My Way: biking the Fisterra Camino

Cycling the Camino is not the cushy ride most walking pilgrims assume. Wandering away from the walking track and it's wonderful system of posts and yellow spraypainted arrows can be difficult: even with the help of a GPS.
Well, why not just follow the Camino? Easy. Firstly because it is often tough off-road cycling demanding exemplary skill and a well set-up VTT bike. Don't even think about it in the Galician wet.
Secondly, a basic incompatibility between the cyclists and walkers. Cyclists forget the fundumental courtesy of ringing a bell(if they have one) while trying to prevent themselves from crashing. Thus walkers, generally lost in thought about the nature of God, think them rude as the leap sideways off the track.
And, while it is possible to follow the walkers way, over the years, more of it is being converted back to what it should be: a tree sheltered nature trail well away from the roar of the modern world.
The other extreme is to follow the main roads and do battle with the trucks and speeding cars. This makes navigation a cinche but also guarantees that you see nothing petrol stations and the rubbish that the Spanish think it is alright to chuck out of their car windows.
The third way is to take the mini-minor roads, almost always tarred and pothole-free that service the many farms and former villages turned residential commuter clusters. Wayfaring along them is nice in theory but difficult in fact because they seem to be made up of interections with other link roads and cul-de-sacs. Google Maps was completely confused giving bad advice with monotonous regularity. Worse the Spanish don't waste much money on signposting.

Screen shot of our wandering. We almost never make this kind of error.

Sights like this are difficult to find if you aren't on the walking trail

And above is the result: a five km figure of eight before we decided to join the parade of traffic on the mainland. And, out of time, coughed up the cash for a taxi to get us to our reservation for the night.
Someday someone will blaze the midrange route neither dirt or tour de whatever, bu for now, I have to stamp the Santiago-Finisterre Camino as unsuitable for real touring.

My Way: back from the edge

Fading light over the fishing port. The town does not see the glory of the Sunset in the West. Sensibly it nestles on Eastern side of the Cape away from the worst of the Atlantic weather.

¿Dónde están mis sardinas?

Not quite dead yet and so on, into the thriving touristy fishing port of Fisterra for a big seafood meal of octopus. I can afford it: lost six kilos in the last month and the albergue is charging me only €6 for my bunk and a shower.  Burp.
Then, in the fading light, a quiet life-affirming photo walk through the fishing boat haul-out yard.

My Way: even unto the end of the world

Thanks boots but it is time to die

The end of the Roman World

I walked to the end of the world today...well the Roman one anyway. Must have been a great place to retire from the army at the height of the Roman Empire's power. A long white beach, lush green forests plunging down iron cliffs to a dark blue Atlantic. And only a stones throw from the deep, watery abyss to where all souls went after death, off the Galician Costa da Morte.
I did the traditional thing at Cabo Fisterra, walking out below the lighthouse and leaving my boots. These were the boots that had seen me a thousand kms of prep and actual walking of the Camino from France; good boots that never gave me a blister but now breaking up and beyond repair.
I peeled them off at the blackened officially recognised fire pit below the stone cross. I placed them with a bunch of other people's offerings of clothing. No one spoke in the warm windless afternoon. Other pilgrims sat around on the bare rocky slope staring out into the misty azure where there was supposed to be the horizon. An Italian tourist understood exactly what I was doing and added some of her tissues to the insides of my boots so they would burn better when the time came.
I put on my shower sandals and slowly walked the hour back down the hill to the town.