Muxia Spain) | My Last Day on the Camino - Day 128

The coastline near the village of Muxia is stunning, even on an overcast, rainy day. This was the perfect day to end my Camino.

Day 43 takes me from Finisterra (left)  to Muxia (right). The 28 km (17 mi) was extended to 32 km (20 mi) when I walked the additional 4 km (3 mi) roundtrip to the cairn designating the 0 KM (0 mi) and ending the Camino. The stage is a gradual uphill with a brief steep descent of 3 km (1.8 mi) before reaching the village of Muxia. The arrow in the top right of both figures below points in the opposite direction that I walked. Gronze.com only shows one recommendation for this stage, even though it can be walked in either direction.

I walk out the door of the Albergue and step into the rain. The rain is light, but it only takes about 10 minutes before it becomes more intense. I find an awning near a restaurant and put on my rain paints. Once south of Finisterra, I take a moment to look back on the town before proceeding out of sight into the rain.

I soon reach my first cairn pointing in the direction of Muxia. 

Around 30 minutes later, I pass my first of several locations with multiple cairns. The cairns on the Finisterra-Muxia Camino have no distance displayed. They only show either "A Muxia" or "A Finisterra." The "A Finisterra" cairn is on the left, while the "A Muxia" is next to the tree.

The rain is heavy and constant this morning. Everyone I talked with yesterday chose not to walk today because of the weather. I suspect others will also decide to end the day in Finisterra when they wake. The forecast predicts rain for the next 10 days. Each day has an expected 90% and 100% chance of precipitation. My Camino would feel incomplete if I didn't walk today. Plus, I've been blessed with an unusual amount of sunshine. If this rain holds up, it will be only the second time in 43 days that I walked all day in the rain. 

I skipped breakfast again today and am counting on the Camino providing for me. My throat is itchy and scratchy this morning. Usually, this means I am getting a cold. I hope that isn't the case, but I've been down this road too many times to pass it off as something else. 

At a quarter to 10 am, I spot a refuge. Under a shelter, someone has placed refreshments for us Peregrinos. I leave a few euros and enjoy an orange and banana in the dry space. I also eat some peanuts and chocolate from my bag. I need calories this morning to stay warm.

I can feel my body starting to cool down, so I leave the comfort of the dry shelter and step back into the rain. Most of the Peregrinos I have seen this morning are those heading to Finisterra. I am only 7 km (4 mi) from Finisterra, so I am guessing these Peregrinos spent the night somewhere along the trail. I usually look for the nearest town on my app, but this morning I am trying to keep my phone out of the rain.

I passed numerous granaries on my journey. Most were empty, used as storage sheds, or simply closed. This is one of the few I've encountered that is still being used to dry corn.

This morning, I reflect on friends and loved ones back home with whom I've only had limited contact since starting the Camino. I did not expect the days to be as long and the WiFi services to be unreliable. To call or text, I need to switch my SIM card back to my number from the United States. This makes me utterly dependent on WiFi. Without it, there is no way for me to reach out. I had many days where I had to use my Vodaphone cellular data plan instead of WiFi to access the internet and post to my blog. My blog was frequently the only means I had to let them know I was doing well. It was one of the reasons why I was so committed to posting regularly and never missed more than a day. Still, I reflect on how difficult it might have been for them to not hear from me.

I catch my first glimpse of the ocean just passed 8 km (5 mi). As I stand in the rain taking this photo, a Spanish couple asks me how many more kilometers to Finisterra. With some back and forth and my limited Spanish, I tell them they will be dry in a couple of hours. Me, I still have about 4+ hours to go in the rain.

I am always amazed when I hike in places where it frequently rains at how well the soils drain. They do a fantastic job absorbing all the water, unlike in dryer places like Colorado and Wyoming. Sure there are the occasional puddles, like in the photo, but for the most part, I am hiking only on damp ground, not mud or standing water. As I make my way down the trail, I can avoid the deeper puddles by sticking to the edges or center of the path. To stay warm today, my plan is to keep moving. It is a bit colder than other days when it rained on the Camino. So I opt to not take only essential breaks along the way.

I reach the village of Lires around 1115 am, the halfway point. As I arrive in town, folks are gathered outside the church for Saturday mass. Unfortunately, the church is too small to accommodate everyone,  so many stand in the rain with umbrellas. I can hear the service over the loudspeaker as I walk by. I notice, however, that some folks are more interested in socializing than the service. 

This scene reminds me that there is a sense of belonging and community that we appear to have lost in our modern-fast paced science-driven world. 

After passing by the church, I stop at a little cafe and eat breakfast. Then, finally, I shed my jacket and enjoy a hot Cola-Coa on the dry patio. It is nice to get out of the rain and refuel. This short break should give me enough energy to get to Muxia, which is still 14 km (9 mi) away. Unfortunately, the rain hasn't let up, and it doesn't take long before I am all wet again after leaving the restaurant.

