September 16, 2022

• Train Route: St. Jean-de-Luz, France to Hendaye, France
• Hiking Route: Hendaye, France to San Sebastian, Spain
• Distance walked: 29.8 kilometers (18.5 miles)

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Last night, I ended up in the tiny French town of St. Jean-de-Luz. I’d disembarked from my train about 15-20 minutes before my final destination because of how expensive hotel rooms seemed to be in Hendaye.

I didn’t know why St. Jean-de-Luz was a cheaper option. It seemed like a nice enough town and had a beach. But I’d also arrived at dusk and didn’t go exploring any further than a restaurant to eat. So who knows.

When I stepped out of my hotel this morning to walk back to the train station the air felt warm and humid on my face. A steady rain had come in overnight, and while it had stopped right before dawn, I wondered if it was how the air always felt along this coast. Were my upcoming days going to remind me of the the places like Charleston or Savannah, where the air was always thick with humidity?

I didn’t have time to worry about the weather though. I needed to catch a trail to Hendaye and get this Camino started already. I’d taken the high-speed train into town last night, but I wouldn’t be waiting around to catch it again today. The TGV only passes through here twice a day, and I wasn’t planning to stick around that long. I’d need to find a ticket to ride one of the regional SNCF trains running down toward the Spanish border instead.

It was still before 8 am, so the ticket office wasn’t open yet. However, I spotted an electronic kiosk outside the station where I should be able to buy a ticket for any one of the local trains that ran to Hendaye roughly every half hour.

Unfortunately, the ticket machine was a finicky thing. The language button didn’t seem to want to change over to English no matter how many times I pushed it. So I had to do my best to struggle through the process with my limited knowledge of French.

But in the end, I had a fresh ticket in hand with Hendaye printed as my destination, so I was feeling pretty proud of myself as I heading to the platform to wait for my train to arrive.

Walking into SPain

After a quick train ride west, I found myself stepping out into the last town before the Spanish border. The French town of Hendaye and the Spanish town of Irun are essentially sister cities in the Basque Region bisected by a river and an international border. And this was where my Camino was going to begin.

I’d been to this same train station just four years ago, during my trip to Europe in 2018 to walk the Camino Francés. I’d flown to the San Sebastián airport (which is actually on the outskirts of Irun, not in San Sebastián, Spain). Then I’d walked east across the border into France so I could take the train from Hendaye to St. Jean-Peid-de-Port, France.

This time around though, I’d be walking westbound – heading from France into Spain, across the wide span of the Río Bidasoa that separated these two European nations.

As I walked across the bridge, a police checkpoint was set up, but it was only monitoring the vehicle traffic departing Spain, not the pedestrian traffic entering it. So I was greeted with little fanfare other than the blue EU sign with its circle of yellow stars and the word “Espagne” printed in white block letters.

Several dozen faded stickers were plastered to the sign, partially obscuring the country’s name, but it was visible enough to officially welcome me to Spain. And just beyond the bridge, I spotted my first Camino markers too. Yellow arrows were painted on railing near the end of the bridge, directing me left toward a pedestrian path that ran along river.

As I followed these initial markings west into Irun, I had one critical stop to make. I needed to get my credential.

The Camino credential is a document that all pilgrims carry during their journey. It looks like a long piece of folded card stock and isn’t much bigger than your passport. The credential has eight spaces on each page for pilgrims to acquire ink stamps from albergues, inns, cafes, local tourist offices, or other businesses visited during the pilgrimage.

Pilgrims are supposed to obtain at least one stamp for each day they walk the Camino, and these marks serve as proof that of your route and that you completed at least 100 kilometers on your way to Santiago de Compestela. The credential also is the one item that demonstrates to the albergues and inns that you are pilgrim so you can get the lower pilgrim rate for lodging.

When I hiked my first Camino for years ago, I went directly to the Pilgrim’s Office in St. Jean Pied-de-Port, France to register as a pilgrim and get a credential there. However, there is no official Pilgrim Office in Irun – even though it was probably the most common starting point for the Camino del Norte. Instead, I had two different options for acquiring a credential this time around.

The first (and preferred) option was to request a credential from the American Pilgrims on the Camino. This is the only organization authorized by the Pilgrim’s Office in Santiago de Compestela to issue credentials in the United States. Unfortunately, it takes the organization at least three weeks to process requests and then mail the document to your home. And with all my various summer travel plans, I’d completely forgotten to submit my credential request in time.

