Exploring Finisterre Alone
With no solid leaving date in mind, the days I spent languishing in Finisterre were something of a disconnect from the main body of the rest of the trip. It wasn’t quite a holiday. Despite the fact that I was trying to recover from the exertion of the walk, my body found it difficult adjusting to suddenly staying still. I did love this place, which Europeans considered the end of the world until as recently as the __, but it was bittersweet. Finisterre signalled the end point for almost all of the pilgrims with whom I had been walking. Even Marco, who had intended to continue on to Lisbon by foot as well, was reconsidering and I knew I’d soon recognise nobody.
On a walk such as this, I never expected to keep bumping into the same people time after time. Soon I depended upon seeing the same faces, and felt surprisingly reluctant to set out again and go against the grain.
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