September 25, 2022
- Route: Galizano to Boo de Piélagos
- Distance: 30 kilometers (18.6 miles) + 3.2 km detour to Decathlon and Santa Cruz
- Cumulative Distance: 293 km
The rain continued through the night, which meant I had to hang my hand-washed clothes around the room to try to get them all to dry indoors. This was far less effective than an outdoor clothesline on a sunny day. And when I got up this morning, my socks still weren’t even close to dry.
My solution was a crude one. The small rural hotel I was staying in had a small hair dryer in the bathroom. And so I spent a solid fifteen minutes using it to blow dry my socks.
This is the less glamorous side of the Camino, which doesn’t make people’s Instagram feeds. The rain and mud. The wet clothes clinging to your body all day. And blow drying your only pair of socks because you lost your extra pair a few days ago.
I’ve come up with a solid plan for replacing my second pair of (missing) socks. Today I’m heading through Santander. Not only is this a major town that should sell virtually anything a hiker would need, but it also has a Decathlon store.
Decathlon is very similar to a Dick’s Sporting Goods in the U.S., with an ‘outdoor gear’ section that leans more toward hiking (rather than hunting or fishing). I’m hedging my bets that I might find another pair of Injinji toe socks at Decathlon. But if not, I should at least be able to find a reliable pair of running or hiking socks that aren’t 100% cotton.
I conducted a brief map reconnaissance on Google Maps last night and discovered that there’s a Decathlon store less than a kilometer off the Camino, on the outskirts of Santander. So that’s a pit stop I’ll definitely be making this afternoon.
THE EPIC COASTLINE
The sun was barely up when I stepped out of the hotel around 8 am, and the rain was slowing to a mere drizzle. Then the rain seemed to stop entirely. I took that as a good sign and headed toward the beach while the sky turned shades of pink and orange with the sunrise at my back.
Although the rain had stopped, the Camino was still very wet. Huge puddles often blocked my route, and it appeared as if yesterday’s hours of rain flooded several of the rural roads.
As I climbed into the hills above Galizano, my path switched between asphalt rocks and sheer mud. But then I could see the ocean below me. It was stunningly beautiful, and I immediately stopped my internal whining. These views were so worth the effort!
Farm fields of harvested corn stretched to the very edge of the cliffs above the ocean, while a narrow muddy path skirted the tops of the bluffs.
Although the rain was holding off, I knew it wouldn’t last forever. I could hear thunder rumbling off to my west. And dark clouds stretched all the way to the horizon. But I was going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted!
I briefly stopped to take some more photos of the cliffs when I spotted a hiker behind me in a blue poncho. He was moving at a fast clip and coming up behind me quickly. When he eventually caught me, I stepped aside to let him pass, and that’s when I noticed he was hiking in sandals!
That seemed like an odd choice of footwear on a wet day like today. Yet, as soon as he passed me, I saw why he was wearing them. The backs of both of his feet were bandaged and taped up nearly to his ankles. He must have had some bad blisters on his heels and opted to wear sandals instead of letting the friction of wet socks and shoes irritate his sore feet.
Ahead of us, a cluster of vans was parked on the edge of one of the cliffs overlooking the water. Surfers stood outside the vehicles, staring down at the clear turquoise water as more thunder rumbled above us. Today didn’t seem like the best day to venture into the water, but I’m no surfer, so my opinion was essentially worthless.
As I reached and then moved past these vehicles, I nearly slipped and fell in the mud as the trail climbed a short slope. This was not a good place to lose my dang footing! A tumble down here could have some ugly consequences.
Then I rounded a cornfield, and I spotted a rainbow heading straight towards the clouds. And then, I caught my first glimpse of Santandar off in the distance on the opposite side of the bay.
Today’s hike was going to remain along the beach all morning as I walked from Galizano to the surf town of Somo. And from there, I’d take my biggest ferry yet across to the north side of the Bay of Santander.
As the cliffs curved west, the rain began to fall again. It was a slow trickle that teased me at first. Was it worth pulling out my umbrella? Or was it just a quick rain that would pass?
Before I had time to linger any longer over the decision, the sky opened up and soaked me in cold rain. Thus, the next few kilometers were decidedly less fun with a muddy river pouring down the trail, and my once dry feet were soaked all over again.
SURF SCHOOL & LOUD VOICES
About an hour into the day, I spotted Isla de Santa Marina, a large green island sitting off the coast just before the Camino dropped down to the long sandy crescent of sand on the beach.
