Finisterre, for the Romans, finis terrae, the end of the world. For them the most western point in Europe and beyond, nothing. It’s not strictly true. There is a cape in Portugal and another in Spain that are slightly more to the west.

Finisterre is on the Atlantic coast about 100km from Santiago. You can walk from Santiago in about four days and some do continue their journey. We took the bus – 2hours.

There are some rituals relating to Finisterre. Pilgrims wash themselves in the ocean and burn their boots /walking clothes. We never saw an ocean. Maybe there was one. The rain and mist made lighting fires impossible.

Getting the bus was a bit stressful. Seats are not able to be pre-bought or reserved, strictly first come first served. On Sundays there are four buses, the first at 9am,and we didn’t know how many would want to go out there. The bus depot was a twenty minute walk from the hotel which we turned into a forty minute walk by missing a street turning. We got to the ticket counter (for some reason up on the second floor!) a couple of minutes before nine. The ticket seller told us rapido, rapido, so we ran for the bus and just got on. Only two empty seats on a sixty seat coach.

Finisterre was rainy and totally shrouded in mist. We retreated to a cafe for coffee and santiago cake while trying to get our bearings and find our hotel. We had lousy directions and hadn’t done any research and it was Sunday morning so the place was deserted and everything closed. When asked, the Spanish always feel obliged to give you directions, even if they haven’t a clue. So they are not always helpful, although we usually can’t understand what they say anyway. Eventually we stumbled across our hotel and of course they weren’t ready for us. It would be at least an hour. The helpful man at reception suggested we go and look at the faro, lighthouse, on the headland, and the “traditional”  route started from the hotel and was only 2km, shorter than going up the road. Yeah right!

The track was traditional for goats, narrow, twisting, muddy, no directions. Eventually it changed into a dirt road and passed through something dark which may have been a forest. In the mist we couldn’t see a thing and after an hour were sure we were lost. Some parked camper vans emerged from the mist and we stumbled across a road and then a coach and car parking area. We searched about for a bit, may or may not have seen a building, a cross, a brass boot, some burnt clothes. A stranger appeared, took our photo for us and disappeared. I never ever saw his or her face. There are stunning views and fabulous sunsets here. Who knows?

Finisterre looks like it is a lovely little fishing village. If the rain and mist clear I will go and have a look this evening or tomorrow morning. We are back in the hotel and have dried off a bit. Not much to do so I might have to watch TV.

Every single cafe, bar and restaurant in Spain has a large screen tv in the corner and the volume is turned up LOUD. There are only two things on Spanish tv: sport and game shows. The sport is 90% football and maybe a bit of motorcycle racing.

The game shows are the same as everywhere else in the world. But in Spain, no matter what crazy, inane action is going on, there is always one common ingredient. Outrageously attractive young women in tight skirts perched on high stools. They are a permanent fixture on every set. The really creative thing is how the producers have made them an integral part of any and every show.

It’s still raining and the tv is on. I’m not much interested in football so will just change channels. A ha.

Sorry, I got a bit distracted there, lost my thread.

Barbara is asleep so I’ll put the tv on mute. The sound is pretty irrelevant to these game shows anyway.

Catch you later.