When I chose Fisterra as our west coast stop on the trip, I knew little about it except it would be by the sea. Later I learned it was the far end of the Camino de Santiago de Compostella. The pilgrims’ goal is to reach the Cathedral of Santiago de Campostella, having started  hundreds of miles away on the west coast of France. They have walked to the cathedral to purge their sins and they technically finish there. But many want to go to the Atlantic coast, to finish more poeticly. So they walk another 100 miles to Fisterra. For centuries, Fisterra was considered the most western part of Spain. Apparently modern technology has proven this is not quite so. But good geography be damned, it is good enough for the hikers. Once they reach the little port of Fisterra, they make a final 2 kilometer climb to the end of the peninsula and the famous lighthouse. On this rocky outpost on the Atlantic coast they burn their socks. Why not!

We wake to the sound of a weedwacker. An old man is cutting a neglected lawn full of high weeds in front of the condo. I stagger out of bed to the window wall of the living room. There, the awkward door opens to a large patio with colorful flowers growing in a neat little row. Beyond a granite fence, the man is cutting way in the deep weeds, smoke curling from the machine into the morning light. It is nearly 10 a.m., but the sun has not been up long. The weeds are still covered with a heavy dew. Past the man a spectacular view appears, as the land drops steeply to the sea. A huge bay is visible, still gray with fog. Across it are high, lovely mountains still silhouetted. This place is a good choice; we are lucky. 

As the sun rises higher, the fog will burn off the water and expose a schooner, perhaps a tall ship, motoring in a calm bay below without sails on its tall masts. Some fishing boats and ferries move about the bay; it is a delightful view. 

We eat breakfast inside to avoid the noise of the worker’s machine. Later, we bring out our coffee to sit on the patio, but the sun, higher now, makes it too hot and too bright to sit there long. We walk down the hill to town and find our late start has caused us to miss the public market along the harbor. We regret this. We find a supermarket and buy some local cheese, and wine, along with some fruit then carry our load up the hill. The town itself is old, but one sees the newer condos and hotels, not the ancient village. These buildings for the most part are a disappointment after lovely Salamanca. My phone map tells me that we can ascend along the roads behind the condo to find a path that will take us to the lighthouse. I suggest a walk to it and we set out after a light lunch on the local cheese and fruit. (The Glacian cheese is soft and spongy, but has a good taste…a bit like swiss cheese, but not as strong.) We set out, heading uphill along narrow roads behind our condo, but Ana is not happy with the unmarked route that I have chosen. We ask a walker if this is the way to the lighthouse, but she is Swedish and is trying to find a beach and knows nothing about the area. The police idle by down the hill and we ask. They say go back to town and take a 2 km walk along the sea which will all be uphill. Obviously, we look too old to them for the hike. At the condo, I decide to prepare better for the hike. We change to boots and get some water and my backpack for rain gear, as the sunny skies are clouding over. 

In town, the path to the lighthouse is well marked and follows a road which allows one to drive there as well. There are many hikers on the path, some look like real pilgrims, others tourists like us. The path rises quickly and soon we have spectacular views of the bay hundreds of feet below. Ana posses for photos next to the Camino markers along the way, enjoying  the pretense of being a pilgrim. The lighthouse is on a large rocky point high above the sea. There is nearby parking and plenty of tourists milling and climbing out on the rocky elevation. We shoot photos and enjoy the view. When we decide to return, I see a path that is away from the road and rises steeply up hill above the lighthouse. I suggest we take it; and to my surprise, Ana is willing. She does remarkably well hiking on our trips without preparing with much hiking at home. I am impressed with her willingness. We climb the very steep trail along a cliff and then higher on a little path. We take some marvelous photos hundreds of feet above the lighthouse, that look way out to the Atlantic. It is much like the coast of Maine here, green and mountainous along the sea. It is quite wonderful. 

• 

We have climb quiet high, much higher than I expected. I have seen a road going higher with cars on it. We climb through the rocky fields to reach it. I tell Ana despite what the police have told us, the road must go back to town like my map suggests. Because it is a paved road, she is willing to continue. But we are both aware that it is after 6 p.m. and we have only until about 8 p.m. until dusk. We keep climbing on the paved road, when we meet some Brits from Brighton. They have hiked along way upward from a beach. We ask if they think we can return to Fisterra going over the little mountain. They produce a topo map of the peninsula and tell us to photograph it with my phone. It shows lesser routes to Fisterra, perhaps dirt roads through this park area. We start down one, but decide not to be lost in the dark. The paved road will get us back for sure. 

We head back, but going bit farther, we see a dirt road with a sign that we recognized from before. It should lead to the town. We take it, and soon we are in a deep forest following a lonely lane. Ahead is a parked car. No one is in the car, but soon we see a man with a bag coming out of the woods. Ana asks him if we are headed right. He says we are, but we must take a curve in the road and not go straight. He makes continuous gestures as he talks. I can tell what he is saying without the words.  We continue on and in about 15 minutes he passes us in his car. A half mile later his car is again parked in the woods. This time we can see what he is doing. Along the way, Ana has been admiring spiny balls on the ground, which she has never seen before. I believe them to be the the shells that embrace chestnuts. When we approach the man, I tell her to ask if he is hunting truffles. She does, but we see he is cutting into a chestnut. The shell is so spiny he needs to wear gloves. Ana reaches to touch one and he warns her not to. A chestnut emerges from the spiny green ball, as he slices into it. He is collecting only the nuts. He is not a chef, but makes a sauce with the nuts to dip bread into. Or simply eats these nuts roasted in a pan. 

• 

• 

The dirt road leads back to the town. We have a beer and scout restaurants. Tired from the long walk, we trudge the uphill route home for a shower. Later, we drive to town and eat at “O Centolo”, a restaurant recommended by the condo owners. Ana is frustrated by the Spanish names for the seafood on the menu. Even though she speaks Spanish, Puerto Ricans use different words for the seafood. Perhaps the words are partly from the Galician language, which is a mix of Spanish and Portuguese. We have fried squid again. It is good and we have a nice salad of fruit and cheese and greens with a sweet dressing. We finish up with clams in a milky sauce. Then, Ana orders a small, but nice, chocolate cake with chocolate sauce inside. It is served with vanilla ice cream. We share this treat as well. We have had a very nice day in Fisterra.