June 12 – Fatima ... or Finisterre
In Santiago, I leave the lodgings at the Seminary on the Hill in plenty of time to catch the bus to Fatima. Mistakenly, I walk toward the city instead of following the obscure walkway to the right of the seminary and up the hill. It took 30 minutes to correct my blunder. Not to worry. I still had plenty of time. A bar/café is not open but I see a Wi-Fi sign, and a young man sweeping the floor. I poke my head in the open door and ask if I could use the Wi-Fi. “Of course,” the pleasant lad said, but the password he provided did not work.
Still with time to spare I stop in at another café with Wi-Fi – but only available with food orders. I order tea and croissant. I am given a handwritten code. It doesn’t work. I get the waitress’ attention. She gives me another code. It’s doesn’t work either. Now I can’t get the attention of the waitress. I flag down the cashier. She is abrupt and says I was already given a password. I said it doesn’t work. The waitress comes by. I plead, “Etsa muy importante por wi-fi.” She replied in very good English all of a sudden that her job was very important too. They get my euros. But I don’t get a working password.
A few more wrong turns before I find the bus station. But how do I enter? Through the bus garage where they pull in and out. Seems very unsafe to me. But up the stairs I go and stand in line. Wrong line. I’m pointed to another line. “All sold out to Fatima.”
Now what? I had to make a fast decision while I still had someone’s ear.
Is there a bus to Finisterre? “Yes, tickets over there.” Back to standing in line. The bus leaves in what sounds to me like 50 minutes. I take a breather. I repeat, “In 50 minutes.” No. “In 15 minutes. Lane 28.”
I rush back down the stairs into the bus garage. On my ticket is written “Lane 28”. There is no lane 28. I see other pilgrim standing in a huddle and join them. The bus to Finisterre leaves from lane 3.Here comes the bus. Whew!
Uli has a story
My normally, normal blood pressure is probably climbing, and my heart is still pounding as I take the seat near the window in the first row. I relax for five seconds.
Uli, a German pilgrim two decades younger sits next to me and starts to talk. I enjoy the company and conversation. Three hours later arriving in Finisterre she is still talking. I stopped enjoying two hours ago. I know Uli’s life story. Why do women do this? On airplanes I’ve been known to bury my nose in a book. But here I’d hoped to enjoy the scenery. I have a habit of giving my undivided attention when someone is talking. I'm known as a good listener. I’m surprised now toward the end of the Camino she hasn’t exhausted her need to talk. Perhaps, like me, she walked alone most of the way. She’s not the least interested in my story. Penance comes in many forms.
My guide book does not include information about albergues in Finisterre, so I tag along with Uli as payback. She wants to stay at a small obscure albergue. Okay. At least here I can walk away and explore later.
In Santiago, I leave the lodgings at the Seminary on the Hill in plenty of time to catch the bus to Fatima. Mistakenly, I walk toward the city instead of following the obscure walkway to the right of the seminary and up the hill. It took 30 minutes to correct my blunder. Not to worry. I still had plenty of time. A bar/café is not open but I see a Wi-Fi sign, and a young man sweeping the floor. I poke my head in the open door and ask if I could use the Wi-Fi. “Of course,” the pleasant lad said, but the password he provided did not work.
Still with time to spare I stop in at another café with Wi-Fi – but only available with food orders. I order tea and croissant. I am given a handwritten code. It doesn’t work. I get the waitress’ attention. She gives me another code. It’s doesn’t work either. Now I can’t get the attention of the waitress. I flag down the cashier. She is abrupt and says I was already given a password. I said it doesn’t work. The waitress comes by. I plead, “Etsa muy importante por wi-fi.” She replied in very good English all of a sudden that her job was very important too. They get my euros. But I don’t get a working password.
A few more wrong turns before I find the bus station. But how do I enter? Through the bus garage where they pull in and out. Seems very unsafe to me. But up the stairs I go and stand in line. Wrong line. I’m pointed to another line. “All sold out to Fatima.”
Now what? I had to make a fast decision while I still had someone’s ear.
Is there a bus to Finisterre? “Yes, tickets over there.” Back to standing in line. The bus leaves in what sounds to me like 50 minutes. I take a breather. I repeat, “In 50 minutes.” No. “In 15 minutes. Lane 28.”
I rush back down the stairs into the bus garage. On my ticket is written “Lane 28”. There is no lane 28. I see other pilgrim standing in a huddle and join them. The bus to Finisterre leaves from lane 3.Here comes the bus. Whew!
Uli has a story
My normally, normal blood pressure is probably climbing, and my heart is still pounding as I take the seat near the window in the first row. I relax for five seconds.
