15.9km

Ingrid and I have a great rest, after the previous night sleeping on the ground outdoors. Pilar assures us not to hurry to get ready, saying, “despacio…tranquilo”.

We leave at about 10am, and head first to the town beach for a look. It’s a simple beach in the bay, with no waves, so we don’t stay long. We go to one of the open bars for breakfast and get coffee, which comes with a generous serving of churros. I also get a pan con tomate (bread with tomato) and fresh orange juice.

Close to noon, we walk back towards the beach to join the Camino route, and I hear someone call my name. Roman is relaxing against a wall! They just arrived by bicycle from Santiago ten minutes ago. We catch up, exchanging contacts this time. They will be in Fisterra by today as well. It feels like I’ve had both a leisurely and lucky morning.

We go down the road that circles the bay. The sun is bright in our eyes, both directly and and reflected off the water. The neighbouring town, Corcubión, is a short walk away along the bay. We pass a bench built into the wall made with beautifully patterned tiles, like the ones you see in Portugal. There’s a secondhand bookstore where Ingrid browses for a bit.

Leaving the town, we walk up stone steps between verdant green walls taller than us—a narrow open corridor. When we reach an opening further uphill, looking back, we see Corcubión and Cee.

After a few houses and road, we pass through a quiet, gentle forest, before going through A Amarela, having a nice chat as we go. We join a road that follows the coastline, accompanied by a steady sea breeze. The road enters Estorde. Yellow flowers bloom by the roadside.

There’s a beach at the town, Praia de Estorde, and we go to see if it’s a nice place to relax. I take my shoes off and feel the cool sea between my toes. Ingrid looks for beautiful shells. The water glistens on the surface, and in it, suspended sand sparkles in the sun. My feet feel healing with gentle repeating waves washing over.

I share my remaining chocolate and we lie down on the beach. Covering my eyes from the sun with my cap, I listen to the sound of the waves, and sense the soft sand on my back. In some ways, it feels like home.

We relax for some time before we get ready to go. I continue the Camino in my slippers. We ascend past some houses to a view of the bay. People start to wish us buenas tardes instead, meaning it’s late afternoon. We go back into familiar Galician forest, with dappled light on forest floor. Occasional birdsong can be heard.

After some walking, we emerge from the forest, the ocean in front of us. An old man is walking slowly ahead and takes a seat on some naturally flat rock, like a bench. We say hello, and stop and chat with him. The gravel path ahead seems to go downhill with loose stones, so it’s a good chance to put my shoes back on.

I think we see Fisterra in the distance along a headland in the ocean. There’s the entrance to another beach, accessible by going down. We explore it and sit down for a short while. A couple arrives later, bringing a dog that runs up and down the water’s edge.

We come back to the path next to the highway. The route then splits off from the highway to a minor road. We come to the top of a slope, with a view of a stretch of beach that curves away ahead of us. Descending to the bottom, we reach a boardwalk at the beach. Some young people are painting at benches next to the boardwalk. The boardwalk leads to a gentle paved pathway through trees.

We walk, and the buildings of Fisterra get bigger in front of us. I start to feel a sense of ending, a pensiveness I didn’t feel reaching Santiago.

The seaside town is modern yet peaceful—short buildings, winding narrow streets, with some cars passing though. It’s busier than most Camino towns, but less bustling than Santiago. We’re not going to check in first, but are heading three kilometres more to Cabo Fisterra (or Cabo Finisterre), the cape at the “end of the world”. Fisterra (Galician) or Finisterre (Castillian Spanish) comes from the Latin finis terrae, meaning “Land’s End”. It is said that reaching it at the end of your Camino and watching the sun set there signifies the death of your old self.

Ingrid however, is feeling hungry, which is interesting, because for once, I am not. We find a welcoming place called Panadería German, that’s not quite German though the offerings look great. We share a carrot cake, a blueberry cheesecake, pastéis de nata (Portuguese egg custard tarts), and have a cup of hot chocolate each.

We get going at 6pm, with about an hour to sunset. Leaving the town, we follow a way uphill next to a winding car road between pine forest. We are separated from the road only by a car divider, and quite a few cars pass us in both directions. It’s dark where I am, the ridge on my right blocking the setting sun, but the land across the bay on my left to the east is sunlit. Above the view of the coast, the moon hangs big in the sky. I walk ahead at a fast clip, a bit anxious to make it before the sun dips below the horizon.

I reach the top of the incline, the carpark here is full of cars. The shell on my backpack tinkles behind me, as if it’s home. The ocean horizon is visible ahead. The sun casts a bright orange glow on the cape.

A car pulls up behind me with thumping music, and from the corner of my eye, the passengers inside are gesticulating wildly for some reason. Mild annoyance turns to excitement when the people exit and I realise they are María and Jae, and we hug excitedly. We don’t have time to dally though. Ingrid catches up and the two of us walk briskly towards the lighthouse ahead.

I clamber along the side of the cliffs next to the lighthouse behind Ingrid. There are small groups of people here, sitting and watching the westward sky. She finds a space for us. I sit down beside her and settle myself.

The sun is halfway down the horizon. I focus my gaze on it, watching it fall. It goes below a line of faraway clouds, beneath the ocean horizon. In my mind, I say a small prayer.

My eyes drift down the horizon to the water below me. The surface of the ocean ripples away.