Camino de Santiago: the last leg to Finisterre
- Karyn Farrell
- 2 days ago
- 11 min read
How Blur saved my life on the Camino and other stories... Musings and ramblings from Santiago de Compostela to Finisterre - 129 kms in four days. It'll be easy, they said....
It’s been 10 years this month since I set off with two of my closest friends to walk the final leg of the Camino de Santiago in Galicia, Spain to Finisterre. There’s a common perception that the cathedral in the city of Santiago de Compostela is the culmination of the pilgrimage but there is a final journey that pilgrims have been making since ancient times: the Santiago – Finisterre route. Finisterre means ‘the end of the world’ and is a fitting description for that moment when your weary legs collapse on that beautiful beach and you watch the sun descend into the ocean.
While my two travelling companions are seasoned pilgrims, having completed all or most of the full Camino Francés (780 kms no less), I was a Camino virgin. They’d always had a hankering to complete the final leg to the aptly named Costa da Morte, or Death Coast, and invited me to join them. I didn’t take much convincing. What better opportunity to unplug and disconnect from the world, and to spend proper quality time with friends.
There are two main routes from Santiago to Finisterre. We opted for the longer, taking a diversion via the gorgeous coastal town of Muxia. 129 kms in four days. It’ll be easy, they said…
Our journey starts and ends in the beautiful city of Santiago de Compostela. On the presumption that we’ll be slumming it for the next few nights, we check ourselves into a nice hotel. Knowing we have a full day’s walking ahead of us the next day, we plann an early night, but you know what they say about the best laid plans… We arrive during Semana Santa (Holy week) and are lucky enough to see one of the bizarrely beautiful Easter processions through the city.
Santiago was memorable in so many ways, top of which was a tapas feast in the wonderful María Castaña restaurant. We still talk about it and, to this day, no cheese board has even come close with a literal mound of excellent Spanish cheese. So good, we ordered two… I think we were stockpiling for the days ahead. Quite smart when you think about it.
It’s an traditional tavern-like restaurant and like so many places in Spain, the rough and ready exterior belies the fantastic culinary experience that lies within. Nothing fancy - just a selection of delicious rustic dishes, huge juicy prawns and an excellent bottle (or two..) of Rioja Crianza. And with that, we’ve entered into dangerous territory. The 6am start is starting to look less likely.
And as we stroll back to our hotel that night (or early morning), we’re distracted by the sound of music, or more specifically, the mournful strains of Tchaikovsky coming from a lone violinist on one of Santiago’s (by now) deserted squares. It stops us dead in our tracks and we stay to listen to him play for another 20 minutes or so. A beautiful end to our first evening.
Not such a beautiful start the next morning, getting up after five hours of sleep to complete a 26 kms walk. I should preface this by saying I am DEFINITELY not a morning person. And the 6am start was a tad ambitious. It was closer to 8:30 that first day. But after a massive hotel breakfast (stockpiling for the day ahead), we bound off enthusiastically to Negreira, our stopping-off point on night one. My enthusiasm might have waned somewhat after a few hours with the weight of a 10kg backpack on my back, but the scenery en-route lifts my spirits. Galicia is a gorgeous part of Spain: green and lush. Almost like Ireland, but with nice weather.
Here is our last view of the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela as we head for the hills:
Day 1: Santiago de Compostela to Negreira: 26 kms
Day one’s terrain was mixed, starting with a trail through forests of eucalyptus trees; an invigorating way to start the day. This was followed by quite a steep uphill climb for approximately 4 kms on rocky ground. Doesn’t sound like much but when you’ve been walking for a couple of hours, starting to get hungry, the temperature has climbed up to the 20s and it feels like you’re carrying a bag of rocks on your back, it soon starts to feel like you’re conquering Everest.
The next part was a bit easier, following small country roads and passing through gorgeous little flower-filled villages with pretty cottages. However, without the shade of overhead trees, we were now completely exposed to the sun. It was early April and we’d been (mis)informed that the weather would be similar to Ireland and to wear warm clothes. By mid-afternoon we were basking in 25 degree sun.
4 kms from the end we stop for an ice-cream break. Rookie mistake. When you’re that close, just keep going. I start to think that I’ll never be able to stand up again. The last 4kms (uphill of course) feels like 44 kms. Some swearing and whining follows (just me. My friends are saints) until we finally stumble upon a hostel on the outskirts of town.
I’m happy to say there’s no slumming involved on our first night with a room all to ourselves and two bathrooms across the hall. Nothing feels as good as that first shower. Well maybe taking off my hiking boots. And that first beer in Negreira later that evening. We eat a lot of food, sleep like the dead, and are up again at the crack of dawn. We get up at 5:30, cover our feet in plasters and are walking by 6am. In the pitch dark.
