September 27, 2022
- Route: Cobreces to Serdio
- Distance: 28.2 kilometers (17.5 miles)
- Cumulative Distance: 364.5 km
After dinner with Renato last night, I walked back up the hill to my beach hotel in the brisk wind. My hand-washed clothes were still hanging on the line outside the window (thanks to the small handful of clothespins I’d brought along on this Camino), but I knew I’d need to bring them inside if I wanted them to finish drying. More rain was in the forecast overnight.
I left Cobreces at 7:45 a.m. this morning, while it was still dark outside. The ground below my feet was still quite wet from the overnight rain, but the precipitation was currently holding off. It was just a windy and warm morning, as I let my eyes adjust to the early morning twilight.
The Camino dipped back down to the small cove of a beach that I’d visited yesterday evening before dinner, then it turned inland to follow the river as it led away from the ocean.
Soon, I was climbing back up to the top of a headland where small farmhouses and barns were perched. The pungent smell of wet animals and manure emanated from several of the outbuildings, and the farmers were busy caring for their livestock.
The first significant climb of the day was challenging enough that I was sweating inside my rain pants. I stripped them off in haste to avoid making them a clammy, moist mess. In hindsight, though, I probably should have just pulled the legs up to my knees like I had done the last few days, because I could see the torrents of rain heading my way.
Barely 10 minutes later, I was quickly donning my rain pants once again as the first of the fat drops of water hit my face and arms. A storm was imminent, and what’s worse, there would be wind.
As I’d feared yesterday, I was now going to endure the experience of heavy rain and strong, 20 mph winds. My umbrella was utterly useless in these conditions, and it was nearly ripped out of my hand the moment I tried to open it.
Without the protection of my umbrella to shield me, I was drenched in a matter of minutes. My ultralight rain jacket and rain pants were no match for a coastal squall. They completely wet out in under five minutes and then clung to me like I’d just jumped into a pool while fully clothed.
Luckily, I was only a kilometer from a commercial campground when the downpour began. So I was able to head for cover and wait out the worst of the storm once I arrived.
The large campground even had a small bar where I could order a cup of hot coffee. But before I could even take my first sip, the rain suddenly stopped! It was as is someone turned off the faucet in the sky. The clouds were still gray and threatening, but the deluge was over. So I finished my coffee and decided to head back outdoors to test my luck.
COASTAL VIEWS & WIND
The next few hours were completely dry, and there were even some brief glimpses of blue in the sky. I knew better than to assume the rain was truly over as I continued walking west toward the next town. The coast can be a fickle mistress, and the weather forecast wasn’t looking favorable. But at least my mental outlook was — I didn’t want to quit the Camino today.
As I crested a dirt road, I could hear the loud waves of the ocean even before I saw them. The town of Comillas was ahead of me, and I was finished with the first 10 kilometers of the day before I even knew it.
Following the Camino meant I missed out on most of the ocean views because the route dodged inland past the polideportivo (sports center) on its way to the old part of the city.
I stopped at a bakery in Comillas to celebrate my relatively good pace this morning. A napolitana and café con leche were exactly what I needed. As I devoured both, the skies seemed to clear even more, with a deep blue color trying to creep out from between the clouds.
After my snack stop, I took the lovely walk through the narrow cobblestone roads of the town square before heading out of town past the elaborate Sobrellano Palace and its neo-Gothic architecture. Originally built in 1888 as the summer palace of the Marqués de Comillas, visitors now come to take guided tours of this amazing site. A tour wasn’t in the cards for me today, but I did enjoy stopping outside to take a few photos of the building and its grounds.
Once out of town and across the river, my route followed the coastline toward Playa Oyambre and then into Oyambe National Park. A steady wind picked up again, and another rainstorm seemed inevitable. But the only thing that materialized were some sprinkles here and there.
I followed the Camino as it wound its way around the edge of a golf course, which seemed to have the ruins of an old medieval stone building sitting between the greens. “What a truly bizarre place to build a golf course,” I thought to myself.
Just beyond the greens, the land transitioned back to beaches and tall cliffs. And this was undoubtedly surf territory. Cars and campervans lined the beach’s parking lots, with wetsuits hanging over open doors to dry.
But even the long parking lots weren’t enough room to meet the demand of all the surfers hoping to ride the waves at Playa Oyambe. A full campground sat across the road, and hand-painted signs advertised daily parking for 3€ a day even further up the road in private lots (which just looked like plain grassy fields).
The crescent of sandy beach stretched out for miles, and dozens of tiny black dots bobbed in the ocean waves – all of them surfers waiting in the water for the right wave to ride.
