Finally, it was just the three of us again in a hostel room. None of us snores – jackpot! We were already counting on a peaceful night’s sleep, but on the Camino there’s always at least one enemy. This time: mosquitoes. Nothing but buzzing around our heads, like having a mini drone from the Spanish army hovering over the bed. And when they started sucking my blood, I officially became an all-you-can-eat buffet. I didn’t fall asleep until 2 a.m. Anita escaped outside with her book, while I was performing the “flamenco of scratching” on my feet and arms. When she came back, a bang rattled the wall. “Did you get it?” I asked. “No, damn thing,” she muttered. In the end, we only fell asleep from pure exhaustion of clapping at mosquitoes. If anyone had filmed us, they’d have thought we were rehearsing applause for a concert.
Alarms started harassing us at 6:45. You’d think that’s torture enough, but no – at 7:00 we had a reward waiting: a bar. Coffee and a sandwich – breakfast of champions! And off we went. It started with an uphill, just the right kind to say “good morning, you spineless wreck.” The morning was warm, even though we were in the hills. My back, thanks to a too-soft mattress, cheerfully reminded me: “Ha! That’s what you get for luxury!” Pain stabbed, I did a couple of amateur yoga moves, and luckily it disappeared.
Anita had turbo speed this morning – clearly the Camino has already transformed her into a marathoner. Massimo, as always, took his time. This time by chatting with a French girl. Anita and I pushed on, while he practiced his “casual charming mode.” I remembered the day I walked from Santiago to Finisterre in a single day with some French guy. We laughed together even though we still had 20 km ahead. Adrenaline worked its magic – and that’s why Finisterre cemented itself in my heart. The following year I even marched 117 km in under 22 hours – Finisterre, Muxía, Santiago. Madness. This year I’ll skip that masochistic stunt – no willpower, and my body’s screaming: “Are you insane?”
When I finally reached Cee – a fishing town where the boats laze around more than hikers after lunch – I sighed in relief. Streets winding like a peregrino after three glasses of wine, fishermen staring at the sea as if waiting for an UberEats delivery. The octopus here is softer than pudding and way kinder than the classic Spanish breakfast of “coffee + cookies.”
I waited for Anita and Massimo. Half an hour. Then another full hour while they ate. Over juice, Anita mentioned maybe we should go for the cheaper hostel. I stayed loyal to the one with the pool and terrace (hello, priorities!). When she went to the bathroom, I whispered to Massimo: “Let’s pay for her.” He agreed immediately. Anita is only 20, quit her job, and money just isn’t her strong side. A few extra euros won’t kill us – and I wanted us to stick together until our last coffee on Wednesday morning. Problem solved in a minute.
I told them: “See you in Finisterre.” Each of us at our own pace.
On the way I messaged Marga, my friend from 2022 who works at the legendary hippie bar in Finisterre. “Are you there?” I asked. “Yes.” “I’ll be there in 40 minutes.” And off I went.
First beach, smell of the Atlantic, soundtrack of seagulls… That was my turbo drink! I picked up my pace and in the distance I saw Finisterre. My second home. My destination. My altar of Camino madness. Here are the people I love, here is where this year’s Camino ends.
Tomorrow the alarm won’t scream at 5:30. Finally, I’ll sleep like a human again. And the best part: I’ll hug all the friends I’ve met over the years in Finisterre.
Today is a good day. Today I won. Today I brought back those 80 km that the Sanabrés stole from me.
FINISTERRA
Energy and sunsets are the main stars here. Last year, I named this performance THE SUNSET ON THE EDGE OF THE WORLD. In order to applaud this show, you have to reach the lighthouse first, three kilometers away. The duration of the show is up to you, and I decided it should last three hours. It’s breathtaking and Zen. When it said goodbye, I started clapping, because the performance was BONKERS, and the people behind me started clapping too. I think there was a FUCKLOAD of them. I wouldn’t even notice everyone was clapping if the person behind me didn’t pat me on my shoulder and show the commotion. Okay, the word “everybody” might be exaggerated. I was lying on the edge of the rocky “couch”, VIP seats, so I couldn’t see things happening behind me. Also, I had earbuds in, so I almost missed that beautiful moment.
P.S.
DRESS CODE: long pants, a hoodie or sweater, and a windbreaker.
ACCESSORIES: fully charged phone battery for optimal photos.
The place was more than suitable for a quality rest after a month of walking. It was also a good place to relive beautiful moments and suffering, and of course, for the total meltdown. Santiago is trashy, claustrophobic and has the BACK TO LIFE, BACK TO REALITY song kind of vibe. That’s not how I roll. Finisterra, though, offers you a peaceful opportunity to say goodbye and wrap up the wonderful Odyssey and move from words to actions. Well, it depends on why you went on the trip, of course.
Sea is the best cure for physical and mental wounds. If the Atlantic wasn’t so goddamn cold and salty, it would be cheesy. The weather is quite constant, though – meaning it’s constantly windy. Now you know the reality behind the Instagram photos. :)
And what’s the cherry on top? The high probability you’ll meet someone familiar.
FOR THE END...
Forget comfort, though. You’re not there for comfort. Trust people, relax, enjoy and express yourself. Be an environmentalist, too. Don’t make your garbage become road signs. Flowers, animals and people live there. They welcomed you with open hands and a smile. Cherish that. It all begins with you.
Thank you for reading me. ❤️
