To Muxia, why not

A last day of walking, but a third ending--first Santiago, then Finesterre, and finally, on this day, Muxia. The route led north, inland but parallel and often in sight of the coast. Like Finesterre, Muxia is on the water and a fishing port.

Much of the way was on paths rather than roads, through pine and fern woods. Beautiful, but not in a way I expect or experience woodlands in the U.S. I wasn´t once in a forest in Spain that wasn´t apparently scheduled for eventual cutting. The woods almost always seemed more agricultural than wild. The pastoral landscape, the fields and hedges and stone walls, seemed much older, lasting.

The route was less well-marked than on previous sections, and twice I made wrong turnings. The first was fortunate, as it led me to a gorse-covered hill above the rocky coast. Back on the right way, I soon came down to a beach, where the Rio Lires empties into the ocean. The day had begun with sun, but a thin layer of clouds moved in mid-morning. I followed the river upstream, passing a large and old fish farm; the water below was boiling with some sort of fish, all with their snouts pointing up through the surface. Just beyond I crossed a footbridge into the village of Lires, one of the few villages in which I was not harrassed by dogs (see next post for details).

I saw only seven other peregrinos on this walk of thirty or so kilometers, and they were all going the opposite way, to Finesterre. Several confused looking people stopped me to discuss route finding.

Beyond Lires I came to a smaller stream, Rio Castro, and found that the water had risen up over the large stepping stones placed for crossing. I removed my shoes and waded, having to go thigh deep at the other side where the last two stones were missing. Not long after I came down a very narrow section of trail and discovered a tethered goat. Neither one of us was happy about my need to pass, but I squeezed by without incident.

I came back down to the ocean and walked the last couple kilometers on a road beside the water. To find the albergue I had to ask directions three times, moving closer after each question. I found it high up with the last of the buildings on a rocky slope above the town.

If it wasn´t for the small sign on the outside I would not have guessed I had arrived: a gray concrete block, just a few years old, but suggestive of totalitarian optimism. I slid open a metal grate and stepped into a forecourt, then pushed through a glass door and into a high, squared space: think Soviet youth group lodgings, or maybe accommodations for 70s Olympic athletes. There wasn´t a single other person in the building, and it smelled bad but not of the usual body odor and mildew. More like chlorine gone seedy, if that makes any sense.

Around a corner, past a corrugated metal staircase, I came into a wide-open, high-ceilinged public space, lit with skylights and filled with square orange chairs and smooth metal tables. Upstairs I found the dormitorio, with a dozen white bunkbeds. Just outside the room were more square chairs (blue this time) and tables, arranged in a tableaux suggesting death and abandoment, like the future as imagined in the film 2001. Motion sensitive lights flickered on as I moved through the building (and quickly flickered off as I passed into another part). A giant sliding glass door led out to laundry sinks, in the corner of a high, concrete-walled court. Think prison exercise space. Finally, up on a third floor I found an open patio, squared off, stonewalled and empty; a bit of the harbor could be seen through the spaces between dirty white apartemnt buildings.

I wandered through the albergue intrigued but also a little spooked. But then a German couple appeared to break the spell. Within a few hours the beds were nearly all full.

The town of Muxia was less appealing than Finesterre, maybe in part because it had very little attention to give to visitors. There were numeroous bar-cafes on the waterfront, and a picturesque breakwater sheltering fishing boats... but mostly it felt like a place for people who lived there.

I walked through town and out to a dramatic, be-churched point. The Sanctuario de Nosa Señora de Barca was built out among the huge shore boulders to celebrate the Virgin´s long ago visit to the spot via stone boat (she supposedly came to encourage St. James in his Iberian evangelizing). After the church, I visited the tourist office in town, where I was awarded my third certificate of accomplishment (there was one for Finesterre too). The latter two required no discussion of my religious life.

I returned to town and sat outside the Bar Wimpe in the sun at a plastic table and drank a beer. Later I returned to the south side of the point and sat in among the rocks and gorse, alternating between reading Dickens and watching the sun set towards the sea.