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.

Early morning is clean up time in San Sebastián. A few people are on their way to work at 7:30 while men and machine sweep up and hose down the Old Town. So quiet after a busy evening of socializing over drinks and pinxtos.

My breakfast bar was one of the earlier openers in Old Town. Jon served up an excellent cup of cafe con leche, freshly squeezed orange juice, and my choice of a flaky chocolate croissant. Even a humble bar serves up a croissant that meets the highest standards.

Breakfast on both of my days was quick because of the hikes ahead of me. I was off by 8:30 rounding the beach before starting up the hills surrounding Donestia.

I love looking back at where I had walked. The highest point in the far right background of the photo below was where I communed with the telecommunication towers the day before.

Back to the present while walking just out of Donestia, Antonio from Malaga called out and l asked where I was headed. To Santander, said I. He was cycling there too and beyond to Santiago. He will get to his destinations faster than I. But his experience will be different than mine. I wonder whether he stopped at the cemetery on the downslope while entering Orio? Probably not given the speed that I observed bikers speeding down the hill.

It was 1:30 when I arrived at Orio’s plaza major. Tables at all but one restaurant were taken. Lucky for me. An 18 euro lunch menu was offered: bean soup (a tureen that yielded three bowls), grilled anchovies, flan and a glass of vino. All that I could ask for —- and for the price! Sitting under an umbrella by the river was heavenly.

I was now revived for the final four miles to Zarautz which of course had a 500 foot climb up a hill. The view on the other side was the beach at Zarautz. The wind was stiff with clear skies above. What a magnificent site. Note — the three light dots in the foreground were bunkers surrounding a green on the local golf course.

Although today’s walk was easier than yesterday, my legs were pretty sore at the end because of the ups and downs of the past two days. Three more challenging stages await. In the meantime, I relaxed through a three course dinner that included a bottle of wine. I shared the last quarter of the bottle with a diner a few tables away. It was a light white wine at 10% but it paired well with the choices I had made — 18 Euros.

With a full belly, I was ready for bed. Not quite because this entry was yet to be written.

The start point for the Camino del Norte is the bridge over the Bidasoa River that divides France and Spain. I took two days to reach it.

I decided to chronicle how I reached the border in order to help others with detailed information because the guidebooks were inadequate on how to do so.

After my flight from Newark to Madrid, I went through a new passport control system in Terminal 1 of the Barajas airport. At a gate similar to those in a subway, I scanned my passport, put four fingers of my right hand on a glass plate to record my prints, and smiled for a camera. Once the gate opened, I walked to the booths where the border police stamped my passport. More surveillance.

I then boarded the free airport shuttle outside of Terminal 1 for the ride to Terminal 4 and the long walk to the bus terminal located about a half a mile away along a covered walkway.

I chose to stop in Burgos — about a 3 hour bus ride from Madrid — the halfway point to San Sebastián (Donostia in Basque). One can choose to fly to Donostia from Madrid. But I love Burgos for the friendly people, its old town and walk along the river that runs through it. The Burgos Cathedral is a World Heritage site and its main gate was once part of the wall surrounding the city. The bus station is less than a half mile from the main gate.

The next day, I arrived mid afternoon in Donostia. The sun was bright and the sun worshippers were soaking up the rays. I enjoyed the view and started with my first beer on Camino. Thanks Laird for starting the tradition.

Before dinner, I walked around areas outside the old town and corniche. Dinner time in Spain still starts around 8:00 PM. One can taste pinxtos (aka tapas) at happy hour and make a meal of them. I opted for an early dinner at Casa Gandarias down the street from my pension located across from La Vina, a famous bar in Old Town. I could not resist the anchovies (with a glass of Albariño) and the roast suckling pig (with a glass of Rioja) which I first tasted 52 years ago at Casa Botin in Madrid. No dessert.

Now for the Camino information.

Obtaining a credential was easy. Just go to the information office near the corniche in the Old Town. To get to the French-Spanish pedestrian bridge, walk to the Amaro station (about one mile south from Old Town) – a one way ticket is 2.90 Euros — route E2. Get off at the Irun-Ficoba station, the last stop. Ya Esta. Voila.

This morning, I was on the 8:45 train. By 9:15, I was at the border which is about 200 meters from the Irun Ficoba station. A kindly cyclist took my photo at the start point, a sign post that on one side displayed the coat of arms of the RF (Republique Francaise) on one side and Spain on the other.

I wound my way through Irun, first along the river and then the busy main street on alert for the yellow arrow of the Camino.

At the edge of town, I spotted a group of pilgrims. I followed them as we left the main road for a dirt road that cut through farm land. I caught up with them. Four of them were Australians; one, a fourth generation Japanese American who grew up in Gardena, CA and now lives in Basel, Switzerland. All but one had doctorates; the other an MD. They are walking the entire Camino del Norte over the next two months.

We reached the church of Guadeloupe by 10:30. I said farewell because I had to make time in order to complete the stage by sundown. They were stopping overnight at the halfway point.

Less than a half mile later, I turned right to climb up the mountain to take the high route — 100 meters up in about 400 meters. As the guidebook stated — steep!

I expected more stretches upward. They were mostly gentle waves of up and downs interspersed with long steep rocky climbs. After the third one, I was pretty much spent and shared some rest time with the communication towers at the top of the ridge. This segment was as hard as the climb over the Pyrenees or the O Cebreio on the Camino Frances and several of the mountains on the Camino Primitivo. Certainly a challenge.

It was around 1:00 PM. I was not even halfway. The downhill was severe at some points — very rocky, similar to the rutty terrain in the Pyrenees.

An hour and a half later, I was off the mountain in Lezo with a beer in hand and a slice of tortilla. What a welcomed relief.

However, another mile and a half was ahead to reach the ferry which was a small boat. The fare was 3 euros, cash. People with credit cards were turned away. Cash is king here.

You might think that the upward climbs were over? How about a 400 step stairway! You can imagine what went through mind.

The trail continued in parkland where I encountered assorted recreational walkers, serious runners, and dogs. Unlike at home, these dogs were all business and off lease. No petting or kissing.

It was now 4;00 PM. I sat by the road inhaling raisins and pumpkin seeds when a pair of Camino hikers came by — John from England and Daniel from the Netherlands who later informed me that the Serbs displaced the Hollanders as the tallest people in the world on average. No way. Daniel was an excellent example of tall Dutch people.

We walked along together and decided to stop for some beer at a B&B along the road. No beer here but iced matte was offered. We were skeptical at first about the drink. Matte is the go to drink in Argentina. But cold matte? This version was delicious and rejuvenated us for the final two miles into Donostia. Here we are with Pedro who also recommended his commune’s restaurant, the Yellow Deli, in the city. Sounds like old hippy language. I suspect that they were. We arrived there at 7:45. No Basque food here. John and I had chili con carne and Daniel, a Reuben. Even in northeastern Spain, the offerings are global.

My pension was nearby. I thought about having a beer to end the journey. Alas, I settled for some stretching, a shower, and bed.