Day 2: Negreira to Olveiroa, 33 kms
So yes, my friends. It’s 6am and we’re on the road again, strolling out of Negreira in the moonlight. I’ve not had a coffee and am barely awake (remember that bit about not being a morning person…) while my traveling companions are chatting animatedly. And singing. Yes singing. At 6am. We have a tough full day’s walking ahead – 7 kms more than the day before, starting with a 10 kms ascent. I’m starting to regret my life choices.
And then I’m informed by my guidebook-wielding friend that we would soon be entering a forest. And that we would walk through said forest for 6 kms. In the pitch dark. With one head torch. Now I love trees. I really do. I just don’t love woodland in the dark. Every sound is amplified. Every shadow is magnified by the head torch beam. Your mind plays tricks on you. I’m having all sorts of ‘Blair Witch’ thoughts, not helped in the least by the stories being relayed by my friends. Karen decides now is a good time to recount a story from her previous Camino travels. It involves a forest in the dark, a strange man and a knife. But it all was perfectly innocent. Apparently. By 6:25 am, my nerves are already shattered.
But as the sun gradually starts to come up behind the trees, the landscape is transformed and all is right with the world again. We emerge from the forest back onto the road, and into this gorgeous landscape.
It’s still early in the morning and we’ve covered over 10 kms by 8am, the temperature still pleasantly cool. I love how silent the world is at this time of day. The only sounds are birdsong and the gentle whirr of windmills in the distance. After another 7 kms we finally stop for an early lunch. I murder a Bocadillo con Tortilla in 10 seconds flat, drink three coffees, 2 litres of water and am raring to go. At this point we’ve covered almost half of our daily distance and it’s still only midday upon leaving the cafe. Feeling verrrry smug.
It doesn’t last. We almost run the next few kilometres, our bodies fueled and happy. Then the sun comes out in full force. We are completely exposed on the open road and there’s little shelter to be found. My boots are really starting to hurt and I have blisters everywhere. So with 10 kms to go we throw our bags under a tree in a field, take off our boots and flake out on the grass for half an hour. It’s bliss. The sun is shining, the landscape magnificent, and we are loving life. Then the time comes to get up and walk again. The smugness evaporates.
The last 10 kms are really tough going and my legs and back ache throughout. But we continue and finally reach Olveiroa after 4pm. I can’t describe how hungry we are at this point. Karen and I eat two dinners each in the space of an hour. We may have had a glass or two of Rioja. There is a little bit of slumming here - a bed in a dorm as we’d arrived late and hadn’t booked ahead. One shower between eight people (not simultaneously. Obvs.) I’m not a fan of communal sleeping – I've done my time Interrailing around Europe and decided that I definitely like my comfort. But I’m so exhausted that sleep isn’t a problem. However, I book ahead for a private room in a hostel at our next stop in Muxía.
Day 3: Olveiroa to Muxía, 856 kms….. Oh okay 39 kms
Day 3 holds one of my best memories of the trip. And yes you’ve guessed it - it involves food, but more on that later. It was also, without question, the hardest day. I blame John Brierley and his Camino guidebook. Up until this point, his observations were spot on and his landmarks kept us on the right track. Today however…
According to his book, this section is approx. 32 kms. Slightly shorter than the day before so psychologically, we were raring to go at 6am (well, the other two were…) and looking forward to arriving by the sea in Muxía.
But as it turns out, this particular route is actually 39 kms. After stopping for a coke at 3pm, under the false impression that we had only 4kms more to go, we check Google Maps. And find out that there are, in fact, 11 kms left to get to Muxía. I couldn’t put in print the words I bestowed on poor Mr Brierley’s head at that moment.
We later figured out that he’d taken a slightly different route to ours after Olveiroa, heading to Finisterre first and ending in Muxía. This reverse route involves a different course for a time but we hadn’t picked up on that. Rage ensues.
And now for the good stuff. I’d highly recommend this wildly beautiful coastal route, but maybe split this section of the route over two days. The landscape is really picturesque, particularly when you finally get your first glimpse of the sea.
The highlight of day three however, was a very special meal in the most unexpected of places. This day’s walking fell on Easter Saturday, and as a result, many cafés and restaurants were closed. We end up walking for 13 kms with just some nuts, fruit and bottles of water to keep us going. We reach Dumbría at about 10am – ravenous, in need of coffee and hopeful that a feast awaited us here. We wander through the town and don’t see a soul. It looks completely deserted and everywhere is closed.
