Heading down to the lighthouse.
At kilometer 0 for the Camino.
One last picture over the Atlantic.
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
Pedras Santas Pics
Aner explains about the rocks
They listened intently. I listened,
but enjoyed the view as well.
Aner takes our picture.
Our hands on the sacred rock.
Ditto.
Some Group Photos by Aner
The last day, at the beach
Dinosaur prints.
Mount of Joy
Puerto del Palo -- nearly 3800 feet up.
Pedras Santas -- the sacred rocks
Our tree circle, post quiet.
The Sacred Rocks At The End Of The World
After the beach, we started up the hill to go over to the still unseen lighthouse. As we climbed, the camino led through a small village. We stopped in at the leather maker’s shop. His work was incredible, but nothing jumped out at Carol or I to buy.
We enjoyed browsing the shop, or at least to the point where I cracked my head when departing out of the too low door. I had ducked, but apparently the average height of man is higher than when the place was built.
Tromping past our last horrios, there was also some very neat public art on a wall. (Side note: it is a little depressing how much graffiti there is Spain now. Carol said it is much more than when she was last here in 2009. Of course, an employment rate estimated at 70%+ for those under age 30 likely contributes to the problem. What we saw in Finisterre is not graffiti, but even that small town had a lot.
After heading steadily up, we came to the final climb of the seven days of hiking. It was an appropriately steep (why do anything the easy way), albeit short up. It’s reminiscent of a short black diamond slope out west, but instead of skiing slowly down it, I hiked slowly up it.
Close to the top, we stopped to enjoy the cheese, quince, and bread. I saw a big stone pile a little further up, and climbed that for great views. Looking south, I hoped I could see clear to Portugal, but that was not the case. On the other hand, we definitely want to visit Lisbon and other parts of the country some day. It, like many other places, is on the list.
We went a bit higher up to the sign pointing to the famed Pedras Santas, and took the short side trail to it. A famed rock, it rocks when you sit on it. More importantly, it was used long ago to celebrate major events, as the sun disappeared in the west for the night. It was important in Roman times, and was a major pagan site.
We enjoyed browsing the shop, or at least to the point where I cracked my head when departing out of the too low door. I had ducked, but apparently the average height of man is higher than when the place was built.
Tromping past our last horrios, there was also some very neat public art on a wall. (Side note: it is a little depressing how much graffiti there is Spain now. Carol said it is much more than when she was last here in 2009. Of course, an employment rate estimated at 70%+ for those under age 30 likely contributes to the problem. What we saw in Finisterre is not graffiti, but even that small town had a lot.
After heading steadily up, we came to the final climb of the seven days of hiking. It was an appropriately steep (why do anything the easy way), albeit short up. It’s reminiscent of a short black diamond slope out west, but instead of skiing slowly down it, I hiked slowly up it.
Close to the top, we stopped to enjoy the cheese, quince, and bread. I saw a big stone pile a little further up, and climbed that for great views. Looking south, I hoped I could see clear to Portugal, but that was not the case. On the other hand, we definitely want to visit Lisbon and other parts of the country some day. It, like many other places, is on the list.
We went a bit higher up to the sign pointing to the famed Pedras Santas, and took the short side trail to it. A famed rock, it rocks when you sit on it. More importantly, it was used long ago to celebrate major events, as the sun disappeared in the west for the night. It was important in Roman times, and was a major pagan site.
The Hill At The End Of The World
Village wall art.
The final two horrios we hiked past.
From pretty far up the hill, back down to the beach.
A robin.
I was about to write "Aner cuts the cheese"
but that is something an 11 year old boy
would do, so I won't.
Boats in the Finisterre harbor.
Carol and Bea
Views to the South. I always had to remind
myself that the Atlantic Ocean is to the West!
Monday, October 9, 2017
The Beach At The End Of The World
Aner took us to the backdoor way to the lighthouse that marks the official end of the camino, in Finisterre (“finish of the earth”). Oh, there are points further west along the Atlantic, such as in Portugal, England, and of course Ireland, but between the ancient Roman reverence for this spot, and the tradition of pilgrims to visit here, none are more famous.
First we went to what is normally a very rough beach between two hills that rise dramatically out of edge of the land. There are rocks with waves crashing dramatically. One section had fog sitting just above the water, giving off a beautiful, spooky vibe. The beach is beautiful. A dog played in the short surf. As a lone surfer tried to catch waves, we enjoyed ourselves with the uncharacteristically warm, sunny October day, walking down to the water and through the little river that ran from point to point in the sand.