The rain intensifies for brief periods, but the wind lays low, so I can manage just fine. I unzip my pit zips during the lulls to let some heat escape. Usually, these bouts are short-lived as the rain intensity picks up again. The countryside is lovely in this part of Galicia, and the clouds hang low in the valley.

Shortly passed 2 pm, about 3 km (1.8 mi) from Muxia, the rain lets up. By the time I reach this beach, I have shed my rain paints for the first time today.

I am glad I made the journey to Muxia. I love the coastline this morning. Unfortunately, the fog is thick enough that my camera cannot pick up the buildings and structures several miles away on the opposite shore. However, this makes for some great photos, as it simplifies the image considerably for the eye.

While packing away my rain pants, I remember that I had bought a lollipop to savor the final kilometers of my journey into Muxia. 

Another beautiful part of the coast. 

Finally, I catch my first glimpse of the little fishing village of Muxia.

I continue on, to take advantage of the lack of rain, and head straight for the 0 KM (0 mi) cairn. As I approach, I notice these two massive stones standing next to it. The Wound Obelisk was erected in 2003, one year after the worst oil spill the world has ever seen. When the Prestige sank during a storm 160 km (100 mi) off the coast of Muxia, it unleashed an ecological disaster that dwarfed the Exxon Valdez oil spill of 1989. Prestige spilled 17.8 M gallons (63,000 cubic meters), more than 6 M gallons (22.7 cubic meters) compared to the Exxon Valdez.

Several emotions run through me when I arrive in front of the cairn and massive obelisk. Though I am happy to have finally reached the end and grateful I made it without significant injury, I feel unusually alone. It is a bit of a somber feeling to be standing here by myself without tourists or Peregerinos in sight. It is the complete opposite of yesterday at Finisterra. As I refelct on this moment, there is a part of me that is thinks this is the perfect ending for this journey, as I get ready to transition back to traveling solo. I use the opportunity to take a few pictures and enjoy my accomplishment. Then I hear a voice. "Do you want me to take a picture of you," says an English man vacationing through Muxia. Yes, I'd appreciate it.

I love the photo above, standing in front of the Wounded Obelisk. It reminds me that although I've healed my wounds, I still bear the scars, like the crack in the obelisk. This is me today, I wouldn't change it, and I couldn't imagine a better place to end this journey. As I make my way down to the lighthouse, the rain starts again. I leave the beautiful coast and make my way to the Albergue.

I find it fitting that the last stamp of my journey has a Rooster. It is common knowledge that when you are on the trail you must earn your nickname. It must be given to you by someone else give. Thanks Otto! It looks like Rooster will stick. 

After getting cleaned up, I start laundry and meet an American, Allen. He is a former pharmacist, who recently decided to travel. Like me he started traveling in June, but he's very guarded about where he's been and what he's done. I try several times to engage him and we cannot progress past a superficial point in our conversation. I wonder if the mirror of me and our similar paths is causing the strange vibe. He started walking to Muxia a few days ago with a young Irish lady Anne. She is from Northern Ireland, County Armagh (i.e., southeast of Omagh). Anne's feet are a travesty, she spent 5 days in Santiago nursing blisters and then walked 34 km (20 mi) today in the rain get to Muxia. "I'm taking the bus to Finisterra tomorrow," she says. You've earned it, take care of those feet, I say. Anne and I, on the other hand, click right away. As an Irish Catholic, Anne likes my experiences with The Troubles in Northern Ireland. Allen has never been to Ireland and shows no interest in the conversation. I am not sure what Allen is looking for in his journey but I hope he finds it.

The Albergue provides us with dinner, a warm Galician-style vegetable soup. Exactly what I am craving, vegetables. I am grateful for this warm meal today. I hope it helps with this cold I am fighting. After dinner, I help Allen and Anne with information on where to take the bus to Finisterra in the morning. 

The rain has not let up since I arrived and I am not excited about leaving the warm dry Albergue to go to the tourist office at 830 pm to get my Muxiana. I grab my rain jacket, look outside, and think I am going to get soaked in this weather. I double-check my destination on my phone before heading out into the deluge. "We can do it here," says Anne behind me. As I turn, Anne says, I just talked with the owner and he can provide us with the Muxiana. No need to walk in the rain." she says. I walk back up the stairs back give her a high five. Thank you for saving me from getting wet tonight, I tell her. Shortly after, I receive my Muxiana.

Truth be told, I am glad to be here and finished with my Camino. My body is telling me that it needs rest more than ever. I have no desire to take on another adventure like this in the near future. Originally, I thought I might go to Scotland and walk the West Highland Way after completing my Camino, but that desire has since left me. I am so worn out that my body is now battling a cold. I took a Covid test earlier tonight. It was negative, Woot!

Many people have told me that Camino never ends, only the walking stops when you reach the end. The Camino isn't about the endpoint, it is about the journey. What an incredible journey this has been. For 41 days (i.e., +2 rest days not included) I got to experience four different regions of Spain. The culture is so rich, and the people are so warm and friendly, I have fallen in love with Spain and am looking forward to my next trip. For now, I need some serious rest and can't wait to get to Andorra.