September 23, 2022
- Route: Castro Urdiales to Laredo
- Distance: 32.2 kilometers (20 miles)
- Cumulative Distance: 230 km
When I woke up this morning, I was still a little bummed about last night’s discovery that I’d lost a sock somewhere. But perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. I preferred my Injinji toe socks over the other pair of wool running socks I’d brought anyway. Maybe I’d find another pair of toe socks here in Spain.
I discovered Injinji toe socks during my last Camino back in 2018. So, surely I’d find another pair here in Spain without too much trouble over the next few days.
I had a couple of bigger towns just ahead, including Santander, which had a population of 172,000. A city that size had to cater to pilgrims, runners, and hikers, right?!? I’d find a new pair of hiking socks. I just needed a little patience.
A CHANGE IS AFOOT
As I headed out of Castro Urdiales on the urban route of dark sidewalks, the street sweepers were out cleaning the roads. It seemed as if all the tourists were still asleep, and the town seemed quieter than before.
The sea air was still warm and humid, even though the sun was not yet fully in the sky. Yet something felt vastly different. I could literally feel the weather in the air. The rain was coming – not just for an afternoon or a day, but for the entire next week.
I knew I shouldn’t be surprised by this change. It’s officially fall now, and I’m walking along the coast. But that didn’t matter to me. I wanted to enjoy a dry Camino experience. I didn’t want a full week (or more) of rain.
I’d been really lucky back when I walked the Camino Frances four years ago. I’d come to Spain at essentially the same time of year (give or take a week), but I’d only had to endure two days of rain during that entire journey.
But with rain in the forecast, I’d need to remember to store my rain jacket and rain pants near the top of my pack for easy access. I was fairly certain they would get a workout over the next few days!
On my way out of town, I passed a large bullfighting arena. Bullfighting was clearly still a thing here in this part of the country, but I honestly had no desire to witness one of these events during my visit to Spain. To me, it’s a lot like the sport of boxing or MMA – barbaric, bellicose, and boring.
I remembered passing the giant La Plaza de Toros in Pamplona during the first few days of the Camino Francés. Yet, I always mentally associate Pamplona with the “running of the bulls,” not with bullfighting. Here in Castro Urdiales, though, I suspect the only one running with these bulls is the matadors.
ACHES & PAINS
As I climbed the hills above Castro Urdiales and returned to the rural countryside, I was treated to a spectacular sunrise over the ocean. The sky was filled with the most intense purples and pinks.
I used this time to take inventory of how my body felt. It’s been a whole week of walking on the Camino. A week filled with a ton of steep ups and downs through the rugged Basque Country.
My left knee has been doing better since the last major descent into Bilbao a few days ago. However, my calf muscles are incredibly tender from the repeated climbs. And I still have a blister on the ball of my left foot from when I failed to stop and immediately treat that hot spot while climbing toward Mt. Avril.
The plantar fasciitis in my arches and heels is flaring up again, too. I brought my small cork ball with me so I could roll out my arches and feet on this hike. I spent a full half hour working on my feet last night. But, sadly, I still have a sharp pain in my left heel.
I suspect that this newfound pain is primarily due to the changes that I made in my gait to accommodate the blister on the ball of my opposite foot. It’s amazing how one small thing like that can roll into a series of other physical issues.
Other than these minor aches and pains, though, I’m feeling pretty good. The first week of any major walk or hike is always the most challenging for the body as it struggles to adapt. Here’s hoping there’s some milder terrain ahead these next few days, and that the most intense climbs are behind me!
A SERIES OF SMALL TOWNS
The Camino followed rural paved paths for the first few kilometers of the morning out of town. And a mere hour and a half after departing the pensión, I was walking through the sleepy hamlet of Cerdigo, hoping I might find an open bar where I could stop for a café con leche.
My coffee dreams weren’t fulfilled, though. The town was just a cluster of seaside homes, with not a single business in sight. Then the Camino crossed N-634, the busy coastal highway, before dipping down into a forest right to the very edge of the ocean.
It was a lovely stretch of trail, following a rocky path along the ocean’s edge to the town of Islares. Small herds of goats and sheep grazed on the hills, while the sea beat against the rocky cliffs below.
