29. Bolibar to Muxika and Morga

It was an up and down stage today - literally. Altogether there were five significant climbs and descents. And by significant, I mean over 100 metres of altitude gain and loss. It’s not as much as some days in the foothills of the Pyrénées but more than enough to get the blood pumping and the lungs puffing.

The climbing started as I walked out the door of the albergue and that final climb of the day took me pretty much to the door of place I be am staying tonight, which is really between villages.

Towards the top of the first climb, the path led right through the gate of a huge Cistercian monastery. 

The grounds and buildings were beautifully kept and it had a calm peaceful sense. I met a couple of pilgrims that stayed there and apparently they practice the seven hours of prayer. Like most of the monasteries in most countries in the world, the number of monks or nuns is shrinking and ageing. I wonder how much longer this place will look like this.

And then it was back into the forest, through groves of pine, oak, birch and chestnut, along with a fair share of blackberry and stinging nettle.

Someone had done a lot of work on the track in this section, there must have been two hundred and fifty steps made in treated pine.

Who knows about these things??!!

In the floor of each valley there were delightful stretches of track winding beside small streams. More of this, please?

After about twenty kilometres of walking the famous or infamous town Gernika came into view. On April 26, 1937, Gernika was bombed by Nazi Germany’s Cindor Legion and Fascist Italy’s Aviazone Legioaria. The attack inspired Pablo Picasso’s painting Gernika, depicting the carnage of the attack. I have seen the original in the Museo Reina Sophía (in Madrid) and it is chilling.

I had this in mind as I walking into the town so it was somewhat disorienting to come across a bright and really bustling city centre with umbrellas everywhere and hundreds of people sitting enjoying coffee, beer, wine and pintxos. 

I spent some time sitting in the town and then walked on - up and up to the albergue where I a have paused for the night.

Here this evening we will share a meal - German, Italian, Irish, Hungarian, South African, Spanish (Basque and Catalan), Swedish, Dutch and Australian - pilgrims together.

☮️

Tomorrow, I hope to walk into Bilbao, which marks the end of the first of five sections of the Camino del Norte.

The weather has been good for this first section and as I write, the sun is still shining, hopefully, at least partially drying my poorly hand washed gear. 

🌞

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28. Ibiri to Bolibar

I had a great sleep last night. There were bunks for 16 in my room (there were two rooms) but only four were taken, including mine so it was pretty quiet. The mattresses were thin but they didn’t sag, which makes all the difference.

I rose at 7am along with most of the other pilgrims staying in the albergue and tucked into the breakfast bag I had purchased from the hospitalero the night before - an orange juice, a coffee capsule (for the machine in the kitchen), an apple, banana and an industrial looking and tasting croissant. 

By 7.45am I was out walking. It was a climb from the get go but the morning was cool and still and incredibly peace so it was a delight.

Contemplative cows.

 

There were some muddy sections today but thankfully not too many, which brings me to Isobel’s comment in yesterday’s blog. You are right, Isobel most cobbles are quite tricky to walk on, especially wet ones on a slope and  those that are more roughly laid (and there’s quite a few in these two categories in these parts!). Equally challenging are exposed rocky sections of wet limestone, and rubble generally (also quite a bit in these parts). Sloping clay is the next most challenging surface to walk on and then massive long sections of steps. Apart from that, it’s easy!!

This little guy was keen to connect and have his tummy rubbed. Not all dogs in this region are as friendly but there were a couple today like this guy.

There were more eucalyptus trees in evidence today too. I’m not sure if they are a blessing or a curse in Spain.

I am further inland than I have been on the Camino del Norte, in fact I didn’t see the sea at all today. 

After a very steep descent off the plateau that had taken the morning to walk I entered the outskirts of Markina, a town that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me in terms of structure. Nevertheless, it was a welcome lunch and rest point in the days stage.

This Ermita (chapel) is fascinating. It was build around two massive boulders so you have this very earthy rock feature inside a very ornate dome structure

Post lunch there was another ten kilometres of so to Bolibar, my planned destination for today. On I walked, the afternoon feeling decidedly warmer. 

