Back to Noja with my driver, Iñago. We bade farewell across from the church. Five trips together. This many taxi trips to and from end and starting points have never happened before; probably never will happen again.

My walk started at 9:20. The weather was overcast, no rain. Although sunshine is preferred, I’ll take any day with lower temperatures to walk distances over 12 miles.

This walk was unusual because it offered several decision points. My strategy was to take the shortest route — still 17 miles with about a thousand feet of elevation gain. At the first fork, I went left. Thank goodness for the Buen Camino app map. I would have missed the others because they were not marked like this one.

To keep pace but also to maintain energy, my fellow Camino walkers and I take breaks at critical intervals. This one was for a Coke and necessities in San Miguel de Meruelo. The bar was filled at 11:00 AM, Monday. These bars are the community centers of Spanish communities at any time of the day or night.

Guemes was the 12th mile. My wish for a cool and cloudy day evaporated. I stayed with the game plan of the shortest route and headed alongside the highway to Somo. I arrived at the ferry landing at 3:22. The ferry arrived at 3:25. I was in Santander by 4:00.

I later met my Irish lads for a celebratory happy hour and dinner. They had taken the coastal route at Guemes rather than the straight paved road that I took. They reported that the beaches were stunning. However, that route would have added several hours and more miles to my journey. The surprise was that they had seen me walking to the ferry while they were on a bus from Somo to Santander.

We found an excellent restaurant in the centro. We started with a round of cerveza because we had to wait until 8:00 when dinner was scheduled to start. Precisely at 8:00, the waiter came over to take our order. We chose plates to share — rabas, fried squid found everywhere in Santander; selection of local cheeses and meats. More cerveza, of course.

We engaged other tourists who were seated at adjoining tables — a mother/son from Milan and woman from Toronto whose husband is playing in a touring band. I was fading out by 10:30.

I bade farewell to Paul, John, and Alan. They will be taking a bus back to Bilbao, spending the day touring Bilbao and the Guggenheim, and then flying back to Ireland the next day. We made a final toast to completing this Camino not only for walking this segment but also for sharing the experience. This moment is what epitomizes the spirit of the Camino.

Perhaps we’ll meet again next year in Santander. I am planning to complete the Camino del Norte in April, 2027. Buen Camino lads and all who have walked with me in spirit.

I was ready to go as Iñigo, my taxi driver, picked me up at 8:00 to return me to the Liendo church, yesterday’s end point. The ride took 20 minutes. I was on my way to the Playa San Julien.

I was a bit worried about this part of the trek. My guidebook stated — be careful by the cliffs in foggy weather. Heights and I are not compatible. I thought for a moment of bypassing Liendo and starting in Laredo, the next major town to the west.

I stayed with the program. I did not chicken out. I was rewarded with brilliant sunshine and an unforgettable coastline. At the of this segment, I reached a gate that looked like others that I had encountered. Except I had to climb over this one! It was wired shut.

I was back on paved roads into Laredo which extends along a spot where at the end I took a “ferry” across the gap to Santoña.

In the meantime, I met a cow who looked quizzically at me. Laredo is in the background.

Then, Rhubie’s cousin; the second orange tabby whom I saw up close. She could have been her dopplebanger.

After walking through what seemed like the main intersection of Laredo, I decided to stop for breakfast. I had missed mine at the hotel because I left there at 8. Breakfast was served later because it was Sunday.

As I finished, the three Irish Amigos appeared. They had been dropped off a few minutes before at the main intersection. What timing. (No, they did not complete the missed segment.)

Off we went to reach the ferry at the end of the spit. The corniche fronted luxury looking apartment buildings and water front restaurants. As we reached the end, Paul spotted the ferry. I must admit that I expected something bigger and a dock. No dock, just the boat at the shoreline. The fare was 2.50€ cash like the other ferry I had taken.