This was the first time the Camino del Norte’s route actually directed hikers to walk down onto the sand for an extended time. All the prior long beaches, such as San Sebastián, Castro Urdiales, and Laredo, had wide, paved promenades that paralleled the beach. But now I’d have to tread through the soft, wet sand just like I had on so many miles of Oregon Coast Trail last summer.
Up ahead, I could hear the sound of a loudspeaker amplifying a man’s voice, but I couldn’t hear the words. It sounded like an announcer’s voice at a sports event, but that didn’t make sense.
As I continued searching for places to walk where the sand was best packed and hard, I could see large groups of people in wetsuits. There were multiple clusters of people, so I wondered if the voice I’d heard amplified was that of a surf school instructor using a megaphone to ensure all the students could hear him over the sound of the rain and the sea.
Somo is home to numerous surf schools thanks to its two-kilometer-long beach and proximity to Santander. And they were clearly busy this Sunday morning as I walked along the coast.
Each group of students seemed to be practicing on the sand and the shallow water now pooling on the beach. They were popping up and perfecting their stance on their wobbly boards, trying their best not to fall off.
When the instructors decided they were ready to try it for real in the waves, the students would double up to carry their boards into the ocean in teams. One student would take the front of each board under their armpits, while their partner trailed behind them carrying the tail end of the boards in a similar fashion.
As I neared and passed each group, though, I continued to hear the voice on the loudspeaker somewhere up ahead of me. I don’t think it was coming from the surf schools after all. Otherwise, I surely would have passed the speaker by now.
I continued walking in the rain past some fantastic views of water left behind as the tide went out. And then I realized where the noise was coming from. It wasn’t the surf instructors. It was a surf competition up ahead of me on the far end of the beach.
As I got closer, a building that looked like a judge’s booth slowly grew larger in my view. It was facing the ocean and there appeared to be a group of people inside sitting at a long table and staring out to the sea.
To the side of the building, some speakers were positioned to face out toward the water. And while I still didn’t catch much of what the announcer was saying, it sounded as if he was saying the surfers’ names and perhaps announcing the next heat of competitors.
THE FERRY
Just beyond this judges’ shack, the Camino finally left the sandy beach and turned inland through the edge of Somo. I was overjoyed that the rain was slowing again. And I even caught the occasional glimpse of blue sky as I sauntered away from the beach.
Up ahead of me, there was supposed to be a pier where the ferry would land. But I didn’t want to make the same mistake I had in Laredo two days ago, where I’d blindly followed my fellow pilgrims to the incorrect landing spot.
I slowed to read each and every sign. But I quickly realized I had little chance of mistaking where the ferry would arrive this time around. There was an actual ticket booth, as well as a pier and stairs where the large ferry was supposed to dock.
I paid my €3.10 fare and asked the lady in the ticket booth how much longer it would be until the ferry arrived. I had no idea how frequently it ran on Sunday mornings. There weren’t any operating hours or schedules posted anywhere that I could see. I could be standing here on the pier for 10 minutes. Or it could be an hour. I wanted to find a cup of coffee to warm up my wet, cold hands, if I had enough time.
The lady said the ferry ran twice every hour, so I decided to stay. I’d wait out of the rain in the small brick shelter behind her booth and save my coffee break until I crossed the bay into Santander.
As I rounded the corner of the booth, there were already four other people waiting inside the brick shelter. And one of them was Renato! He must have gotten up extremely early to arrive at the ferry before me. When we had lunch together yesterday afternoon, he was staying the night in Guemes, while I continued four kilometers further to Galizano.
It was good to see his familiar face again. Every time I say Ciao to him, I assume we are parting ways for the last time. But, then he seems to pop back up again when I least expect it.
We immediately started chatting in English, and like me, he’d gotten completely soaked on this morning’s coastal route. He’d even taken his wet, sandy shoes off and swapped them out for a pair of flip flops to let his feet dry a bit while we waited for the ferry to arrive.
After ten more minutes, a white ferry boat arrived and unloaded its passengers before we were allowed to present our tickets. After donning our obligatory face masks and walking down the stairs to board the ferry, I was elated to find a seat in the enclosed passenger cabin.
All my prior ferry rides on the Camino del Norte have been in small, open boats, where the passengers sat on benches exposed to the elements. This ride across the Santander Bay would take a solid 25 minutes, though, and this was a much larger boat. We’d have the luxury of riding inside a cabin that protected us from the wind and rain for our entire journey!
