Camino Fisterra 2012/ Heartsong

On this path I collected stones to throw into the ocean at Finisterre. Cherished in my heart the woman passing by, who sang a heart song to me in the last hour of my walk

Fisterra, the way it is meant to be

If the Camino is your dinner, the road to Finisterre is a delightful dessert, really fills you up when still hungry. For me the Camino as it is meant to be. I walked halfway through October. Quiet, walking for hours on your own, people helping each other, no more litter on the road. I never shook so many hands as on this part of the walk.
Lovely nature, no highways. And the elements again! You can feel you're getting near the ocean.
I loved the heavy rainshowers and the stormy wind. Even here in western Galicia unusual for the time of the year, but common in wintertime. On my walking stick the last bark disappeared, it got whiter, being baptized by the Camino.

There's a Dutch poem I took with me, about my Camino:

Reisopdracht

en als je weggaat...
regen, er dreigt regen,
storm blaast zand weg
over de wegen,
men moet zijn ogen beschermen.
angstige vogels zwermen boven het land.
de lucht is zwart....
zeg langzaam:
Ik hou van regen.
Ik hou van storm.
Ik ben niet bang.

uit:
'Verzamelde Gedichten' van Riekus Waskowsky (1932 - 1957)

impressions: Maroñas and Santa Marina

Walking through Maroñas. A young farmer passes me and throws some litter in a container. He yells at the neighbours. I don't understand a word of it. Minutes later I meet a woman. She stops and askes me something. Again: not a word. After a kilometer, at the bar in Santa Marina I'm the only guest under the vine tendrils. Galicia shows mercy and gives me a dry break outside. Quiet, some sparrows, a tractor running. I ask the barman about the language. They speak Gallego. It sounds darks, earthly, kind of Portuguese. And that's what it actually is.The people look a bit dark themselves. From where art thou?

Faithful land, again. Even the buxus (hedge) has been cut in a crossform. The church is weathered, has to stand a lot in this climate. The angels stare at me, saintly in a row.

impressions: Galicia rainland

The ocean gives its fertility so abundant to this land. Water everywhere. Nowhere I saw bigger pumpkins! And the ocean protects- the climate is moderate enough for palm trees and acacia's.
Present everywhere is moss. Weathered oaks.

Old stone glistening with silicon. And chestnuts! As the autumn approaches the trees give their rich harvest. Old men are gathering them for dinner.

Even the traffic signs are weathered

It's rainland, green land. Silent forest. Only the sound of wind and crows.
Galicia. To the Far End of the World.

Impressions on the road: Itero de la Vega

Church bells. Funeral. The village walks behind the blue Mercedes. How fine that, for once, you may lie in such a beautiful car. In front is the family, silent, in grief. Directly behind  them, the neighbours, silent too. A woman comes from her front door, hastily, drawing her children with her. And the whole procession wanders - the last people smoking a cigarette, talking a bit, a silent laugh. Just be present.
Everything rattles in the septemberwind with already a touch of faraway autumn in it. The sound of the churchbell blows to every far corner of the village. This is the countryside- you wouldn't even hear the bells in a city. Tribute for a life- a well sounding half an hour- is it enough?