As I climbed higher on the bluffs, the views only got better. But the wind was now raging. Off to my left, I could see the outline of a tall mountain range shrouded in dark clouds. These jagged peaks formed the Picos de Europa (peaks of Europe) and seemed insanely tall compared to the rolling hills I’ve been hiking over the past few days.
The higher I climbed up the cape above the ocean, the stronger the wind seemed to get. I felt as if I was being blown sideways as I walked uphill on the exposed terrain.
Just as I started to reach the highest point of the climb, I spotted a red and white sign indicating “children crossing.” From my perspective, it felt equally plausible that the sign was actually warning about children being blown across the road by the wind.
And then I finally crested the top of the grassy headland and was heading back down to the string of beaches on its opposite side.
If I’d been hoping for a reprieve from the wind here, I was in for a heap of disappointment. The opposite side of the headland was windier than anything I’d experienced all day. It had to be blowing at least 25 miles per hour.
I’d now tightened my baseball-style cap down so much that it felt as if it was making an indentation in my forehead. And yet, I still found my hand repeatedly flying to the brim to keep my hat from flying away in the gale-force winds.
Meanwhile, the beach ahead of me was just as sandy and pretty as the one on the prior side of the cape. Yet there were no surfers hanging out here. The parking lots were completely empty. I guess these waves were just too violent and the winds too strong!
A small surf town sat at the base of the beach, and its cluster of concrete buildings provided a nice respite from the wind before the Camino turned inland again.
Lunch & Laundry
Shortly after the small surf town, I found myself at the edge of a bay with a long, arched bridge from the 15th century heading over it.
Several old men stood on the stone bridge with their fishing rods casting off it, though I had no idea what they might be fishing for. The tide was clearly out, as evidenced by the dozens of boats stranded on sandbars in the estuary.
On the opposite side of this bridge sat the town of San Vicente de La Baquera – a moderately large coastal town with a laundromat, which I desperately needed.
I’ve been hand-washing my hiking clothes for the last three nights, but they are desperately in need of a more thorough wash. They smell horrible from all the sweating I’ve done inside my rain gear over the past few days.
This unpleasant odor is especially noticeable in my socks! I’ve had to wear the same pair of socks over and over every day, as I still don’t have an extra pair to replace the ones I lost back in Portugalete five days ago.
Losing my extra hiking socks left me with no option but to wear semi-clean, yet still damp, socks every day. And several consecutive days of rain and mud have saturated my socks and shoes so many times over that I feel as if they’re now starting to grow a layer of funky algae.
As I walked into San Vicente, I located the laundromat and discovered it was just two doors down from a local pizzeria. Perfect! I could eat a late lunch and do laundry while I was in town!
Unfortunately, the pizzeria’s food turned out to be truly mediocre. But it gave me two things I desperately needed: (1) a bathroom where I could change out of my hiking clothes and into something clean; and (2) a place to sit and eat lunch while my hiking clothes were washing and drying.
After this extended stop for lunch and laundry, I was ready to get going. All that was left was to tackle the final 8 kilometers of my day and arrive at Serdio, where I had a reservation for the night.
ANOTHER CAMINO
This final leg of today’s journey took me back into the hills again, where I temporarily crossed paths with a new set of trail makers. Red crosses, resembling the Knights Templar symbol, marked a Camino route between San Vicente de la Baquera and Tama.
This 73-kilometer-long path is part of an 8th-century pilgrimage route to the Lignum Crucis (‘true cross’) at the monastery of Santo Toribio de Liébana. Pilgrims on this path head inland to the monastery that claims to protect the largest surviving piece of the cross on which Jesus of Nazareth was crucified.
According to the Catholic Church, Saint Toribio of Astorga was charged with protecting the relics of Jesus’s crucifixion in Jerusalem during the 5th century. He purportedly brought a fragment from the cross’s left arm back to the Iberian Peninsula to safeguard it in Astorga.
However, during the Moorish invasion of Spain in 711 AD, Christian followers relocated the relic to the monastery in Liébana to protect it form possible attacks. And once the presence of the relic became known, the faithful then began making their pilgrimage to the monastery, creating what is now known as the Camino Lebaniego.
Today’s route only followed this second pilgrimage route for a few kilometers before diverging from it, but I was intrigued by it nonetheless. My next trip to Spain may include a visit to the monastery. However, today, my focus was merely on reaching the town of Serdio.
I’d picked Serdio as my stopping point today because it was the perfect distance to get me into Llanes tomorrow. It turned out to be an unremarkable hamlet nestled deep into the Cantabrian countryside. No relics. No tourists. Just a quiet little town with one small restaurant serving some good food. It was just about my speed!