The remaining option was to get a credential at the beginning of my Camino journey here in Spain. That meant a visit to the Parish of Santa Maria del Juncal in Irun to ask the local priests if they had any on hand. Lucky for me, the Camino route would take me right past this Catholic church during the first few kilometers of my journey.

I’m a pilgrim now

As I walked those initial steps into Spain, the sky got darker and darker above me. Then the rain began to fall. It was just a light pitter patter at first, but soon the precipitation picked up to a steady downpour. It was too warm to wear a jacket this morning, so I was extremely glad I’d decided to bring my ultralight umbrella to keep myself (mostly) dry.

My umbrella was one of those gear items I’d debated on long and hard as I put together my packing list for this Camino. I knew I was walking in the shoulder season, where warm and dry weather was likely for the beginning of my journey. But the weather could quickly turn cool and wet, especially as the calendar turned to October and the autumn season materialized.

Moreover, my experience from thru-hiking the Oregon Coast Trail (OCT) last year taught me that rain is an extremely common occurrence on coastal hikes, regardless of what month you were hiking. But my trusty umbrella may not be the best piece of gear for dealing with it on this hike.

Sure, it’s a great item for keeping your chest and head dry in normal conditions. But an umbrella is pretty much worthless once the wind picks up. That’s why I ended up ditching the umbrella and switching to a poncho on my OCT thru-hike. The winds were just to strong to use it.

Yet,as I packed my gear for this coastal adventure, I mentally went back and forth between the poncho and umbrella. Which was better? And how windy would it really be? In the end, my ultralight hiking umbrella won out because I knew I could always buy a poncho in Spain if I absolutely needed one. I’d stick with the gear I normally used, and just go from there.

By the time I made it to the church I’d been aiming for in Irun, the rain was really coming down too. The front doors to the main part of the sanctuary were still shut at this early hour. So I walked around the giant church looking for an office where the priest might be working.

I finally settled for knocking on a door to the right of the main entrance because there was an open window nearby. That seemed like as good of a sign as any that someone was potentially inside. If not a priest, maybe someone else who could direct me to the right place or tell what time to come back.

My gamble paid off though. A short, squat man in his 60s opened the door. It was the parish priest. I greeted him and used my mediocre, high school Spanish to explain that I was a pilgrim on the Camino del Norte and I needed to obtain a credential. He nodded and waved for me to follow him inside (though I left my soaking umbrella dripping in a discreet corner to be polite).

After asking me where I was coming from and commenting on the rain, he stamped a brand new credential and wished me luck. I tucked the precious card into a ziplock bag to keep it dry and offered to make a donation to the church in return, but he waved it off, and simply bid me a “Buen Camino” before showing me to the door.

And that was that. I supposed I was officially a peregrina (pilgrim) now!

The mountains

As I departed the quiet historic part of the city and followed the yellow arrows away from the church, the Camino’s route got busier and busier. Soon I was walking down a sidewalk beside a major thoroughfare in Irun with storefronts on either side. Finding the arrows in this chaos felt like I was on an Easter egg hunt and I know I was moving slower than necessary as a result.

I was grateful to have a GPS route to follow (as a back-up plan) just to ensure I was headed in the right direction while navigating the busy city streets. It wasn’t as if there were a lot of tricky turns to follow. But I didn’t spot nearly as many familiar markings as I would have liked to build up my confidence and assure me that I was on the right track. The rhythm of the Camino would eventually emerge, I knew. I just wasn’t quite back in the groove yet.

On my way out of town, I decided to stop and grab some fruit at one of the local fruterias (fruit stores) and then toyed with the idea of stopping at a bakery for a fresh baguette empanada too. But I had some leftover snacks in my pack from yesterday’s travels. I needed to eat them first before weighing down my pack with more food, especially since I was going to be doing a lot of tough climbing today.

At last, the camino finally circled back to the San Sebastián airport, and I departed the paved sidewalks for a dirt path into the Basque countryside. I sighed in relief. I was itching to get out of this urban setting and somewhere that I could appreciate the nature around me.

As I continued under the gray skies, I passed fields filled with miniature ponies and cows. I overtook a fellow slow-moving pilgrim wearing a daypack, and then I stopped smile at the a small girl getting tremendous joy from jumping in puddles while her father watched.

