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Etapa 1:  Irún to Donostia-San Sebastián
Distance: 22.2 km
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Weather: 65F, sunny, breezy, cloudless
Total photos taken: 147 (33 selected for this map)
Notable sights: Santuario de Nuestra Señora de Guadelupe; Monte Jaizkibel; Puerto de Pasajes; Donostia-San Sebastián.

Etapa description continued after the break.  Follow the flecha . . .

Unsurprisingly, I did not sleep well the night before the first of 33 days walking the Camino del Norte.  My Gore-Tex jacket had doubled as a blanket because the Irún albergue did not provide any and my last packing decision was to leave my sleeping bag across the Atlantic.  That decision paid off, however, as this was only one of a handful of albergues where I had to utilize my jacket in this fashion.   Despite this, I never did sleep well on the Camino:  sore bones, thin mattresses, and unforgiving snorers gave little mercy.

I packed my bag to a soundtrack of choral music and sat down in the communal area for breakfast.  The bearded, elderly hospilatero served coffee as I reviewed the day’s itinerary.  I bid farewell to the Madrileño I met the day before and stepped onto the empty streets of Irún at 7:40 am.  It was a cool, foggy morning but the sun soon would lift the moisture away.

The first leg of the morning was roughly 5 kilometers to the Santuario de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.  I had walked the route out of Irún the day before when I visited Fuenterrabía with the Madrileño who was cycling the Northern Way so little time was wasted.  After turning off from the main Irún-Fuenterrabía road, I passed through a nature preserve before entering a forest track to reach the hill where the Santuario sat above the Bidasoa River, which separates French and Spanish Basque Country.

The Camino presents a choice shortly after the Santuario:  take the easier yet less aesthetic forest track that hugs the slopes of Monte Jaizkibel or take a short but steep footpath up the hill to follow the trail along the ridge of Jaizkibel.  There is plenty of pine but no coast where I live so the choice was easy.  The morning sun had broken away the earlier overcast, affording expansive views of the French-Spanish frontier.

The 8-km ridge trail was populated with weekenders enjoying the weather and long Easter weekend.  A beagle and her two kids ran large circles around their masters.  The footpath is subtle, a sign that locals come here not to hike with a purpose but leisurely stroll the ridge that stradles the Bay of Biscay and Bidasoa Valley.  The path rises gently past rocky outcrops and wildflower meadows until it eventually reaches the summitt of Monte Jaizkibel.

The descent from Jaizkibel passes a large antenna complex before emerging onto the GI-3440 road (road name may be different).  I cannot remember what the approach to Puerto de Pasajes is like but this road is followed.  The puerto is comprised of three communities and you can take a small ferry across the channel from Pasaia Donibane to Pasaia San Pedro for under €1.

After grabbing a Coca-Cola, I made my way up to the cemetery of Pasaia San Pedro.  Three youths were loitering near the cemetery, offering me a chance to practice my Spanish.  They directed me to the shortcut that I was inquiring about even though it was marked with flechas.  This path goes behind the cemetery and ascends sharply,  levels out as it wraps around the headland, and eventually is joined by the main route as it passes a lighthouse.  The Camino continues to hug the coast with the sea on your right before you reach another choice:  a ruined aqueduct can be used to bridge a small ravine or the pilgrim can continue on the safer footpath.  The Camino bends around another headland before rising gently with wonderful vistas of Donostia-San Sebastián on your right.

The Camino joins a steep staircase that leads down in the Sagues district of Donostia-San Sebastián.  From here, it is easy to find a main street that will lead you into the Old Town or you can find a stop to catch the bus to the youth hostel on the other end of town.

Etapa 19: Leces to Sebrayo
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Distance: 30.5 km (19 miles)
Weather: Light rain early; sun in the valley; heavy rain until Sebrayo
Media: 44 photos
Notables: rain, rain, rain to Sebrayo; mud, mud, mud to Sebrayo; costal walk through pastures to La Espasa

Etapa 18: Poo to Leces
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Distance: 31 km (19 miles)
Weather: Party cloudy, cool but no wind
Photos: 63 photos
Notables: Camino Antiguo; Celorio beach; peaceful, quiet day; friendly dog in Naves

Etapa description continued after the break. Follow the flecha . . .