We disembarked at Santoña and stopped for coffee; a Coke for Alan. I asked that if the restaurant had Wi-Fi (pronounced whiff-ee) and if they stamped the credential. No said the head waiter to both requests. I asked him to mimic the sign, no goal. All in good fun.

We walked for another 2 hours and stopped for lunch. Cerveza of course and hamburgers and pizza. Both were good. The hamburgers were rare. So be sure to ask for cooking time if you don’t want real red meat. I don’t know how to ask for a different meat temperatures. Rare is fine with me.

The restaurant also serves seafood. The shellfish were awaiting in tanks. Shrimps to order.

Over some cliff and we were nearing Noja. We had taken the short cut and ended on a beach with Noja in the distance. The sun had shone on us the entire day.

The church was my end point. We made it in another hour. Across from the church, cerveza grande of course while I soaked in the rays waiting for Iñago and his magic carpet to return to my hotel in Escalante. It was 5:00 PM. We had smiled all the way.

Castro-Urdiales was a surprise sleeper. Beautiful setting, interesting history, good food, nice people. As I started back on the Camino, young men were putting a boat in the water. Rather than a crew of 8, this one had 12. Must be a particular Spanish boat used in competition.

The colors and ruggedness of the beach stood out in the early morning sun. About 2 miles out of town, I looked back on the coastline. In the far distance was the mountain that framed Pobeña.

The Camino del Norte goes along a fairly flat trail on low cliffs. We shared the grounds around a monument to what or whom I don’t know with a herd of goats — all were black except for one. They were non-plussed when we came upon them. Just some humans treading into their space.

We were at the one-third mark and approaching 11:30. Conveniently, we were entering Islares where we stopped for cerveza and tapas (note: we are longer in Basque Country where the correct term for small plate items is pintxos). I shared a table with three Irishmen from Cork, Ireland. They were on their first Camino. Paul talked about doing a Camino for several years. He finally decided to stop the talk and do the walk. He invited his brother-in-law John and friend, Alan. Paul told me that he was going on Camino alone if no one came along. The Three Amigos, they said. I added plus one. They are using the same tour organizer as I am — Camino Ways.

About two hours later, we stopped for another beer. We talked about politics, growing up in Ireland, the loss of the pub culture, changes in career — the usual stuff men talk about. As we had gotten a mile down the road, Paul received a call that their taxi driver was picking them up at the bar where we had our second beer. They turned around to meet him.

Well lads, if are reading this, you missed an 800 foot climb up the mountain just minutes after you left and another 5 miles to the church in Liendo. The good news is the Camino is smooth even the unpaved sections. You will have a fun challenge ahead of you if you go back to where you turned back as tomorrow’s start point.

My destination was the Lienda church. I reached it at 4:30. I called for my taxi to take me to Escalante, town about 15 miles away. Apparently, we are walking in low season and many accommodations are not yet open. I’ll be taken back to the Lienda church tomorrow as my start point for the walk to Noja.

I was in my hotel by 6:30. I was tired and hungry. Rather than wait for a restaurant to open for dinner (9:00 PM in Escalante), I went to the local cafeteria for a hamburger, Russian salad, and a cerveza. I treated myself to a small cup of chocolate helados at a shop on the way back to the B&B. The ice cream almost as good as the Cup at home. Time for bed. The taxi is coming at 8:00. The good news is that I am staying in the same B&B tomorrow night. So, no need to re-pack my suitcase. Sorry, I forgot to take a photo of the hamburger.

Incredible! The paths on this stage were paved except for two short sections. One of those sections used gravel that was smoothed to an even surface. There were a few significant uphill sections but with paving, I could create a powerful rhythm of evenly spaced steps. No zigzagging as well. I made record time as I finished in Castro-Urdiales in Cantabria.

The day started with a substantial breakfast. The image does not include locally produced yogurt and cut fruit. I was tanked-up with fuel for the day to come.