I start to panic that I’m going to die of starvation on the streets of a small village in Galicia. The next town is quite a distance away and we are out of supplies. As we’re exiting the town I spot an older man sweeping up outside a bar. He goes inside and we follow him, gingerly pushing open the door. He smiles at us. In my very basic Spanish I ask if his bar is open and if we could have a coffee. He warmly invites us to come inside and sit. I ask him if we could get something to eat. He says yes and asks what we’d like. I ask if we could possibly have a Spanish omelette with bread. Again he says yes. He brings delicious cafés con leche and some water and then disappears off into what we can only assume was his home, attached to the bar. He proceeds to make a tortilla española for us from scratch in his own kitchen, emerging after twenty minutes with the most amazing tortilla I’ve ever seen. Oozing with olive oil, perfectly cooked with melt-in-your-mouth potatoes and onions, accompanied by a big basket of crusty bread. To this day, it’s the best I’ve ever eaten. A perfect meal, and not just because we were starving. We were overcome with gratitude for the hospitality of this kind soul.
That day was particularly hot so the last 11 kms were tough going.. The small towns and villages we walked through that day were particularly quaint and rural. We were greeted warmly everywhere we went and were even invited to a ‘grande fiesta’ that evening by an elderly man as we strolled through a tiny village. The landscape was lush and gorgeous, the sky was blue, the small towns were very picturesque and we were almost at the sea – life was pretty good in the overall scheme of things.
And it just got better when we finally arrived in Muxía. And what an entrance to a town. There is a (very long) boardwalk along the magnificent seafront which brings you right to the centre. We were exhausted but happy to finally be there. We had booked a room in Albergue Bela Muxia one of the best hostels I’ve ever stayed - modern and spotlessly clean. The older man at reception gave us the warmest welcome and gave us some recommendations on where to eat.
It’s amazing how quickly you recover from a 40kms hike. I throw off my hiking boots and have a long steaming shower. We buy beer and ice-cream and sit in the sun. Dinner is at O Porto close to the seafront. Unsurprisingly the seafood is outstanding. We order a vat of prawns which poor Aoife spends 25 minutes de-shelling for her more squeamish companions. She’s a saint. She also won’t let us order prawns any more unless we’re willing to get stuck in. That night we sleep like the dead.
Day 4: the final trek to Finisterre – 31 kms
Our last day’s hiking starts with a moonlit walk along the coast at 6am. It’s strikingly beautiful and so peaceful. Eventually we turn off the coast road and head for the hills through some very pretty hamlets. We try to follow John Brierley’s reverse directions on this section and get hopelessly lost for a bit. But we eventually find our track and begin the last leg of our journey. The sun is coming up as we make our way through a wooded area – the hill feels like a mountain but the view makes it a little easier.
And then follows the Starvation Diaries part II. Our final day’s walking falls on Easter Sunday. We hadn’t taken into consideration that many restaurants and cafés would be closed on this day. We knew we had a long walk before we reached the first major town and our first stop-off for breakfast. We just didn’t realise quite how long that walk would be. 17 kms to be exact. After 11 kms we descend ravenous and tired on a small village which was mentioned in our guidebook as having a café. It’s closed.
A small meltdown follows, which may have involved the dramatic throwing of a backpack on the ground. A ten minute (silent) roadside rest follows. We set off again and I seek solace in Blur’s Modern Life is Rubbish. It gets me to the top of an endless hill without crying. Headphones off, I join my friends again. Sanity (and perspective) is restored.
At 17 kms a beacon of light lies ahead – a restaurant - open and packed with people, mostly walkers, coming from both Muxía and Finisterre. We are overjoyed and demolish everything on the menu in under an hour - tortillas, baskets of bread, chips, cake, multiple coffees, chocolate. We are reinvigorated once more and hit the road for the final leg of our journey to the ‘end of the world’. And what a gorgeous route this is. We reach the coast again and were greeted by this magnificent sight. Almost there.
We get to the outskirts of Finisterre by 4pm and check into our lovely hotel which is located right on the sea – Hotel Playa Langosteira. We have a huge triple room with bathroom and a terrace with sea views for a ridiculously reasonable price. It’s not fancy but really bright and clean, and the rooms are great. We shower, rest our legs for an hour, and then head for the beach at Finisterre to watch the sun go down.
And this is why it’s all worth it - I sat there on the soft white sand on an almost deserted beach with two of my favourite people in the world. We stuff our faces with crisps and toast each other with wine from a plastic glass. And at that moment, everything is perfect.
PS: please excuse the poor quality of the photos on this post. My camera needed to be replaced at this point, so I unfortunately had to rely on my phone for photography...
Comments