Because of the normally rough undertow, this beach is rarely used for swimming. It is just not safe, although that day’s surf was pretty calm.
The sand is immaculate and the beach is pristine. It was sublime.
First we went to what is normally a very rough beach between two hills that rise dramatically out of edge of the land. There are rocks with waves crashing dramatically. One section had fog sitting just above the water, giving off a beautiful, spooky vibe. The beach is beautiful. A dog played in the short surf. As a lone surfer tried to catch waves, we enjoyed ourselves with the uncharacteristically warm, sunny October day, walking down to the water and through the little river that ran from point to point in the sand.
Because of the normally rough undertow, this beach is rarely used for swimming. It is just not safe, although that day’s surf was pretty calm.
The sand is immaculate and the beach is pristine. It was sublime.
The Spanish Definition of Whole Chickens Is Different Than Ours.
Our first stop on Saturday, the last day, was over at the Santiago market. We wound our way through the quiet city’s ancient streets. The market is everything you would hope it would be. Yes, we had been to markets in San Sebastian (okay), Oviedo (really good), and now Santiago (excellent).
I never get tired of it. The market is both outside (primarily vegetables), and then in six buildings. Aner was buying cheese for a snack later in the day, and so the cheesemonger gave him slices of other cheeses for us to taste. As could be expected, some people like cheeses that others did not, and vice versa. The two cheeses I liked most were the best (Editor’s Note: Just. Stop.)
A purveyor of beef and hams was also selling his homemade local wine, and I was tempted to buy it. Alas it was three bottles for 12 Euros, and I didn’t want to bring that much wine back to the States. That increases the risk of breakage, as well as the weight of our already heavy bags. Now, of course, I regret not checking to see if he would sell me one bottle for 5 Euros or so.
We saw ridiculously large slabs of beef. The kind Rocky would punch in the meat locker. And, I swear that the 2.5 foot long ribs were from the set of the Flintstones. (Editor’s Note: You do realize that was a cartoon? Blogger: Another cherished childhood memory smashed. Thanks.)
The highlight may well have been the chickens, however. They came whole, as in with the feet and head still attached. We buy whole chickens in the States, and they have no feet, neck, or head. The Spanish will use those parts in soup stock. It occurred to me I had never seen a whole dead and plucked chicken before. No, I was not grossed out. Just hungry for chicken.
In the seafood building, there were stunning large crabs, big shrimp, and, yes, even Percebes (these were small too). The fish was fresh, and I knew why the fishmonger was showing the monk fish belly up, with the guts showing (to prove it is fresh!).
Next time I’m in Spain, we’re going and buying some provisions at the local market.
I never get tired of it. The market is both outside (primarily vegetables), and then in six buildings. Aner was buying cheese for a snack later in the day, and so the cheesemonger gave him slices of other cheeses for us to taste. As could be expected, some people like cheeses that others did not, and vice versa. The two cheeses I liked most were the best (Editor’s Note: Just. Stop.)
A purveyor of beef and hams was also selling his homemade local wine, and I was tempted to buy it. Alas it was three bottles for 12 Euros, and I didn’t want to bring that much wine back to the States. That increases the risk of breakage, as well as the weight of our already heavy bags. Now, of course, I regret not checking to see if he would sell me one bottle for 5 Euros or so.
We saw ridiculously large slabs of beef. The kind Rocky would punch in the meat locker. And, I swear that the 2.5 foot long ribs were from the set of the Flintstones. (Editor’s Note: You do realize that was a cartoon? Blogger: Another cherished childhood memory smashed. Thanks.)
The highlight may well have been the chickens, however. They came whole, as in with the feet and head still attached. We buy whole chickens in the States, and they have no feet, neck, or head. The Spanish will use those parts in soup stock. It occurred to me I had never seen a whole dead and plucked chicken before. No, I was not grossed out. Just hungry for chicken.
In the seafood building, there were stunning large crabs, big shrimp, and, yes, even Percebes (these were small too). The fish was fresh, and I knew why the fishmonger was showing the monk fish belly up, with the guts showing (to prove it is fresh!).
Next time I’m in Spain, we’re going and buying some provisions at the local market.
The Market in Santiago
Fred Flintstone used to eat these.
Yabba, Dabba, Do!
Okay, so this photo is a bit cheesy.
Action shot of cheese tasting at La Cheeserie!
This cheese is kind of a big wheel.
I haven't bought chicken with feet, neck and head
still attached since 19. . .well, 19never.
Slabs o' beef.
Huge crab. One of them is staring right at you.
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