Finisterre means end of the world. In medieval days it was the end of the known world for most.
It's a three day walk from Santiago to Finisterre with 35 km on the first day. I always wanted to walk it, but the longer the Camino continued, the clearer it became to me that I couldn't walk it. At least not after we arrived in Santiago. And, by that time, the desire to walk there was gone. I couldn't even look at the maps of where we'd been. I had a hard time seeing the yellow arrow or scallop shell marker that showed us the way. My mind didn't want to think it had to walk. Yet, if I'd had the desire to break my feet some more, I am sure my body would have endured. Strange thing that.
The bus was great. And we easily found a room despite all the talk that there were few rooms.
Carey and I split up with the understanding to meet in the old church for 8 pm mass. I walked to the lighthouse and got into a 12c Romanesque church on my way back downhill. On the way downhill, I also got hit in the arm by the side mirror of a camper van that couldn't be bothered to slow down or move over. Thank Santiago that the van wan't traveling very fast. It never stopped.
I had dinner including a marisco soup with too much pulpo for my taste. I had ordered the menu del dia, three courses with wine or water and bread. I didn't expect an entire bottle for just me!
The walk back uphill to mass was worth it. It lasted no more than 20 minutes. The small church was filled capacity. Mass ended with the priest leading the congregation in a lovely him. These folks really sang, and even broke into harmony. What a gift to hear that!