Day 25 - Tuesday 24 May Castro, Dumbria to Muxia

Our last day of A to B walking. And 24k, a long one. With a reasonable weather forecast we'd decided that we weren't going to rush this one.

It's a time for mixed feelings. Part of me is glad that the end is in sight. A rest; no getting up at silly o'clock etc. But it signals the end of the adventure, the loss of routine and rhythm; and above all, the excitement of new places. Getting to the sea; the very western end of Eurasian land mass is hugely significant for me. I can't articulate why exactly - partly the simple fact that we cannot go any further West, partly there's something powerful and special (maybe spiritual) about the ocean? There's definitely something else, but I just don't know what.

There were the standard moody clouds and colours to greet us as we set off. Today they just looked less threatening. As always, there was the threat of rain, but far less so than the past few days. My walking tracker had been playing up for several days, so when it showed 4.04km walked after 75 minutes I cursed it loudly. Surely it was wrong? I checked the maps/distances in the book, calculated the amounts shown on the waymarker stones. It was right! A very long day beckoned.

At 7.5, nearly a third of the way to Muxia, coffee beckoned. Up to that point we hadn't seen a single walker. Very strange, as we'd expected to see people heading in both directions.

Beyond Santiago you're back to the dogged few walking. The majority of those turn left just beyond Olveiroa (yesterday) and head to Finnesterre, which, as its name suggests, is truly the most westerly point of the land mass. (About 1k further than Muxia). The really determined then do a 30k stint along the coast up to Muxia, before turning back inland towards Santiago. Others walk to either Finnesterre or Muxia and back to Santiago, or simply just one way. This creates the unusual (in Camino terms) phenomenon of people walking in both directions.

Two Germans pitched up for coffee, and two more walked past; clearly intent on getting their towels on the sunloungers.......oh give me a break will you; it's taken 25 days to have poke at the Germans.

We swapped backpacks; the Mountain Goat's turn with the bigger one for the middle third. The scenery was again just beautiful. The weather not so. The Harry Potteresque poncho's were losing their power. On and off they came.

We went through several sleepy villages, but none had refreshment stops. At Ozón we saw what is allegedly Galician's biggest Horreo....an absolute monster built on 22 pairs of legs.

Nearing Merexo, at last, there it was! Through the trees, and below us, the sea was glimmering. Down we headed, to within 300 metres of it. You absolute beauty! We were virtually skipping with delight and excitement. The sun came out.

Now was the time for strong minds. We still had 7k and a couple of biggish hills to go. At least 95 minutes.


Onwards, and finally,  at Moraime, somewhere was open. A lovely spot next to a Monastery. We had to stop: we hadn't eaten anything at all. The sun was blazing from a largely clear sky. All was good.

Off we set for the final push of the final push. A huge crowd awaited our triumphant strut into Muxia. King Juan Carlos was there with medals and the gift of honorary Spanish Citizenship. Yep, the sun was affecting me! We made our final climb up to San Roque and were welcomed with a big downpour. Muxia was there in the distance shrouded by the rain. The Atlantic Ocean too. Arse, bugger, shit! This was not how it was meant to end.

I took a tactical decision. "Let's shelter under the pines for 10 minutes. It'll blow over quickly". More out of hope than any far sighted knowledge.  Deep down, I was not optimistic. However, the rain stopped, and little by little the hazy low lying clouds began to clear. We took some photos and headed down through the pines along a steep and slippy path. Careful, slowly; do not mess it up now. Ten minutes on, we emerged into bright sunshine and blue skies and straight onto an idyllic beach. The sun blinding us off the pristine white sand. Bizarrely it felt like we were on the white sands of Morar on the west coast of Scotland.......that's where parts of Local Hero were filmed.

A swim was mightily tempting, but there were 2 kilometres left. We floated into Muxia and simply didn't notice the waiting throng and reception committee. Cate wanted beer. Large beer! But as if possessed by aliens, I wasn't gonna play that game. I had to see the church at the end of the headland. The place where the characters in the film "The Way" ended their walk. A place of renowned myths and legends*. The adventure will not be complete until I get there. Just 750 metres beyond Muxia.

Cate trudged! Laden with the big backpack I surged on. A church came into view, but it wasn't as I expected. You couldn't see the ocean waves crashing onto the rocks beyond. Surely this wasn't it?

I surged even more; almost frenzied. A house came into view. Where is the Sanctuario da Virxe da Barca? My mind starts racing. Has it gone? Has it been washed into the sea? Is it the previous church? If so, how do we get above it to get the perspective with the waves behind?

I pass the house, and there it is! Staring emboldened, harshly at the ocean. Firm, determined, almost irrational. Like Mussolini arrogantly sticking out his chin. But with god on her side. The waves below crashing onto the rocks, white horses are charging everywhere. The azure water every shade of blue. Above the scene a huge piece of carved rock; the rudder stone. Man made, this 10m high slab mysteriously split into 2 pieces during a storm in 1978. Magical forces are at work here!

And there below it is the waymarker. 0.0 it says on it. Journey's end!

Beer can wait.

We lay on the rocks, trying to take stock of it all. Just soaking it up. The Ocean. The glorious, wondrous, powerful, frightening Ocean. A force supreme. We're all just specks of dust against its awesome power. There's something in the air. This is our place. Nowhere more fitting to end the journey of a lifetime.

If this were on TV; in front of a board advertising Compeed Plasters, Nurofen, Meindl Boots, Montane Trousers and Osprey Rucksacks, some muppet would be thrusting a microphone into our faces and asking the standard, but most inane, post-event question..."what does this mean to you Ian?"(for that is my real name). Well I'd answer it how it should be answered..."it' means it's time for a massive beer you fuckwit"...."come back and ask me in 24/48/72 hours when I've had a chance to process what, if anything, it means".

Beers are had, food is consumed. We've showered. We're bloody knackered. But a sunset at the end of the world  beckons. It doesn't disappoint........

*legend has it that the Virgin Mary came ashore in a stone boat. Her mission to help St. James (San Tiago) convert the heathens of Finnesterre. Legend also has it that the boat in which she travelled became petrified at the headland. The most obvious remnant being the stone sail,  Pedra dos Cadris, which allegedly has now has healing properties.

PS. Firstly thanks for the lovely comments about my inane ramblings. Some have asked if today's is the last. In short, no. We've got another 5 more full days away. So I'll aim to do a few more; but perhaps not everyday

I do want to reflect on the trip overall. So there will be a reflective piece in a couple of weeks too. I'm writing this sat in bed; so quite literally "I'm just a bunch of words in pants". As to whether "most of them are fiction"; judge for yourselves.