SANTANDER
As we pulled up to the opposite dock in Santander, nearly half an hour later, something amazing seemed to happen. The rain abruptly stopped, and the skies parted, letting the sun shine through. It was as if the Bay of Santander was a physical barrier, with all the rain isolating itself to the side we’d just come from.
Up ahead of us, the ground was still wet in Santander, but the storm seemed to be completely disappearing in front of our eyes as we disembarked.
A 5k and 10k race was taking place on the streets just in front of us. And runners in brightly colored shorts with race numbers pinned to their singlets came pounding down the wet asphalt streets as the crowd cheered them on.
And while I would have loved to sit there and watch this race, I had three bigger priorities in mind.
First, I needed to find an ATM. I was nearly out of Euros, and the albergue where I’m staying tonight only takes cash. But after about half a kilometer of walking along the roped-off race route on the city’s main boulevard, I spotted a Santander Bank ATM, and that just put a smile on my face.
I don’t have an account with this bank, but I chose to use the ATM today solely to be able to say that I used the Santander Bank ATM in Santander (where the bank originated). Queen Isabella II authorized the charter for Banco Santander in 1857 to facilitate trade between northern Spain and the Americas. So by using their ATM, I was just ‘doing my part’ to help perpetuate that cross-Atlantic trade. 😁
My second priority was finding somewhere for coffee and breakfast. It was nearly 11 am and I still hadn’t had a single cup of coffee yet.
And while I was at it, I would take care of my third priority – finding a bathroom. My bladder felt as if it was ready to burst after that ferry ride. But I was now inside a major city, and I couldn’t just “cop a squat” anywhere and pee in public. I didn’t want a ticket for public indecency to add to my Camino memories!
DECATHLON
After a leisurely stop in a cafe (to take care of priorities two and three and grab some free wifi), I was ready to walk through downtown Santander and on to my afternoon destination in Boo de Piélagos.
The break in the rain that appeared as soon as the ferry docked seemed to be here to stay, and the weather was miraculously clearing up. The sun was out. The sky was blue. It was even warm and dry enough that I decided to take a chance on a few hours of freedom from my rain gear. So I stopped at a park bench to strip off my rain pants and tuck away my pack’s rain cover.
My next stop was Decathlon, which was located in the western suburbs of town. The next hour or so would be spent walking through urban areas on sidewalks, with relatively little of interest to draw my attention.
Unfortunately, my detour to Decathlon was a major bust. I found the store with little issue. But when I arrived, the parking lot appeared completely empty. I walked up to the front doors, hoping that maybe it just wasn’t open yet. But no luck there, either.
The store was open from 9 am to 10 pm, but only Monday through Saturday. And today was Sunday. They were closed! My quest for a second pair of socks would continue for another day. I’d have to continue to hike in my sole pair of socks until I found an actual store that was open later this week.
Sigh. I guess it was back to the Camino.
SUNDAY CLOSURES
Once I got back on the Camino from my useless Decathlon detour, my stomach started grumbling. I was hungry and I needed to find an open grocery store or cafe. All the restaurant options I’d walked by in downtown Santander were long behind me. But now there seemed to be nothing but fields full of cows and endless countryside.
I passed through a few smaller suburban enclaves, but each of the restaurants or bars I found was also closed on Sundays. What the heck. Did no one here in Spain eat out on Sundays?
This was only my second Sunday on the Camino thus far, and I’d forgotten to prepare for this weekly closure. The only thing ahead of me with any chance of an open restaurant might be the town of Santa Cruz.
But that town wasn’t actually on the Camino. It sat off the major highway to my south and would require a second detour that I wasn’t keen to make. Yet with no other options in sight, I had to follow the paved path toward my best chance at finding lunch.
The detour took me through residential streets that didn’t seem very promising, and then to a series of commuter train tracks. I assumed the Santa Cruz train station would be near a town square or business district, so I followed the road in that general direction. After all, train stations mean passengers, and passengers usually mean food.
When I arrived at the tracks, a tall fence was erected along their length for as far as I could see. There was no visible way to cross them to get to the commercial establishments on the other side. But I knew there had to be a way to get over there. All the businesses and the town square were on that side of the tracks. How was I supposed to get over there?