Several locals were out walking now, and everyone I passed greeted me with,”Hola,” or “Buenos Dias,” but none of them said “Buen Camino,” which I found odd. On my first day walking the Camino Francés, the phrase Buen Camino (have a good walk/camino) seemed to be repeated over and over again each time someone greeted a new pilgrim. I must have heard it close to 100 times. But the only one to share that greeting thus far was the priest in Irun.

Perhaps the Camino de Santiago wasn’t as well know through these parts. Or maybe I just looked like an average hiker and nothing special. Yet I couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed inside. One of the best memories from my first Camino was of all the people wishing each other well on their camino. Not hearing those two precious words was a little sad.

As I began gaining elevation on my way above the village of Hondarribia, I could see some sort of church ahead of me in the distance on the ridge. One of my apps told me it was the Sanutario de Guadalupe, a former hermitage that’s privately owned by an Italian family now.

The Camino climbed further into the mountains and, much to my delight, would eventually deposit me right at this church’s entrance. This allowed me to admire the building’s Baroque and Renaissance architecture up close and take a quick rest break to get some more water from the nearby fountain.

There were about a half a dozen backpackers resting from the hearty climb when I arrived. I wish a few of them “Buen Camino,” but I was really more interested in the church. Its doors were open today, so I ducked inside to take a peek before continuing on.

I was immediately impressed with how meticulously well-maintained the interior of the building seem to be. Behind the alter, an ornate gold backdrop gleamed, and the visitors seemed to quietly whisper to each other out of respect for their surroundings.

Once I returned back out into the warm, morning air, I pressed on, climbing higher into the tree-covered hills. In less than a kilometer, the Camino split into two routes, providing me with my first real choice of the day. The ‘low route’ was a flatter, easier option and recommended in bad weather. Meanwhile, the ‘high route’ would take me up to the exposed ridgeline where I’d be treated to panoramic views of the Basque Country.

Now that it looked as if the morning’s storm was slowly moving out, I opted for the higher route. But if I was going to offer a prayer today, it was that I didn’t encounter any lightening. There would be absolutely nowhere to hide once I merged onto the GR-121, a 284-kilometer European trail that I’d be doubling on for much of the day.

Large green and brown orbs the size of tennis balls littered the trail in front of me, with some of them breaking open to reveal the nuts inside. I picked one up to get a closer look, but immediately dropped it when I realized the exterior wasn’t as soft or fuzzy as it looked. Instead, each one was prickly as a cluster of safety pins waiting to puncture my fingertips.

Climbing to the GR-121

Ascending the ‘high route’ from the junction to the ridge was incredibly steep, and it immediately reminded me of hiking the Appalachian Trail. Whoever built it clearly didn’t care about switchbacks or gradual ascents. The trail just rose straight up the hillside by the most direct approach without any regard for the slope.

But, I guess this was the price I’d have to pay to get up to the ridgeline for those splendid views of the ocean on one side and the mountain’s valley on the other side. At least the overnight rain hadn’t been so bad as to create a slipped muddy mess on this steep stretch of trail.

Before long, I was finally clear of the trees, and surrounded by grass and short shrubs. Behind me I turned back to see Irun and Hendaye down below me. The towns seemed to sprawl wide across the landscape and everything looked to tiny from this vantage point.

Meanwhile, up ahead to my west I could see a series of dorreas – the stone watch towers perched on the spine of the Jaizkibel Mountain Range. These strategic towers were built here during the Carlist Wars, providing their defenders with views of the ocean on the one side of the mountains and the interior towns on the opposite side.

Each weathered tower one is a different state, from half crumbling to perfectly intact. It didn’t take a military mind to can see the strategic advantage they must have played for the locals as an early warning system against attacks.

I continued west following the narrow dirt trail as it flowed up and down the ridge’s narrow spine like a roller coaster before crossing paths with a trio of mountain bikers, resting and admiring the views.

Two trail runners cruised past me in the opposite direction going impossibly fast compared to my own pace, and I wondered how they had so much endurance. It had taken almost all my energy to climb up here, and the winds seemed to be pushing me sideways now that I was exposed to the elements.

I was ready to write off the trail runners as pair of super human athletes, but then I was joined by several people with clearly more mediocre physical abilities.

