People rock. Really, they do. Sure, as humans, we screw up a lot (uh…London, what’s going on?), but here at the End of the World in Finisterre, it is a constant reminder that at the heart of it, we are all very simple and we are all enraptured by the same things.
Like the sun. Fire. Nature.
B woke up this morning for a quick jog to welcome the morning sun. There is something incredibly refreshing about the first light; everything is renewed and the energy is strong and positive. Pilgrims crowded the bus stop, ready to head back to Santiago.
Kat and Z were stirring when she noisily entered the room. A quick breakfast of Nutella, we then headed to our favorite cafe for the cortados. It was so windy we took our time to head to the beach where Kat and Z purchased some gorgeous stone jewelry handmade by the artist who spends his summers here. We also had some fresh churros.
We learned from yesterday when we had collected pounds of sand everywhere and sat on the rocks…soaking in life and the sun and heat coming off the clear waters. We went to the restaurant there, walking across the silky sand, and savored the freshest razor clams, clams, hake, and sea bream.
Then it was off for a break before heading to the real End of the World, Cabo Fisterre, where the faro, or lighthouse, stands watch at the westernmost tip of Europe. It was here that the Spaniards thought the world ended, and that every night, the sea swallowed up the sun.
It is also here that the Camino counts down to 0.0.
We found the highest rocks from which to perch and watch the sun set. (B tried to shout and see if her mom could hear her from Boston on the otger side of the ocean…). A man played the violin, faint music floating across the rocks as people from all over the world sat and watched this miracle that happens every day.
The sea swallowed the sun. Everyone clapped.
How cool is it that people clap for Nature? How cool is it that Nature gives us such wonders? The sun sets, putting to rest the past and will rise again tomorrow.
On the way back fron the lighthouse, where a small bronze pilgrim’s boot stands, we saw a bonfire started by fellow pilgrims. It is a tradition for pilgrims to burn their stinky clotges here. The pilgrims cheered as B and Kat threw the bandages that had so faithfully protected our feet for all across Spain into the fire.
Like the sun, the fire engulfed them, destroying what has been to make way for new possibilites.
