Yogi Berra once said, “When you get to the fork in the road, take it.”
This morning I had the perfect fork in the road situation. Do I go left and deal with 500 feet of elevation gain in the first three miles or go right and stay at sea level. The choice was obvious given the elevation gains that the map showed for this day.
With complete rain gear on, I briskly walked out of Zarautz with joggers, runners, and bikers. The surf was up but no surfers. It was misting, windy, and cold unlike the past two days. Such weather creates its own mood.
I felt good about choosing the right fork. Shortly leaving Getaria, I shared the road with some fellow pilgrims as well as some favorite animals.
The next two images are of Zumaia — coming into town and then leaving. What I experienced throughout the day was a coastline similar to Big Sur in California. Steep mountains diving into the ocean. Openings appeared episodically — some narrow and others broad enough for towns to be found.
In the above image, you can see the peak of the hill to the far left where I took the image of entering Zumaia. A large Romanesque cathedral towers over the town.
I was carefully following yellow arrows and blazes marking the Camino — or so I thought. After traversing over fields and hiking through several cattle gates, I was mostly going north to the ocean rather than south towards the town of Itziar. Yogi didn’t account for the possibility of taking the fork in the road when you didn’t even know there was a fork. What did I miss?
Another principle came into play. Stay in the present. I wasn’t going to backtrack — it was nearing 1:00 PM. I wasn’t even halfway to Deba.
So, I stayed with the yellow blaze that also included a red/white blaze.
I “felt” that I would eventually arrive at my final destination of Deba after seeing this sign and gate. Hum. I must admit that I was having some doubts.
The windy (both meanings — short and long i) path eventually took me to a beach with rock formations that I have never seen before. Apparently, Flysch is world famous and a local wine brand features it on its label. I’ll need to ask my geologist friends about these rocks when I return home.
After climbing away from the Flysch, the rains came. Remember the Morton salt slogan? “When it rains, it pours.” For the next three hours, I made my way to Deba on muddy paths. I did stop for directions to Deba at a bar/restaurant and for some food and cafe con leche. I also met one of Rhubie’s cousins.
I entered Deba gingerly stepping down very steep streets. I tried my iPhone to call up Google Maps. The device was wet and I couldn’t enter the password. So, I found the pension the old fashioned way — asking people for directions. After four tries of successive approximations (I need subtitles while watching TV — imagine listening to machine gun Spanish or was it Basque), a man took me to the tourist office about 100 meters away. The guide pulled out a map. Within five minutes, I was warmly and dryly ensconced in my room.
The rain stopped by 8:00 PM. I was hungry. I ended the day with a hearty meal of meal of bean soup (not again!), red peppers, and chocolate cake. I include an image of the restaurant and the Palestinian flag above its windows. I am in Basque land whose people have sought independence from Spain for centuries — sometimes violently. I saw more Palestinian flags during the past four days than those of the Basque football club (Reala) who will be playing in the Copa del Rey (the championship of all Spanish football clubs) this coming week. If you watched Ted Lasso, you will know how big of a deal loyalty to your football club is.
Tomorrow is another day — more forks in the road. I hope that I see them.
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