These newcomers were walking their dogs or hiking at a slow, relaxed pace. How the heck they’d gotten up here? Surely they hadn’t hiked up the same trail I had. They looked so fresh and full of vigor, without even a drop of sweat on their brows. Was I really that out of shape?!?

Less than a mile later though, I noticed a paved road on the ocean side of the mountains. It climbed toward one of the dorreas up ahead that seemed to be preserved in a pristine condition. And just beyond the structure was a flat parking area filled with cars and vans. Ah… so that explained where all these sauntering folks suddenly appeared from. They took the easy route and drove up to the top!

A series of stone ruins sat off to the side the parking area while a herd of 40 or so loose sheep were busy grazing nearby without a care in the world. It was close to 11:30 am, so I stopped for my first real break of the day and watched them while eating some of the fresh fruit I’d picked up on my way out of Irun.

I knew in the back of my mind that I needed to hike a full 30 kilometers (or 18.5 miles) today. That’s a pretty big first day on any hike, particularly on one that includes the amount of climbing I had to do today.

But then again, I didn’t have a whole lot of options. There’s nowhere really to stay on the Camino between Hondarribia and San Sebastián – regardless of whether you take the high route or the lower one I’d bypassed. There were no open albergues, nor casa rurales (Spanish B&Bs), and definitely not any hotels.

The inaugural day of the Camino del Norte is a major one for those pilgrims who opt to start in Irun. That’s why a large percentage of people choose to skip ahead and begin in San Sebastián instead. It’s a real shame though. Even with the menacing clouds in the sky this morning, this scenery on this leg of the journey was breathtakingly beautiful. The views thus far were 100% worth the big mileage day!

My first ferry ride

The rolling spine of the mountain range peaked at San Enrique, where a series of tall radio towers dominated the high ground 545 meters (1,835 feet) above the sea. A pair of pilgrims had their packs off and were sitting just below the summit eating their lunch in a carefully chosen spot blocked from the wind. It was an enviable spot for sure.

As I continued past them, I could eventually see some red-roofed buildings and the blue-green stripe of a river ahead to the west. But both of these sights were much, much lower than me, which meant only one thing… it was time to head downhill on knee-busting slopes that were just as steep as the ones that brought me up here.

The river ahead of me had no bridge across it, and it widened in to the Bahia de Pasaia (Pasaia Bay) before dumping into the vast Cantabrian Sea off to my right.

The town of Pasajes de San Juan sat on the near side of the river, and the colorful seaside homes of Pasaia lined the shore on the opposite side. At 18.5 kilometers (by trail), this would be an ideal place for most pilgrims to stop to make it an early day from Irun. Unfortunately though, the small 14-bed municipal albergue wasn’t currently open according to the crowd-sourced comments I’d read.

I wasn’t sure if the albergue’s closure was a seasonal or permanent one. I heard through the grapevine that many of the municipal albergues shut down during the pandemic and simply never re-opened again. Whether this decision was due to fear of spreading the disease or a lack of manpower with so many other demands on each towns’ services, I don’t know.

Adding to this loss in bed space, was the fact that many of the remaining albergues would be closing for the season in the next few weeks. The pilgrimage season usually runs from March/April to October, with several albergues only opening their doors for the peak summer months of July or August.

Even those albergues on the Camino del Norte that stayed open until October had dates that varied greatly – with some closing on October 1st and others staying open until the end of the month. This timing could be a real logistical challenge for my mid-September to mid-October camino.

But for now, I just needed to worry about getting though one day at a time. I’d get through today and arrive San Sebastián, where I already had a bed reserved. Then I’d worry about my future lodging tomorrow.

When I finally made it down to the town of Pasajes de San Juan, my knees were crying out in pain. They much preferred the physical demand of ascending the hills to descending on this steep, steep terrain.

I scoured the walls of the old buildings for the yellow arrows that would guide me through the tiny village toward the water’s edge. When I’d gone as far as possible, I was greeted by a silhouette of an oarsman, but no signs for the ferry. So I crossed my fingers that this sport was actually the small pier where I’d catch the boat to the opposite side of the bay, and the oarsman wasn’t just some local art for tourists to admire.

I looked out toward the opposite shore and spotted a small green and white boat was motoring slowly in my direction now. Plus, two other potential passengers seemed to be patiently waiting in the same spot for its arrival. Chances were good that I was in the correct spot.