This route was about as scenic as you could get on this warm morning, and the layer of clouds did a wonderful job of blocking the sun’s rays behind me as I walked west on the exposed hills.
As I entered Islares, I once again hoped to find an open bar or café, and spotted a hand-printed sign near the main church with an arrow pointing me to Café Elisa, about 100 yards off the main Camino route.
I never would have found the place if that sign hadn’t been there (which was probably why the proprietor took the additional measure to advertise by the church). The Camino always seems to wind its way past the churches in every town. And where there are pilgrims, there is someone in need of food or drink.
As I drank my coffee in the empty cafe, I read the notes for the route ahead warning my that the Camino followed a dangerous section of N-634. However, I’d soon learn the warning was overhyped.
Sure, the Camino followed the highway, but it had a nice, wide shoulder. And there was even a protective guardrail separating the fast traffic from the pedestrians walking along the road. This was far better than the conditions I’d had to endure the prior day. And the views of the beach weren’t bad either!
TAKE YOUR TRASH WITH YOU
Up ahead, tall hills towered above the beach, but the Camino wasn’t sending me over them. Instead, the Camino diverged from N-634 and followed the Rio Aguera o Mayor inland toward the two towns of Rioseco and La Magdalena, where I’d eventually cross the river’s two arms.
As I walked into Rioseco, I decided to take a short detour up a hill to take a look at the Iglesia San Vicente. The extra walk was worth it, too, showcasing a fantastic church with a sand-colored exterior and an ornate interior featuring geometric details on its ceilings.
The only downside to the detour was realizing that most visitors didn’t appreciate it as much as I did.
An older caretaker in his 60s was outside the church, filling giant bags of trash and bottles. It seemed that this church had become a place where people came to party hard and then rudely ditched their empty beer bottles and food wrappers wherever they pleased.
It made me sad that some folks had resorted to such offensive behavior. It wasn’t merely that it was a religious site that they’d disrespected, but it was their sense of entitlement. Why did people think it was acceptable to foul up the place with their heaps of trash? And now this poor caretaker was left to clean up after them.
BACK TO THE OCEAN
After Rioseco, the Camino wandered back out to the flat fields of the countryside, then into the town of La Magdalena, before ascending a great big climb on its way back toward the ocean.
I missed my turn up the hill and ended on an alternate that was 1.3 kilometers longer as it wound its way upward on a more gradual approach. I wasn’t complaining though. I’d gladly take this longer route if it meant my calves didn’t have to endure the steeper climb.
On the way back down, I passed several black and gray dappled horses all grazing in a row.
And then I wandered past a large group of people who seemed to be participating in a professional photo shoot. I’m not sure what they were advertising exactly, only that the male and female models were ridiculously attractive, and surfboards and wetsuits were featured prominently in the foreground.
When I saw the town of Liendo below me in a picturesque valley, the scene looked as if it could just as easily be in Germany or France as in Spain. White plaster homes with red tile roofs dotted the landscape, with light brown cows grazing in the green fields
I was able to pick some ripe figs that were randomly growing along the highway. These roadside figs tasted like the best fruit ever grown, which meant I needed to stop soon to deal with the growing hunger in my belly.
Luckily, I spotted a park down in the valley with some benches where I could have a picnic of the food I’d packed out from Castro Urdiales. I sat there scarfing down some bread, cheese, and fruit under the gray clouds. And that’s when the rain started falling. It was just a quick storm, and I didn’t get too terribly wet, but it definitely felt like foreshadowing for the days to come.
I only had 10 more kilometers to get to Laredo after this late lunch break, and I had one more big pass to go over before I’d be able to see the ocean again.
I followed the trail up toward a craggy rock outcropping and spotted some black goats grazing next to the trail. Their presence and the initial trail conditions led me to assume the climb would be much harder than it actually turned out to be.
As I climbed up high enough to spot the ocean again, I was pleasantly surprised by how much easier it felt compared to everything I’ve hiked up to this point. Perhaps my trail legs are finally starting to get conditioned, despite my litany of various injuries! Or maybe Cantabria was just less rugged than the Basque Country.
I was deceived by several false summits on the way up to the trail’s high point this afternoon. But I kept chugging along at a steady pace until I caught fleeting views of Laredo up ahead, only to be subsumed by six-foot-high foliage that completely blocked my view as a narrow path continued forward.