Etapa 9: Castro-Urdiales to Laredo
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Distance: 28 km
Weather: Partly cloudy with light wind
Photos: 23
Notables: Eucalyptus forests, evidence of logging, walking through the construction boom of holiday villas, afternoon hike through the hills

“The swiftest traveler is he that goes afoot.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

I thought I was beginning to settle into a groove after nine days of walking the Camino. I wrote in my diary a daily routine that I wanted to follow (with obvious room for flexibility):

• 7 am – Wake up
• 8 am – Walk
• 10 am – Rest
• 10:30 am – Walk
• 12:30 pm – Lunch
• 1:30 pm – Walk
• 3:30 pm – Rest or arrival at destination

This routine would be tested over the coming week but I eventually hit my stride after overcoming some hurdles. My Camino was an up-and-down journey roughly following the contours of the northern coast of Spain. Clichéd, I know, but true nonetheless. Today was a fine example.

The morning was sunny yet brisk and my clothes were three-layers thick. The Camino followed the A-8 motorway on an undulating asphalt road and the constant ascending and descending hills required me to strip off a couple of layers. This short stretch of the Camino del Norte would be boring if there were not expansive views of the coast. Despite the vista I missed the rugged Basque Camino but was afforded a brief respite through an off-road path fraught with rocky outcrops. This path eventually lead through private farmland hugging the coastline.

I was back to the monotony of economic development in Islares, where the Spanish construction boom forgot to finish what it started. It was a Sunday but the half-finished vacation condos seem untouched since the previous summer. The Camino flat-lined again after the positive spike during the off-road rock-hopping. I stopped at the modern campsite at the end of town to stock up on supplies in the convenience store. The Camino heads inland past a beautiful beach and climbs into the hills. My attitude increased with the hills as I left behind the busy motorway and hiked in relative solitude through eucalyptus forest, some of which had been cleared by logging.

This stretch of the Camino took about two hours and the climate changed several times. There was always a sweltering heat after finishing a strenuous uphill climb but the mercury dropped as soon as I headed downhill. The clouds rolled in, wind picked up, and rain started to fall whenever the Camino was its easiest. At least that’s what it felt like today. When the Camino was boring, as it became once I descended into the valley of Liendo, the weather was as well. The last portion of the etapa to Laredo went through more condo communities, akin to the faceless American suburbs, before climbing another hill to reach the resort town of Laredo.

Etapa 8: Bilbao to Castro-Urdiales
Distance: 25.77 km
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Weather: Sunny & warm, turning cool & windy with light rain later
Photos: 37
Notables: Train to Muskiz, last view of Basque Country, trail around rocky coast

Etapa description continued after the break. Follow the flecha . . .

Today I did something that I came to regret. The day started out well enough. I caught an early train from Bilbao to Muskiz. The “shortcut” was not what I felt guilty about; that will have to wait.

I pretended to read La Marca on the short ride through the sprawl to the day’s etapa starting point. I decided to chop off an ugly section of the Camino through the suburbs and industrial sectors of Bilbao. Beginning in Muskiz made the Camino a much more manageable 26 kilometers (16 miles).

I easily found the Camino once I arrived in Muskiz and stopped at a supermarket to gather supplies. I had brunch at the local fútbol ground before I finally set feet to pavement. The began to doubt my navigational skills as the road the winded around an oil refinery seemed to last forever. I stuck to my guns and arrived in Pobeña where doubt turned to confusion.

There was an albergue but it was too early in the season and closed. Conflicting flechas amarillas and a confusing map in a bus stop made me lose close to half an hour. I eventually guessed right and headed through a public car park and found the stairs that led to the magnificent coastal footpath.

The enduring memory I have of the Basque Country is lush, rolling green hills. One of the final images of this special place is a picturesque beach with a backdrop of hills in perfect pose. This was a misleading introduction to Cantabria: I had crossed the provincial border from the Basque Country into Cantabria three-quarters of the way into the coastal footpath. My joints still ache at the thought of walking the Cantabrian strech of the Camino del Norte due to the amount of road walking.

However, I enjoyed my first day in Cantabria. The rocky coastal footpath eventually cut inland at Ontón. There was a pleasant section through grazing land for horses between Santullán and Sámano despite the light rain that began to fall. I was led back towards the sea on the approach to Castro-Urdiales.

This is where my regret rears its ugly head. I had some difficulty finding the albergue and stopped at the Guardia Civil barracks to ask for directions. An officer who either was cleanly shaven or had not yet experienced puberty opened the security door and said the pilgrim’s hostel had been closed for years contrary to information I had researched recently.

Bewildered, I made my way to tourist office where the extremely helpful attendant told me what I wanted to hear: the albergue was indeed open and just a few hundred yards past the Guardia Civil, next to the bull-fighting ring. I shouldered my backpack and headed for my resting place for the evening. As I passed the Guardia Civil barracks for the second time I mutttered to myself that even though Franco died in 1975 the Guardia Civil were still fascist pigs. As you’ll find if you continue to read this blog, I came to regret this statement.

Bilbao, Basque Country
April 17, 2009