As we waited for the boat’s eventual arrival, I dug in my wallet for my loose change. I’d read that the fare had recently gone up from 0.90€ to 1.10€. Just one more reason I’m glad I stopped at the fruteria in Irun this morning. I’m pretty sure the ferry captain didn’t want to make change for a 20€ note fresh out of the ATM! And buying some fruit meant I now had enough coins to pay for my passage.

As the boat arrived and tied up to the pier, it seemed to be pretty small for a ferry. There was only room for a handful of passengers, but I supposed that was fine for their small town needs. The journey was barely three minutes across by boat, and it wasn’t as if there was any vehicle traffic. The cars could follow the roads inland a few extra kilometers to a highway bridge that crossed the water. This boat was just for pedestrians and cyclists.

After hanging alongside the dock for nearly five minutes, the captain cast off and we motored back across the bay. Off to our starboard side, I could see two navigation lights blinking where the river met the sea. A green- and white-striped light tower perched on a stone wall, while a shorter red tower sat further out on a natural rocky outcropping.

As I watched the waves crashing as high as the base of the red tower, I had no doubt the Basque fisherman were grateful for these markers on foggy and stormy days. The mouth of this bay wasn’t particularly narrow, but it was incredibly rocky, and I’m sure those obstacles were treacherous for boats in bad weather.

Of course, it didn’t take a fortune teller to know what was in store for me as soon as I disembarked from the ferry. There was nowhere flat to go from here. I’d need to climb straight up the bluff where all those colorful houses were perched. Right back up to high ground where the trail waited for me.

At least the initial part of my ascent had some assistance — in the form of stairs perched aside a rock cliff. My weary calves would get a tiny bit of rest as I climbed those evenly spaced stairs before reaching the steeply sloped dirt path that ascended back up to the ridge.

Surfer’s & SAints

I only had 8 more kilometers left on the afternoon after the ferry, and I figured I should make it to San Sebastián in another two hours’ time. It was only 2:45 pm now, according to my watch, so that meant I should finish by dinnertime. My stomach grumbled at the thought of food. The fruit and snacks I’d carried hadn’t been quite enough to get me though the day, and I now regretted bypassing the bakery this morning.

As the camino leveled off, it briefly joined a paved road leading to a castle-shaped lighthouse built atop the rocky headland. This building was different than any of the other tower-style lighthouses I’d visited on my other coastal hikes. But honestly I was far too tired to wander the extra distance to see if they allowed visitors, especially since it was well into the mid-afternoon siesta hours (2 – 5 pm daily) where most businesses and attractions were closed in Spain.

The paved road soon disappeared and I returned to the familiar GR-121 path with its the red and white stripes marking the way. From here, it was mostly gentle and well-traveled, making the waking far easier than it had been on the other side of the river.

I was mentally eager to get to San Sebastián already, but I enjoyed how the afternoon sky was finally clearing up. The sun was out now and the gray clouds were replaced by white wispy ones that did little to block the bright, warm sunshine.

As I rounded the final bend on the green headlands, the trail turned inland and toward Zurriola Beach and brought me back down to sea level once again.

Zurroiola Beach is one of the uber-popular surf spots in northern Spain for novice and intermediate surfers to develop some skills. The water is warm and has consistent, but gentle swells – so it was no surprise to see several dozen surfers carrying boards and in the deep blue water as I walked along the boardwalk paralleling the beach.

I was nearly to the end of my day, and just had to cross the bridge into San Sebastián. But, as with any hike, the distances always seem shorter on your map than they do in real life. And my hostel was located on the far western end of town, so I still needed to walk through the Casco Viejo (old city) with its bustling afternoon foot traffic and cafe tables filled with tourists and Spaniards drinking wine.

As I trod forward under the hot sun, I peeks down the streets bearing glass storefronts filled with clothing, surf apparel and other wares. At the end of one of this streets, the sun glinted off the gold stonework of an ornate building, and it piqued my curiousity. I couldn’t help myself. I needed to go take a peek.

At the far end of the street, surrounded by modern glass and concrete, stood the Baroque architecture of the Basilica de Saint Mary of the Chorus. Inside, the alter contained a tortured figure of Saint Sebastian. Although I’m not Catholic, I knew the story about Saint Sebastian because he’s the patron saint of soldiers and athletes (two camps I consider myself to solidly reside in).