Every Basque city is built on hills; Portugalete is no exception. What surprised me were the people movers on the main street that ascended out of the Old Town. I’ll admit that I cheated on a few steps; I could not resist taking them to save steps for later in the walk. Also, the novelty attracted me,

Reaching the highway on the outskirts of town, a skyway whisked me over the highway and continue alongside before becoming a road catering to walkers and cyclists. No cars! It went this way for almost 10 miles until coming to a T at Pobeña where I stopped for a Coke and a half sandwich.

Pobeña was filled with people coming to the beach, enjoying the sun, or walking a short section the Camino. I could not resist asking these three people plus dog for a photo. I have had only one rejection so far.

Enough tarrying. Miles were ahead. The Pobeña beach is picturesque from sea level to the cliff view (after climbing 80 steps).

After a long stretch along the ocean, the Camino descends to the village of Onton. Two roads diverge on a concrete road, I took the one to the right.

But …. I had to share the road with large trucks, fast cars and motorcycles. If I gone left, I could have made 20 mile club again. Not.

Up a 10 percent grade and down into Mioño, my first stop in Cantabria. I celebrated with my afternoon cerveza or was it to rest my weary legs. I also met my second American on this Camino.

Knowing that the finish line was near, I went into full gear through the tunnel between Mioño and Castro-Urdiales reaching my new temporary home: #10 — not Downing Street but Calle Ardigales. After 17 miles even with paved paths, I dropped full force onto the bed.

I took two hours to recover and then hit the streets for Friday night — I think evening is a better descriptor for me. Located on the ocean, it is not surprising that C-U has a harbor and being a Catholic nation, a church founded on a prominent or promontory location.

I am not sure how to describe the church architecture: Romanesque with Gothic features? Below are several images of the church. The rear view reminded me of Van Gogh’s painting of the Church at Auvers.

Added bonus. I happened upon a rehearsal of the local wind instrument orchestra and chorus: Beethoven’s Symphony #9, Ode to Joy; Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus; and Verdi’s Nabucco Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves. Beautiful music filled this church.

Time for dinner? 8 PM, Spanish time at Asador El Puerto with a harbor view. Tomato salad and paella marisco with pours from Rueda and Albariño.

The servers asked if I wanted dessert. I begged off because I wanted to try the churros from a stand on the corniche. Alas, it was closed. Pobrecito.

This walk brought back memories when Laird Evans and I ended our 2021 Portuguese Camino sojourn in Bilbao.

The boulevard that I walked out of Bilbao was the same one we followed to return our rental car. We were surprised that our return point was not the railroad station but the underground parking garage of a large shopping mall in the middle of the modern section of Bilbao. We had to do some frantic hunting to get our car back in time.

What was new was climbing two major hills that form the western side of the valley that contains the river that runs from the Bay of Biscay 15 miles inland to Bilbao. Urban development was originally founded along the river and expanded uphill from there. Almost all streets, roads, and paths are uphill and their corresponding downhill in Basque land.

A bit further along, I took a final look back at Bilbao. The tall building in the background is across a plaza from the Guggenheim Museum. Some new skyscrapers are going up in central Bilbao. But the skyline is relatively low and flat with most residential apartment buildings no higher than six stories. As you can tell, the donkeys were not impressed. I did find one friendly fan nearby. Or perhaps another — maybe Banksy left some graffiti for me. (Liberal reference to Banksy, my apologies.)

I arrived in Portugalete at 3:30 PM. Laird and I were here in 2021 after taking a 25 minute subway ride from Old Town. We took a trip actoss the river via the Viscaya Bridge inaugurated in 1893. The bridge was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2006. I have never seen another like it in the world. Truly unique. We walked the corniche, ate lunch, and returned to Bilbao by subway.

This time I checked into the Gran Hotel Puente Colgante. Manuel Calvo y Aguirre, a wealthy Cuban, willed his mansion to become a hotel that has hosted royalty, and the well heeled. I was given a third floor, the highest, room with a river view courtesy of Fernando, the front desk manager. Thank you Fernando for enhancing my “all over again” experience (Yogi Berra).

