Finisterre (7/31/04)
The name of the town means "The End of the World," and it sure feels like it.
The bus ride from Santiago is two hours of travel through small towns with frequent stops to pick up and drop off passengers. We wound through small fields dotted with the ubiquitous horreos, some with two crosses at either end, most with a cross on one end and an ancient phallic fertility symbol on the other. Very practical, those galicians of old. Just covering all of the spiritual bases.
When I stepped off the bus in Finisterre, I was assaulted by the smell of fish and wondered what I was going to do for six hours in a town that smells so bad.
But it turned out to be only an old lady passing by with a wheelbarrow full of fresh, shiny sardines.
We walked out of town and up a nearby mountain on a winding trail. It was hot and we were hungry by the time we got near the top. We finally stopped at a less than ideal spot at the side of the path for an ideal picnic lunch -- dried sausage, cheese, fresh whole wheat bread, olives, tomatoes, a pear... We talked about how there were as many people in Austria as the 5 boroughs and speculated about what it would be like if the residents switched places: New Yorkers spread out in Austria with the mountains and clear lakes, Austrians enjoying the attractions and conveniences of New York.
We hiked on, to the top of the mountain where you can see out into the Atlantic.
On the way down we stopped in a small 12th century church where a pilgrim was doing baritone voice exercises that echoed throughout the building.
Seagulls were everywhere, calling out loudly to one another. A little like the residents of Finisterre, who seemed to spend a lot of time standing far apart and yelling at one another.
On the way down from the church, the cool wind off the Atlantic bumped up against the warm air on the land, but did not mix completely. It was a little like wading in a lake, moving from cold to warm spots.
We stopped at a beautiful beach with clear blue water and lots of rocks to sit and sun on. The rocks were covered with barnacles and small mussels crowded together in the crevices.
We splashed around for a little while, then got back on the bus, damp and sleepy.
The bus ride from Santiago is two hours of travel through small towns with frequent stops to pick up and drop off passengers. We wound through small fields dotted with the ubiquitous horreos, some with two crosses at either end, most with a cross on one end and an ancient phallic fertility symbol on the other. Very practical, those galicians of old. Just covering all of the spiritual bases.
When I stepped off the bus in Finisterre, I was assaulted by the smell of fish and wondered what I was going to do for six hours in a town that smells so bad.
But it turned out to be only an old lady passing by with a wheelbarrow full of fresh, shiny sardines.
We walked out of town and up a nearby mountain on a winding trail. It was hot and we were hungry by the time we got near the top. We finally stopped at a less than ideal spot at the side of the path for an ideal picnic lunch -- dried sausage, cheese, fresh whole wheat bread, olives, tomatoes, a pear... We talked about how there were as many people in Austria as the 5 boroughs and speculated about what it would be like if the residents switched places: New Yorkers spread out in Austria with the mountains and clear lakes, Austrians enjoying the attractions and conveniences of New York.
We hiked on, to the top of the mountain where you can see out into the Atlantic.
On the way down we stopped in a small 12th century church where a pilgrim was doing baritone voice exercises that echoed throughout the building.
Seagulls were everywhere, calling out loudly to one another. A little like the residents of Finisterre, who seemed to spend a lot of time standing far apart and yelling at one another.
On the way down from the church, the cool wind off the Atlantic bumped up against the warm air on the land, but did not mix completely. It was a little like wading in a lake, moving from cold to warm spots.
We stopped at a beautiful beach with clear blue water and lots of rocks to sit and sun on. The rocks were covered with barnacles and small mussels crowded together in the crevices.
We splashed around for a little while, then got back on the bus, damp and sleepy.
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