Church. There are lots of backpackers in Finisterre; lots of older men with full white beards smiling beatifically; lots of foot blisters; lots of languages from around the world.
There was, at least today, surprisingly little end of the world-ness. Perhaps it was the weather -- hot and sunny -- or the sea -- calm and deeply turquoise -- but the atmosphere was, if anything, something of a let-down. Nothing Millennial here, please move along.
I walked the last 2-3 miles of the Camino. Not to take *anything* from those who have walked a thousand miles and more. I clambered a hill to see a lonely hermit's refuge, and down the other side to the lighthouse that marks the very final steps.
Along the way I stopped at a vantage point near the hermitage and, taking self-portraits, removed the keychain from around my neck. Duly snapped, I moved on, forgetting the chain. Idiot! Realising what I'd done, I traced my steps half-an-hour later and there was the key, twinkling in a small crevice in the rocks.
Phew! (But that doesn't prove the existence of god. She's going to have to try harder than that.)
Finisterre: exquisitely beautiful, peaceful and calm.
--
Pa - three down, one to go. Autogal, Finesterre, Ushuant, Havre!
--
(One last time, my path crosses that of my old chum Charlie Connelly, who visited Finisterre for what will surely be remembered as his masterpiece, Attention All Shipping. I seem to recall a slightly embarrassing tale of wheezing and moaning as he walked the kilometre or so to the hermit's lair.. almost as far as the walk to Waitrose.. but he captures the atmosphere very well. It's a fine read.)
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