Sebastian was a Praetorian guard during the reign of the Roman Emperor Diocletian in the second century AD. He converted several other Romans to Christianity, so Diocletian directed that he be tied to a tree and executed by archers who used him for target practice until his body was so riddled with arrow it looked like a sea urchin.

Left for dead, Sebastian was rescued and nursed back to health by Saint Irene of Rome. Then Sebastian surprised and confronted Diocletian, loudly and publicly criticizing him for persecuting his fellow believers. Sebastian’s principled bravery was met again with violence, and Diocletian ordered that he be clubbed to death and thrown into the sewers.

It’s a sad tale, but I was glad I made the stop to see the basilica nonetheless. He’s also considered the to have special abilities to ward off the plague. So perhaps my visit will help protect me from another bout of Covid for the remainder of my journey!

San Sebastián

With my architectural detour over, I needed to leave the old city and finish my final walk around the crescent-shaped beach that curved ahead of me for the next 1.5 kilometers. I was feeling the fatigue of the day’s walk and my feet felt as if they were swollen to double their size. My back ached from carrying a pack for the first time in months, and I smelled rather ripe from all the sweating and effort going up and down the hills today.

Ice cream and gelato shops on the boardwalk silently called out to me to stop and sample their wares, but I knew if I sat down, all my muscles in my legs would tighten up, and I’d regret it. I needed to just keep plodding along until I got to my destination. My pace today was much slower than I’d thought it would be and I just wanted a warm shower and a good meal.

As I continued to parallel the beach, I tried to distract myself with the views, which were just fantastic. A large island called Isla de Santa Clara sat in the center of the bay, while boats were moored in the distance. People were walking up and down the beach, sunbathing, and swimming in the water – and it was all such a lovely sight.

Closer to the boardwalk, I could see someone had spent some incredible time creating a giant piece of art in the sand. It looked like some sort of sun pattern that must have spread 20 meters wide. I can’t imagine the time and patience it took to create that art.

About 2/3 of the way around the beach, the sand disappeared as a giant rocky outcropping jutted into the sea. People were climbing and walking on the exposed rocks near the water’s edge but my attention was stolen by the water itself. It was so absolutely clear, I could see the sandy bottom 50 meters from shore. And the water’s turquoise color was such an intense, saturated hue that it seemed unreal. The seascape left me feeling as if I was in a postcard.

Of course, the path needed to go somewhere when the beach disappeared at this outcropping, so walkers were funneled into a dark tunnel painted in blues, and greens, and aquas that were reminiscent of the water I’d just observed. And inside the tunnel a busker playing a violin serenaded us with her music echoing off the concrete arched walls.

My first night

Ten minutes later, I was making my way to my first real stop of this journey. I wasn’t staying in a public albergue, but a private hostel that predominately seemed to serve pilgrims walking or cycling the Camino. San Sebastián was such a popular destination that the lodging choices had been abundant, but I was glad I’d had a reservation because the bunk room I’d been placed in was completely booked.

Several of the other ladies sharing the room spoke English, and two of them were already tending to injuries. A German gal showed me her blistered feet and told me she started the Camino del Norte two days ago, but the walk from Irun had been way too much for her tender feet. She’d taken today off to rest and was planning a second rest day tomorrow too because she didn’t think she could make it the 16 kilometers (~10 miles) required to get to the next albergue.

I knew her pain. Mt muscles were sore from such a big beginning too, but I felt lucky not to have feet covered in blisters. My primary complaint was in my knees and calves. I haven’t got up and down such steep terrain in a very, very long time and I hoped it wasn’t going to be this hard every day.

When I walked the Camino Francés, the first day had been the hardest because we had to go up and over a pass in the Pyrenees. After that day, the terrain seemed to become much more moderate. So hopefully the Camino del Norte will follow the same pattern.

After washing up, I decided to avail myself of the washer and dryer in the hostel. My clothes were soaked with sweat, and while I could certainly hand wash them, who knows when I’d see another laundry machine. Better to take advantage of the resource now than pass it up and regret it.

And so my first day on the Camino del Norte is complete. Hopefully tomorrow will be an equally productive day and I can make it all the way to Zumaia, which is 27 kilometers ahead by trail.