After wandering back and forth a bit, trying to figure out this puzzle, I saw a woman in the distance coming up to street level. That’s when I realized there had to be a tunnel that went underneath the tracks about 300 meters away from the station. Not a short walk, especially when I was growing hungrier by the moment.
When I finally made my way under the tracks and over to the town square, I was disappointed. Most of the businesses in Santa Cruz were also shuttered. So I walked a little deeper and deeper into the town until I finally found a bakery offering some sandwiches and pastries for lunch. Oh, thank goodness!
They were doing a brisk business, too, but mostly just with local people stopping in to quickly pick up a baguette or loaf to take home. The Spanish seem to be serious about this being a ‘day of rest.’ Sundays were not another ordinary business day like our weekends in the U.S.
I’d need to remember this difficult lesson next week, so I’m not caught off guard again. I’m preparing a picnic lunch next Sunday rather than relying on local towns to have something open. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
HERE COMES THE RAIN (AGAIN)
With food in my belly, I now had to retrace my steps back to the Camino. It was only a kilometer detour down to Santa Cruz, but I worried I might get lost in the maze of houses once I returned to the opposite side of the train tracks.
Finding the town’s center had been easy, but would finding the Camino??
The early afternoon hours were filled with warm sunshine, and I was really surprised at how nice of a day it turned into after this morning’s storm. I wasn’t expecting this lovely sunny day. I’d mentally accepted that it would be like yesterday’s consistent downpour again. But I was every so grateful that it wasn’t!
I was humming along nicely down a hill toward a small village called Mompía when I suddenly saw a familiar face sitting on a bench. It was Renato!
Seeing him on the roadside here surprised me. Back when we’d been waiting for the ferry this morning, he told me that he planned to stay in Santa Cruz tonight. But Santa Cruz was where I’d had lunch. It was well behind us now. What was he doing here??
As it turns out, Renato was being stubborn. He’s still trying to walk the Camino on the fly (just as we’d both done in years past) rather than making himself a firm reservation a day in advance. So while I had an actual reservation at an albergue in Boo de Piélagos this evening, he was just “hoping” to stay at the albergue in Santa Cruz.
He’d arrived at the albergue in Santa Cruz early, but the hospitalero told him they were full for the night. All the beds were reserved. And now Rentao was out here on this bench with his guidebook, trying to call any albergue, hotel, or casa rural he could find in one of the surrounding towns, so he wouldn’t have to take the train back to Santander tonight.
I suggested the name of the albergue I was headed to, but he shook his head. He’d already tried them. They were full for the night, too. Sadly, I had no other advice or solace to provide him in that moment. Finding lodging has been the biggest frustration for everyone on this Camino.
There just aren’t enough albergues for this route. Many of the larger public albergues that towns or churches ran shut down during the Covid pandemic, and they have not reopened. It’s akin to wiping out all the public high schools in your state and then expecting everyone to scramble for the limited slots in private academies or parochial schools.
As I ruminated over this frustrating situation, I noticed the wind beginning to pick up and the temperature starting to drop. It was just after 3 pm, and it seemed that my delightful reprieve from the rain was soon ending. The black clouds and ominous-looking sky pushed me to say, “Ciao,” to Renato yet again.
I picked up the pace during my final kilometers into Boo de Pielagos, racing to beat the storm and passing several slower pilgrims in the process. As the first large drops were beginning to fall, I reached the paved walking path that wound into town.
A small sign with an arrow pointed informed me that the albergue was just 200 meters further away. The only obstacle between me and my destination was one more set of railroad tracks.
These tracks didn’t have a fence blocking my progress like the station in Santa Cruz. And I could see the albergue on the opposite side. It was so close. But I had one issue. The 4-foot-high platform dropped down to the tracks, with an identical 4-foot-high platform on the opposite side.
There was no flyover bridge to take pedestrians over the tracks. And there didn’t appear to be a tunnel anywhere to go under the tracks.
Clearly, pilgrims weren’t supposed to jump off this elevated platform, cross the tracks, and then hoist themselves up the opposite platform. That couldn’t be safe, right?
Then I saw the solution. At the far end of the long platform, it angled downward to the same level as the track. There was a crossing point between the two platforms way down there in the distance.
This brief detour to the end of the platform added only about two minutes of extra walking, but in that time, the incoming storm finally arrived. I had to jog all the way to the albergue to avoid getting my clothes completely soaked. The rain was back with a vengeance! And it would last the entire evening.
