Today, we started The Camino Finisterre, the path less taken than the renowned Camino de Santiago. Unlike its sibling routes that converge upon the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela, the Camino Finisterre extends its journey westward towards the edge of the ancient world, Finisterre, where legends tell of pilgrims casting their worn shoes into the sea, or setting them ablaze. More recently shoes are left at a mound of shoes. Although, even that tradition may be frowned upon. This continuation offers more connection to the landscape and the past of Galicia, and a return to the coast.
Our journey began in the predawn stillness, waking at the ungodly hour of 4 AM. The oppressive heat from the previous day had made sleep elusive, and the anticipation of a grueling 20-mile hike under the scorching sun added to our restless night. By 4:50 AM, we were already on the move, driven by a mix of trepidation and excitement.
As the 5 AM bells tolled, we found ourselves in the vast, silent expanse of the plaza in front of the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral. Bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon and the flicker of street lamps, the square was a hauntingly beautiful sight, devoid of the throngs of pilgrims and tourists that usually fill its space. The cathedral stood solemn and majestic, its spires reaching towards the heavens. For a brief, magical and eerie moment, it felt as if we had the entire world to ourselves.
The first few kilometers of our hike were illuminated by the soft, orange glow of sulfur lamps. Their eerie light created an almost dreamlike ambiance, guiding us through the quiet streets and onto forested paths where the light from our headlamps cut through the inky darkness. The trees loomed large and shadowy around us, and the warm morning air was filled with the sounds of our footsteps and the occasional rustle of nocturnal creatures.
A chill ran down our spines when we encountered a solitary figure in the forest. The person, carrying only a bucket and no flashlight, did not acknowledge our presence as we passed. The silence and the sight of this ghostly figure added an unsettling, almost supernatural, edge to our hike.he turned his head away from our lamps so we only saw the back of his head as he quietly walked past us, bucket in hand.
Feeling unsettled, we made quick pace on the next road and missed a marker. This caused us to add a ten minute detour to our day. Fortunately we caught our mistake before too long.
Our spirits lifted when we reached an albergue for a much-needed coffee break before our first major climb of the day. The warmth of the coffee was invigorating, and provided a welcome respite from the eerie solitude of our early start. Rejuvenated, we tackled the climb with surprising ease, the warnings of its difficulty seeming almost exaggerated. Perhaps it was the coffee, or perhaps we were simply too tired to notice.
Descending into the picturesque village of Ponte Maceira was like stepping into a postcard. This tiny village, cradled by a cascading stream, is home to a legendary stone bridge that dates back to the Roman era. The bridge is shrouded in myth, said to have been the site where Saint James performed miracles to aid his followers in escaping their enemies. Standing on this ancient bridge, we could hear the whispers of the babbling waters below, passing over cascading rocks and under stone buildings built on the stream.
As the day wore on, the heat became our relentless adversary. By the time we reached Negreira, we were in dire need of an electrolyte drink to replenish our drained reserves. This small town, with its medieval architecture provided a brief but much-needed sanctuary from the sun's unyielding glare. A few kilometers later, we found another haven in a tiny roadside shop, its shaded interior offering cool relief and a moment to catch our breath.
The final stretch of our hike was a true test of endurance. The last five kilometers felt like an eternity, with the heat pressing down upon us like a weight. Thankfully, the path was shaded by towering eucalyptus trees, their fragrant leaves providing a modicum of comfort. The promise of reaching our destination kept us moving.
The last 15 meters were perhaps the hardest, a steep climb up stairs to a pilgrims-only albergue. With our muscles aching and our spirits flagging, we pushed ourselves up the final steps. The sight that greeted us at the top was a reward in itself: cold, refreshing beverages and the promise of a communal dinner.
As the sun readied itself to set, we settled down with our fellow pilgrims, sharing a meal and the tales of our journey.
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