Before dinner, I walked to the lighthouse on the westside of the estuary. Laird and I had walked the eastside. The fisherman were casting their lines; no caught fish were seen though. Scores of people of all ages were out strolling — the paseo. You don’t see that back home. Architectural styles of bygone eras lined the corniche. My hotel was no exception.

Dinner time had arrived — 8:00 PM, the standard starting time. I chose the pork and beans (not Campbell’s), the squid in its own ink (I must admit that I like it grilled better), and ice cream, yes no flan, that was more like a semifreddo. My wine glass was filled twice with a Basque dry white wine. More was offered but I refused because I needed to be read for tomorrow’s walk. I did debate that question (more, señor?) in my head for several minutes. The meal was an elegant and superb rendition of Basque cuisine. Camino Ways, my tour organizer, had chosen a winner.

I concluded the evening with another walk by the bridge and adjacent park. Deja Vu All Over Again? Not quite.

Lest you think that yesterday ended with the afternoon cerveza, I walked another 3 miles in the rain to reach my hotel. The Irish term for this kind of weather — a soft day. The hotel sits in the middle of an industrial complex and next to a park. Given its location, the hotel may have once owned a wide swath of property that over time sold parcels for industrial development. The structure is decades older than the buildings surrounding it.

My room was large and comfortable. One of the owners drove me to a restaurant for dinner. The beef was cut thin but was tender and flavorful. I also watched the first half of the Atletico Madrid v. Barcelona Champions quarter-final game. Barcelona won but AM moved to the semi-finals based on aggregate score. Fun to watch with the locals.

This stage was shortest that I have walked if I don’t count the rest day in Baiona on my first Camino with Laird. I started off walking by a rental equipment site, across a major highway (back to urban life), and up a mountain where I ran into John from England for the third time. He could not find an albergue that was open. He slept on the grass next to the road. He was beaming while telling me about the morning’s red sunrise. John is a true pilgrim.

As John and I talked, we greeted passersby, a few were pilgrims including Alison from Taiwan. She will be walking the entire Camino del Norte, backtracking by train to Leon, and then back to Santiago; she estimates 87 days. She was carrying a full backpack. She is 44. To be so young.

I pushed on alone after Alison stopped for lunch at the crest. The downhill was exciting. The Basques were and some are still skilled shepherds. They must have a dominant gene for negotiating hills. I hope that my knees don’t wear out before I get to Santander.

Reaching Old Town, I found that my pension was on the third floor of a renovated office building. Twenty-one rooms, mine was #321 — the farthest from the main entrance. After following a maze like corridor, I was pleasantly surprised to find a compact but well laid out room.

Reaching my destination so early, I sought out the Museo des Belles Arte. Most of the museum is under construction. However, one section was open with an exhibition of Denise Scott Brown, a renowned architect, who practiced with her husband, Robert Venturi in Philadelphia. I had met them in 1999, when they received honorary doctorates from Lehigh. They were friends of Greg Farrington, then president of Lehigh.

I still had time to tour the Guggenheim with its famous greeter known as the Puppy. The main exhibition was devoted to Ruth Asawa who made intricate metal weavings that were recently displayed at the Museum at the Museum of Modern Art. I was fortunate to see her work here.

I was bushed by this time. I walked back to my room while feeling the serenity of strolling along the river.

But my respite was short lived. Dinner at 8:00 PM at Los Fueros, a Michelin recognized restaurant with the Bib icon meaning good food at an excellent price. Many of these restaurants are as good as some one stars and at least half the price.

I chose the Menu Bilbao for 50 euros — my big splurge of this trip. I have included a image of the menu. Every item listed was presented and gladly consumed. Two white wines complemented the vegetarian and fish dishes: a white Rioja and an Albariño. A red Rioja crianza for pork dish. I could gladly serve these wines to anyone. My favorites of all were the artichokes — firm with the feather light hummus. The salad russe was my kind of salad with potatoes and mayo. All the dishes were very good but these stand out.

