On Friday, when the team and I arrived in Finisterre, I gave them a couple of days off so we could all get a break from each other—there are still quite a few challenges ahead of us, and the main one is coming up on Tuesday. I told them we'd meet again on Sunday at the lighthouse for a meeting about the 120-kilometre challenge, followed by a beautiful sunset show—because we need some beauty to take with us on the road. So, who showed up and who didn't? I waited like a complete idiot, and when I finally lost my nerve, I grabbed my phone and called the Berliner first, asking him where the hell discipline and order had gone. He asked if it was Sunday already—he thought it was still Saturday—and told me he'd gotten stuck with Pobalina, the Almighty, and Tina in that infamous hippie bar.
I hung up, fuming, and called Pobalina to remind her that the only thing I asked of her was not to drag the team into that damn bar. "You know you can't trust me," she said. The volcano inside me erupted. Lava flying everywhere. I was furious at myself for trusting someone so obviously untrustworthy. That response alone deserved a solid slap. I give them a bit of slack, and it all goes to shit. Perfect. When I told them to get their asses to the lighthouse ASAP, they basically told me to fuck off because they were having too much fun and the last thing they wanted was a serious talk. Great, just what I needed. So, I marched off toward the bar, absolutely raging.
When I got there, the Berliner was dancing on the bar, the Almighty and Pobalina were on a table, and only Tina had the sense to dance on the floor. I had no clue how to deal with the whole scene, so I started by going up to the bartender and strictly ordering him not to serve them another drop of booze. When the gang finally calmed down an hour later and I got them out of the bar, we headed on a 3-kilometre uphill walk to the lighthouse—with me riding the tourist train CHOO-CHOO, and them running alongside it. I hadn't heard that much swearing from them since the last brutal ascent on the Camino. But they brought it on themselves—had to sweat the booze out.
At the lighthouse, we had a long talk about Tuesday's challenge, and then we enjoyed a fantastic sunset fiesta. They didn't get why they had to run up there just to party again. I told them it was punishment for not sticking to the plan, and that we had a group sprint downhill to warm up for Tuesday. When I checked the app yesterday, I found out I have to walk 110 km, not 120—because I decided to walk back to Santiago, not from Santiago to Finisterre. Since I'm taking a different route, it's probably shorter. Or maybe the app is lying. But it's always better to expect more kilometres than fewer, to avoid a mental crash.
Since I'll be arriving in the middle of the night or very early morning, I called Dani, who runs a hostel in Santiago, and explained the situation. No one works at night, so he gave me the door code and my bed number so I could check in after hours.
As always, Finisterre shone in all its glory with phenomenal company. Every time I get there, I'm loyal—I stay at the same hostel with a terrace and a pool, close to Mar de Fora beach. The owner is an older gentleman radiating wonderful energy. His name is Dito. Of course, I also met a lovely woman named Rebeka, who's here on holiday with her dad. This hostel is her second home. She comes every year. She's walked several Camino routes. A nurse living in Valencia, she's fun and intelligent with a big heart. We clicked right away. She's also a fantastic cook—she taught me how to make paella. Hers was vegetarian, since her stomach doesn't handle meat well, though she still treats herself twice a month because she loves it. Her good morning ritual is a hash joint. Always smiling. No wonder.
I like her especially because she's so down-to-earth and doesn't overthink everything—a rare quality in women. She's very well-mannered too. I call her dad Papa, and he likes it. He loves dancing and having fun. He really got under my skin. Rebeka and her dad have a beautiful relationship, just like I do with mine—only my dad could use a bit more looseness, though he makes up for it in other ways. I need to clone him—men like him aren't made anymore.
The day before I left Finisterre, I visited Margo, who's been running the hippie bar where my team got wasted. I met her last year when the French guy and I walked 90 km. This year, she invited me to her home—where she has a giant trampoline, a pool, a sauna… and a gorgeous garden. A few others were there too, and the party went on until 1 a.m. I don't know what was in those meatballs she served me for dinner, but the shit coming out of my mouth had me and everyone else in tears from laughing.
The next morning, I also caught the cleaning lady who works at the hostel where I stayed. She's been there for years, and we've become friends. Always smiling, her hugs warm and honest, followed by a flood of kisses. The energy between us just works. Her name is Kristina. When she saw me on the terrace drinking coffee, she screamed, "Tina!" We were genuinely happy to see each other. Jose was there too—the guy I met last year in Santiago, and we later hung out in Finisterre. He's a chef, and the grilled meat he made for us was juicy. I was singing as I ate it. The Berliner puffed himself up like a toad but fuck it—I'm the boss of this team.
All these people I met in Finisterre filled me with energy and beautiful memories, which I'll need for Tuesday's challenge. This is my second family—where there's never a shortage of joy or laughter. The food is incredible, with taste buds dancing in delight. Day one we had a BBQ, day two paella, day three BBQ again. Spaniards love music, and there was no shortage of that either.
But once again, it was time to say those hard goodbyes to beautiful people I'd love to take with me on the Way. But life goes on, and I'm heading back to Santiago. These people will always be welcome at my place if they ever want to visit Slovenia. And I have a bed waiting in Valencia if I ever end up there—and I will, thanks to Rebeka and Papa. In the end, all my people signed a €5 bill that I will never spend, because it's one of the most beautiful memories I've collected.