Sunset at the end of the world
The other day I walked to the end of the world, and I watched the sun set in the Atlantic from the most Western point in Spain. According to the Romans, this was the end of the world; each time the sun fell beyond the horizon there was doubt as to whether it would rise again. According to older traditions, a boat that sets out from this point will arrive eventually in paradise. Not to be too symbolic about the whole thing, but we now know that if I were to set out in a boat and sail west from Finnisterre, I would arrive, eventually, in Boston.
I walked about 790km, or 36 days, to make it to the end of the world. I walked through Basque country, where I could see my breath in the morning and where the fields of wheat rolled towards red clay towns nestled in the valleys. I walked across the meseta, which is utterly flat farmland that shimmers in the sun. I passed through Rioja, famous for its wine, and through Burgos and Leon, with the most beautiful gothic cathedral I have ever seen. Near the end I crossed a windy mountain pass and entered Galicia, where they speak Galician, a derivative of Portuguese. In Galicia the houses are made of slate and the hills are covered with oak forests that drip with moss: tradition says Galicia, which was once Celtic, is the home of witches.
One super-hot 40 degree day I walked 40km and ended up sleeping in a cow field on a hill surrounded by eucalyptus trees; the next day I got up early and walked to Santiago de Compostela. According to Catholic tradition, the Camino de Santiago ends there, and it was an ending of sorts as I reunited with friends I had made along the way. But the camino predates the Catholic church and so I kept on walking until I reached the ocean, which to me felt like a more fitting ending to a long road.
On the camino you follow yellow arrows, or scallop shells, which show you which way to go. It was a running joke among my companions that we would be totally lost without these symbols to guide us. And it’s true that for the three days I spent in Finnisterre, I didn’t know what to do without anywhere to go. I slept on the beach, I went swimming, I collected shells, watched the sun set, hoped (liked the Romans) that it would rise again. To my surprise, every day, with or without yellow arrows, it did.
Basque Country, Northeast Spain
The meseta, outside Leon
Approaching Galicia, northwest Spain
Weather: cool and sunny, London!
Mood: Hannah, 7 out of 10, a bit groggy after a long weekend.
Ditch the Umbrella 