I should mention that if you want to dine here, make reservations. When I came at 8:00, many people were turned away. The service was very attentive. The 4 oz wine pours were 4.50 Euros each. A Bib Gourmand distinction well deserved.

My “off day” on the Camino.

The most important lesson that I have learned while walking the Camino is to live in the present. On this Camino, I had completed five difficult days. I felt good. My hosts and a friendly local on the road (you will meet Carmen) said that the Camino ahead will be smooth and much easier. Let’s see how this day unfolded.

Being so far out of town, my hosts drove me to my requested start point to resume the Camino. I was in Guernica where a copy of Picasso’s famous painting was presented on a wall across from a hospital and next to the Palace of Justice.

I had seen the original at the Museum of Modern Art in New York and at its current location at the Reina Sophia in Madrid. On those occasions, people reverently stood in front of the painting for several minutes — perhaps taking in Picasso’s representation of the destruction, its symbolism, or its technical aspects.

Here people were going about their daily lives walking by without turning their heads to view the composition. I was wondering what they were thinking at that moment. The anniversary of the bombing is 26 April — 89 years ago. We still repeat acts of annihilation as I write this blog. What are we thinking as we live where we do?

About 250 meters along the road is the parliament building for the Basque province. My host told me that the early representatives met under the oak trees that are next to the building. At one entrance I found panels of oak leaves in the foreground of those trees. I surmised that they were installed to remind citizens about the foundation of their government.

Shortly after leaving Guernica, I was back in nature. Yesterday, I had hiked near the summit of the mountain that dominates the image below.

This morning, beauty was walking past a herd of horses in a pasture with a foal lying in the grass.

Within a mile, I met Señora Carmen who was selling snacks and drinks by the roadside in front of her exquisite home garden. Her first question to me and the same first or second question asked by pilgrims of one another is — where are you from? I was her first American this season. I have run into only one other American to date. Remember Kevin whom I met on Day 1 with the band of Australians? Most passing pilgrims have been Spaniards and Germans.

April is the start of the season; May, September, and October are the most popular months on this part of the Camino del Norte. I have encountered less than fifteen other pilgrims in a day so far — most of them I have seen on other days. Today was only five. The numbers on this Camino are very similar to those I counted on the Camino Primitivo in May 2023. If you are looking to walk in peace and solace, this Camino is for you. It is for me.

At this point, I was lulled into believing that the tough stages were behind me. I had a wake-up call when I started the last unpaved section of this stage. No matter what anyone tells you what is ahead, the only thing that you can deal with is the present.

I started up what seemed to be a typical unpaved path with stones strewn everywhere. As I entered a wooded area, the path appeared to have been recently carved out. The cleared strip was completely muddy. I could not see my lace tops as my boots sank into the mud. Then, I came upon a quarter mile of tree stumps and branches blocking the muddy path that added to my unease. Mud is a very slippery surface. Luckily, I did not fall but I did have some close calls. My hiking poles saved the day.

I had never encountered a path this hazardous before — even the muddy tracks on days three to five on this Camino were not as bad. You can wish all you want for better conditions or think the should’ve, could’ve found another path. But here were these conditions to deal with.

All is well that ends well. In the next town, I sat with my afternoon cerveza with no cares about the past or the future while two pilgrims walked by in the rain.

Today was the last hike of more than 15 miles with at least 2000 feet of elevation gain. These hikes certainly showcased the beauty of the Basque coast and inland mountains. They were also more challenging because of the rains over the last three days. Slippery mud — glad I bought my waterproof boots.

The walk out of Markina-X had many twists and turns. I finally used the map from the Buon Camino app. Dah. You don’t need the commentary because an icon which represented my position could easily be seen on a yellow line — the Camino trail.