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I reckon this is one of Andy’s old boots! He purchased a new pair in San Sebastián because the soles of his others had worn out. I’m assuming he has offloaded this one because he has now broken the other pair in. He will be a couple of stages ahead of me because I paused for those two days in San Sebastián. 

Bolibar is a nice little Puebla with about 60 houses, a massive church (as with almost every town in Spain), a stream running through, a nice central square, and quite a few symbols marking the Camino (such as this shell fence).

Here’s yhe albergue, narrow at the front but very clean and nice. So far, there is only one other pilgrims in my dormitory - Jennifer, a young French woman who hails from the Hautes-Pyrénées region and is riding her bike to Bilbao. 

Which brings me to Charles’s question on the blog yesterday about conversation in polylingual settings such as last night’s dinner. Mostly, it seems we stumble and bumble along using the odd words we know from each other’s language. I am pretty hopeless at all languages, but many of the Europeans have at least basic English, which helps a lot. Last night we had a Basque host, a Catalan man, two French women (one of whom had slipped and fallen on the stage injuring her wrist), an Irish woman, a Canadian woman from Quebec, a German woman and me.  We seemed to chat on quite successfully, no doubt helped by the hearty and healthy pilgrim meal.

Oh and note the Palestinian flag on the upper window or the albergue. There is a great deal of support for the people of Gaza in pays Basque, I have seen hundreds of such flags and plenty of graffiti condemning what is currently happening. 

As the evening was falling I went for a stroll around the village. As I walked past the church an old man came up and asked if I would like to see inside. He let me in, turned on the lights and offered me a stamp for my pilgrim credential. The inside was cavernous, not too ornate but beautifully painted and clearly lovingly kept.

My thanks to you all for following along, for your supportive comment, observations and questions. You are very much appreciated. 

🙏

27. Getaria to Ibiri Quarter

I was out bright and early this morning. Once someone’s alarm goes off in these bigger hostels and albergues things ramp up quickly, a chaos of rustling, bag packing, teeth cleaning etc, etc. I find it best to pack quickly and get going. I found an open cafe just up the hill so I had a quick coffee and tostadas and walked on. The morning was cool and quiet, perfect for walking.

At times it looked as if the path led into the sea. At other times, it wound deep into the forested hillside.

It hasn’t always been easy to pick where the route goes but it was totally clear here!

The general pattern is to wind up and away from an inlet or beach town (like Getaria), mostly up some steep, rocky path, cross the next ridge or two, and then descent (usually steeply) into the next inlet or town. 

I did this twice today. First into Zumaia and then again into Deba.

As I walked into Deba (again via a long, steep roughly cobbled set of steeps) the central plaza and surrounding lanes were buzzing (with st James watching over it all from high in the church wall). There was clearly some festival going on with many folks dressed in a variety of traditional outfits. 

The heart of the festival seemed to revolve around a bunch on young women and men (wearing pointy hats with coloured bands attached and enormous cow bells tied to their waists) parading around around the central square with a bouncy step that made the cow bells ring.

Most others seemed intent on queueing for what looked like a sausage in a specially cooked crepe from a crowded street stall and then for a glass of cider from a big keg planted next door. 

I asked these young girls what was happening and the one with a little English said: ‘Basque party’.

Then came the procession of all the dressed up folks following a band.

More bouncing cow bells. Lots of noise. Everyone seemingly enjoying themselves.

I followed it all for a while and then took to the road again, across the inlet and up, up, up the other side.

These climbs aren’t as high as some of the climbs on the Piamonte in France but some are as steep!!!

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The albergue was another 5kms or so further on, out in the countryside. It’s a humble simple place that offers a communal pilgrim meal, bed and breakfast hamper, all of which is much appreciated. I arrived in good time to shower, wash and hang clothes, and have a little time to relax before dinner

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And by now, I hope Sarah’s flight should be nearing Australia.

Buenas noches, dear reader.

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