Along the Merry Way....

Susannah (a doctor) and I went to a very ritzy hotel, called the Palace of Kings, which used to be a hospital for pilgrims. Years ago it was allowed to become a hotel on the condition that it gave out 10 free meals to pilgrims 3x every day. So I went with Susannah, two grubby little pilgrims, and had a delicious meal complete with as much wine as we wanted, all for free! Carpe Diem! Note: They ushered us through the ritzy courtyards and glamorous polished salons, past the stares of wealthy patrons, down through back stairways, deeper and deeper into the working quarters of the hotel, until we finally reached a tiny cafeteria/dining room. The size of the meal was just as lavish, however, as the decorations up above.

This morning I woke up to the crying of seagulls. The little albergue was so friendly and relaxed, and the Irish boy made breakfast for the few pilgrims who were there, and we all ate together. I went for a long walk on the beach to collect more shells--the symbol of the pilgrim all the way since St. Jean-Pied-au-Port. This has been the perfect way to end the Camino. Here at the end of all things...but, the road goes ever on and on... Finisterrae is so peaceful: gulls crying, dozens of fishing boats putting about, stacks of lobster traps, old men mending nets, and little boys rowing about in dingy's.

Some people said that they had only a few days without rain, but I only had about three days with rain! It was either ahead of me or behind me. And I galloped the last 40 km's into Santiago in glorious hot sunshine. After 800 km's, reaching Santiago was like arriving at the Promised Land. The next day there was a big mass in the Cathedral where many of the different pilgrims I had met on the way ended up. Gradually, more and more are reaching Santiago and there have been many warm reunions. They took down a giant incenser which it took several men to push. Then they sent it flying (and I'm not exaggerating) nearly to the roof of the cathedral, a cloud of smoke in its wake. The cord was so long that it went up one hallway then went sailing back into the next.

Well, after an eventful journey of many adventures, many friends, and much miracles, I am here in Finisterrae—the end of the world. I hiked out of the town, a port town, up to the great lighthouse that sheds safety along the Coast of Death as it's called. I passed through brilliant flowers and heather—yellow, pink, and blue—and picked a few to bring home. I hiked—scrambled, rather—down the cliffs to get as close as possible to the raging waves that crashed against the cliff with relentless fury. Then, perching myself on a rock, I hurled my dear staff into the sea (sigh, I forgot to give it a kiss goodbye!). (Note: I did NOT burn my clothes, which is a tradition for some pilgrims because I was far too attached to them after all this time. I did sit and watch the sun set over the Atlantic. This place is the furthermost Western spot in all of landed Europe before you hit North America). After hiking down, I picked my way to the beach— 1 km away—where I plunged in and swam in the saltw...

These are some photos of the Coast of Death that I gathered from online. They give a really good picture of the grandness and peacefullness of the place. You can see the lighthouse at the end of the rock.