Along the Merry Way....

Carita and Justa live an hour from Helsinki. The drive is a fairy tale of rolling farmland, rippling green fields, thick forest, and beds of wild lupins—yellow fields like a golden sea surround some of the farm houses. The barns and homes are painted bright red. I have daily been taking the children exploring. We visit the neighbors' horses—sleek, glistening beauties that are obviously worth a fortune—go strawberry picking, and wade through the tall sea of field grass. Everything is so green and luscious! The marina is in the centre of Inga, the closest village. I biked there tonight and am presently enjoying the clink, clink of rigging against ship masts...Sunlight fades at around midnight only to quickly reemerge again at 2 a.m. just a couple of hours later. In winter the Finns are like zombies because there are only a couple of hours of light. Helsinki is a fascinating city, a port city where they build the great ocean liners. Nokia has its headquarters there too. Cobbled street...

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.

I stopped in Sarria and had salad with Ester. Then went to mass and afterwards chatted with the English family that are traveling with their two children and two mules for baggage (very dear :). Next day I walked to Portomarin, a gorgeous town overlooking a great bay where the original city lies buried beneath the water. Who should show up, but my Spanish friends—Laura and Juan and Juan! They showed up about 2, then they left around 4. After around 1/2 an hour, I don't know what possessed me but I walked after them—another 12 km's! Madness. In the rain too....Well, we didn't reach the albergue until nearly 7 p.m. However, Juan #1 (the one who looked like Jesus) made delicious tea, and I sang for them. This morning we had fun walking, singing, and chatting. We passed a Eucalyptus grove where I picked leaves and saved them to bring home and make tea in Canada. It is wonderful to be young, happy, and independent. "Be not afraid." — John Paul II. Juan #1 is incredibly...