Carlos V
Heading back down out of the mountains toward Laredo, I could feel the blister on the ball of my left foot getting bigger. It was moving from the size of a dime to something closer to a quarter now. And even though I had a Compeed blister bandage covering it, even that remedy wasn’t enough to completely stop its growth.
Blisters on the bottom of my feet are the worst ones (in my opinion). There’s no real way to avoid putting the full weight of your body directly on them. Plus, all the fluids in your body tend to drain downward with gravity, so it’s never really possible for a popped blister to dry out.
As I got closer to the town, though, I was distracted from my nagging blister pain. I could hear some drumming up ahead. It was as if someone was hitting a bass drum over and over again to keep people in step. I had no clue what it could be, but it continued to get louder and louder as I walked down the sloped cobblestone streets into the old city.
When I arrived at the main church, the iron fences surrounding it were closed. That was odd. Churches are usually open on Fridays. At least that was my experience in the past. And it was my experience earlier today when I visited the Iglesia San Vicente. Why was this church all locked up? And where were all the people this afternoon?
I continued further down into the old city, following the sounds of the bass drum. My feet felt compelled to start marching in time to the beat of the drum out of sheer habit. And then I peeked over a rampart-style wall to reveal what appeared to be a giant festival down below me.
A parade was taking place on the main road that I needed to cross, which meant I had no choice but to walk down toward it. And as I was making my way there, three men dressed in some bizarre Renaissance attire walked out of a bar right in front of me.
Then I stumbled on a family putting on their own elaborate costumes and fastening their embellished escoffions to their heads.
I had no idea what to make of this spectacle. What was happening in Laredo?!?
I followed behind the costumed people, and soon discovered that several streets were blocked off for the event. It was the annual festival celebrating Carlos V, King of Spain from 1516-1556 (and, simultaneously, Holy Roman Emperor from 1519 to 1556).
Somehow, I’d walked into Laredo during the four-day period when this celebration occurred each September. And yes… it was essentially a giant Renaissance festival, with people dressed up in period attire, eating street food, buying trinkets, and watching parades of brightly colored performers.
I stood on the edge of the crowd being entertained by a group of young men twirling their flags and performing acrobatic feats to the beat of snare drums behind them. It was quite the unexpected display of creativity.
Behind them, a whole pig was being roasted on a spit by one of the food vendors. There was a tented stall filled with approximately 50 different types of bulk olives. Plus, shaved döner meat sandwiches, sangria, artisanal breads, and so much more. Everything looked and smelled delicious.
I ended up taking an extended break to eat an early dinner at one of the food stalls, figuring it was worth the stop. I might as well take advantage of all these food choices and the ease of pointing and ordering without a menu or language barrier. And then I spotted the crepes. A Nutella-filled crepe was on the list of potential desserts, for sure.
THE FERRY
After filling my belly, I walked the final one-mile stretch down Laredo’s wide beach promenade toward my hotel. Much like last night in Castro Urdiales, the albergue options were limited in this upscale beach resort town.
At the far end of Laredo, there was a wide bay formed by several rivers converging on their way out to the ocean. Laredo’s wide crescent of beach sat on the near side of this bay, while the smaller town of Santoña (with a bigger albergue) sat on the opposite side. But pilgrims had to take a ferry across the bay to continue their westward progress on the Camino del Norte.
As I’d planned out today’s mileage and route, I’d been worried about how far I would be able to walk with the blister on the bottom of my foot. Getting to Laredo required walking 32 kilometers (20 miles) in a day, which seemed ambitious enough.
If I’d wanted to push further to Santoña’s albergue, I needed to walk another 4-5 kilometers to reach the ferry dock before the boat stopped running for the day. But most of the summer crowds were gone, so the ferry’s hours were transitioning to a more limited schedule. It would be a real gamble to try to get all the way to Santoña today.
In the end, I’d taken the safer bet and settled on spending the night in Laredo instead of Santoña. There were ample hotels available here. Stopping in Laredo was preferable to pushing a marathon day to the docks and potentially missing the last ferry, only to have to backtrack to a hotel anyway.
And that’s how I ended up in a beachfront hotel watching the fireworks for the Carlos V festival on a Friday night in late September!