Uli, a German pilgrim two decades younger sits next to me and starts to talk. I enjoy the company and conversation. Three hours later arriving in Finisterre she is still talking. I stopped enjoying two hours ago. I know Uli’s life story. Why do women do this? On airplanes I’ve been known to bury my nose in a book. But here I’d hoped to enjoy the scenery. I have a habit of giving my undivided attention when someone is talking. I'm known as a good listener. I’m surprised now toward the end of the Camino she hasn’t exhausted her need to talk. Perhaps, like me, she walked alone most of the way. She’s not the least interested in my story. Penance comes in many forms.
My guide book does not include information about albergues in Finisterre, so I tag along with Uli as payback. She wants to stay at a small obscure albergue. Okay. At least here I can walk away and explore later.
This albergue has Internet. Glory Be. I email Randy letting him know I will not be staying in Fatima and hope he did not book a room. I receive an email back. He had not. Blessed be the Internet.
Uli wants to share a meal. She wants paella. I’ve had enough mediocre paella. I had an expensive mediocre version my last night in Santiago. I want something else. After my launder-clothes-shower routine I strike out on my own. I’m so used to walking at least six hours a day that my legs are twitching for a workout.
The narrow streets are a maze. I will get lost coming back for sure. I make mental notes of landmarks and explore the village/town. Circling back to the main square which is lined with about ten restaurants, and many with outdoor seating, I read the billboards for menu selection. I’ve decided where I’m going to eat my last meal in Spain. The mid-afternoon menu de dia.
Uli comes along and wants to eat at the place advertising paella. I’m still in the gracious pilgrim mode and give in. But I don't order paella. Instead I order fish soup. I’d give it a B-. She wants to order vino blanco. Unfortunately, it’s also mediocre, quickly warming in the afternoon sun. Ice buckets for chilling white wine in Spain are not unheard of, but they are scare. And forget about more than a cube of ice. We split the bill. Uli wants to walk to the lighthouse at ‘lands end’ at sunset, which comes late around here. I’ll be sound asleep by then. We go our separate ways.
On my own...and loving it
I continue walking the square and find my way to the well-marked Camino leading to the lighthouse overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. It feels good to walk again. Until the hill turns steep. I’ve learned that I can’t comfortably walk on a full stomach. I’m uncomfortable. But still I’m smiling. This is the most joyous I’ve felt during the entire journey – except for arriving at the steps of the Cathedral two days ago.
This round-trip part of the Camino is only 7.2 K, on a weedy path paralleling the road leading to the top.
Near the top were a group of pilgrims, along with two plump Polish women (they are in the background to the left.) They stop me to ask if I am a pilgrim, as if they can't tell. "How far did you walk? How long? Etc." The one who spoke English said, "We are too old and could never do it. We are both 60."
I told them, “I’m 66. Just start walking. Just put one foot in front of the other.” I wave good-bye. The story continues tomorrow.
By now it’s after 5 p.m. and I’m boiling hot and feel lightheaded after sharing the bottle of wine with Uli. I left my wide-brimmed hat back at the albergue. I’ve long discarded my sun glasses that could not be fixed. I need shelter from the blazing sun. I take off my white, long-sleeved UV protection shirt and drape it over my head with closure snap under my chin. I look like a dork, but I don’t care. I’m now a full-fledged, certified pilgrim and I’ve earned the right to do crazy things like this.
I told them, “I’m 66. Just start walking. Just put one foot in front of the other.” I wave good-bye. The story continues tomorrow.
By now it’s after 5 p.m. and I’m boiling hot and feel lightheaded after sharing the bottle of wine with Uli. I left my wide-brimmed hat back at the albergue. I’ve long discarded my sun glasses that could not be fixed. I need shelter from the blazing sun. I take off my white, long-sleeved UV protection shirt and drape it over my head with closure snap under my chin. I look like a dork, but I don’t care. I’m now a full-fledged, certified pilgrim and I’ve earned the right to do crazy things like this.
This is the end of the rainbow. It's reported that Christopher Columbus sailed to the new world from this part of the Spanish coast. But it's a misconception to think he considered the earth flat and this the "end of the world" at that time. The Fini-sterre (Lands End) lighthouse on the Atlantic Ocean is shown above.
I'm smiling all the way back down the hill from Faro. At the albergue I repack to be ready for morning. I take a look at my inexpensive yoga pants. They were a size too big before I left. Now they are two sizes too large. The packing tube with my prized compostela took up space so I leave the pants behind for someone else to use - to be burned. It was a good trade off. Buen Camino!