From my hotel which was a mile south of town, the map helped bring me back to centro in order to reconnect with the Camino. From there, it helped guide me around construction and a new pathway on the Camino. It works offline thus reducing the amount of cellular data transfer, thus, payments to the telecommunication company.

About 3 miles away from Markina-X, I stopped for a break. While sipping my coffee, in came John from England whom I met on the first day. We last texted two days ago. He was 10 miles behind me but here he was. He had walked 15 hours (not miles) the previous day in order to make up distance using a torch (flashlight in American English) at night. My cardinal rule — no night walking.

I passed through Bolibar named for the ancestral home of Simon Bolibar (Bolivar as we know him). I did not have time to tour the actual home which is now a museum. I had done a quarter of the walk and it was already 11:00.

Even without the rain, the area has stretches of rain forests. At one point, the locals put in a half mile long wooden stairwell on a particularly steep incline. No way could anyone safely come down that hill.

About three-quarters of a mile from the bottom of the stairwell, I spotted the tower of a church in the town of Munitibar — almost the halfway point at about 1:15. Time was ticking.

After more climbs, steep descents, and muddy tracks, I finally spotted Guernica (Gernika in Basque) at 4:00 PM. I have wanted to visit the town because of Picasso’s famous painting of its destruction during the Spanish Civil War. The city is rebuilt and has expanded into the foothills. I will visit the memorial mural tomorrow.

My B&B for tonight is located outside of the city. Once I arrived at one of the main plazas, I called for a pick-up and asked for an hour to have some dinner. A cafeteria (not what we think – more like a bar and coffee shop) was nearby where I had some pinxtos, beer, and a chocolate croissant that had what seemed to be a generous bar of chocolate running through it — 2.80 Euros for the croissant.

The Casa Rural Astobieta has a delightful host family (husband, wife, two young boys), four dogs (finally received some puppy love), super fast WiFi, and a very comfortable bedroom. I was the only guest for the night. The night was dark.

The guidebook stated that this stage was to give the traveler a flavor of the mountains. Did the writers forget the up and down experiences of the past three days? I walked south away from the ocean. Lots of greenery to be seen but no ocean. Ah.

I encountered the red, white, and yellow blaze again. I was getting worried that somehow I was off course. Did I miss another fork in the road?

At the halfway point, I met Wim from the Netherlands (born 1 March 1948 — two months before me) and Nina from Norway, 70. They were on their fifth Camino. Wim claimed the title of the oldest person so far on this Camino. I thought that I was the only person thinking about age. We fist bumped and reveled that we could do this trek.

I recounted my walk to the Flysch and how the path did not follow the published route. Turns out that they did the same thing. They noted that signage on this Camino was not as frequent or obvious as other ones. Perhaps someone acted on this observation because after we met the signage seemed new and stood out. Quite frankly, I am glad that I took the fork that I did yesterday. I would have missed the Flysch.

Another new mountain experience was sharing the path with a rider and horse. Watching them pass, I began to imagine what it was like for foot soldiers who slogged in the mud while officers and cavalry rode about. Have you seen paintings of foot soldiers cheering horsemen? Not this one.

Before descending into Makina Xemein, I looked back to the mountains that I had traversed. I thought — been there, done that. But many more are to come.

I arrived in Markina-Xemein where a large hexagonal building houses this shrine to St Michael the Archangel, the patron saint of Markina. The stones were mentioned in the 14th century writings stating that hermits and nuns inhabited the site. The current structure was built in 1741 and renovated and added to since. The only other time I saw a large rock enclosed was the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. This site would have been impressive without the structure. The Remarkables on Kangaroo Island, Australia is another place where I saw huge rocks standing apart from other formations.

My hotel was another mile out of town. The additional mile was a paved path along a river. Well worth the extra distance. Here are some images of the dining area (my room is on the top floor to the right), inside my room, and my three course dinner. I would recommend this hotel/restaurant to anyone. It was very quiet as well.

As I dozed off into blissful sleep, I wondered whether foot soldiers had it so good. I don’t think so.

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.