September 30, 2022
- Route: Llanes to Ribadesella
- Distance: 30.9 kilometers (19.2 miles)
- Cumulative Distance: 429 km
I was wide awake this morning at 6 a.m. and felt a sense of urgency building. After a full day off from hiking, I was chomping at the bit and ready to go!! But then reality kicked in. I knew I wasn’t going to depart my hotel in Llanes quite so early, especially with two more hours left before the sun would come up.
Maybe I was just so excited and anxious because today was the last day of September. It’s been two weeks that I’ve been out here walking in Spain, and I feel as if fall is coming. The sun is emerging later and later now (sunrise wouldn’t be until 8:18 am today!) so I was really looking forward to seeing what this next season brought as I hiked further west toward Santiago de Compestela.
POO Town
Despite my best attempts to remain patient, I still ended up departing the hotel while it was a little dark out. I just couldn’t sit on my hands any longer and wait. Plus, I was hungry and was hoping to spot bakery on my way out of Llanes so I could start my day with nice cup of coffee.
The coffee didn’t happen though. Everything still seemed to be closed and dark, so I had to walk out of town un-caffinated and slightly hungry.
The sidewalks of Llanes soon gave way to the countryside, the evidence of yesterday’s heavy rain was apparent. Giant puddles spanning the width of the trail forced me to make difficult choices. I could wade through ankle deep water on trail. Or I could detour into the wet grass beside to bypass the broad pools.
I went with the latter option, in hopes of keeping my feet and socks dry today. But I knew it was futile. There was just too much wet foliage beside the puddles. I was going to end up with wet feet no matter what.
The first town I reached after Llanes was barely three kilometers down the Camino. Normally, I probably wouldn’t have even remembered such a small town’s name. But this was no ordinary town. This one was named Poo!
Seriously… Why?!?
And to make matters worse, I was going to eat and drink in Poo, because they had a cafe and I was quite hungry.
In hindsight though, I wished Poo had been an afternoon stop on my Camino journey. That’s because the bar where I’d stopped had a sign posted that was advertising three different types of sangria:
- They had sangria cava – which was made with Spanish sparkling wine known as Cava.
- Then there was the sangria de sidra – made with the local hard cider that the province of Asturias is so famous for.
- And finally, they had the traditional sangria vino.
Yes to all three options, please!! Just not at 9 am…
WALKING ON THE E-9
I left Poo feeling fortified for the day. My stomach was full. I was fully caffeinated. And I was heading back out to the coast, where I’d get to see the ocean once again.
Most of the trail signs along this stretch were for the E-9 (or European Coastal Path), which runs roughly 5,500 kilometers along the continent’s northern coastline from Estonia to Portugal.
As I followed along on the dirt trail, I began to muse about what would it be to walk that entire distance along the coast of Europe. It’s a far more ambitious distance than I would ever be able to attempt in a single hike. Not to mention the fact that my measly 90-day visa definitely wouldn’t support such a grand adventure. But, it was still fun to turn the idea over in my mind as I walked west.
As the morning miles passed by, I was fairly happy it was no longer raining. Yesterday’s storm really did dump a full inch of rainfall on the Camino. And the skies above me were still ominous and gray, as if to warn me that Mother Nature wasn’t quite done with her work.
The Camino continued along this rugged coastline toward another tiny town, where the plain stone facade of a monastery sat on a rocky outcropping above a beach. The sun seemed as if it was desperately trying to shine through the heavy clouds, but to no avail. It was going to be a gloomy and gray morning.
At the edge of town, the Camino headed down to the sandy beach of Playa de Las Cámaras. Then I was walking beside the hard-packed sand as cold waves crashed and retreated over and over again.
Giant boulders sat near the water’s edge rising up like jagged teeth and trapping water in their crevices as the tide went out.
I enjoyed the feeling of walking on fresh legs as I trod past these views at sea level. It’s amazing how much your mindset can shift with just a day of rest and knowing that the worst of the weather is behind you. I felt inspired this morning. And at peace. I was back to enjoying this Camino journey.
The rest of the morning seemed to slip by with hardly any trouble. I was just cruising along and enjoying the sights. And while the beach had been nice, my favorite little spot this morning was a solitary church perched on the edge of a small river inlet a few kilometers further inland.
CIDER
As the Camino turned a little inland again, I was walking along the edge of apple orchards with trees filled with small green and red apples. I knew this would be a sight I’d see over and over as I walked through the province of Asturias.
One of the the highlights of this region is its fermented apple cider. And I was genuinely looking forward to sampling it.
Back home in the Pacific Northwest where I live, hard apple cider seems like its becoming as plentiful and popular as craft beer. I regularly head out to visit 2 Towns Cider, which one of our larger cider houses in Oregon.
However, Asturian cider is a whole different scene when compared to North America craft cider. Here in Spain, the region is famous for its traditional-style sidra natural — a tart, dry cider that’s slowly fermented in massive chestnut kegs, but without any added sugar. Hence, it has no fizziness like the hard cider I’m used to drinking.
The Spanish cider’s lack of carbonation created of an entire culture and ritual around the drink, with sidreriás (cider houses) cropping up to serve the cider using a special pouring technique.
In each one, a waiter approaches each table with a special bucket that shields customers from the splash. Then he lifts a cider bottle up over his head as high as possible, while simultaneously holding a glass down as low as he can reach in the opposite hand.
From there, the waiter pours the cider — allowing it to cascade several feet from the bottle into the glass. This process aerates the liquid and makes the cider slightly bubbly.
I was genuinely hoping to pop into one of these sidreriás for lunch this afternoon when I got to the town of Naves. This small town was 18 kilometers into my 31 kilometer day, and it seemed like a perfect distance suited for an extended break with a refreshing drink.
Unfortunately, my early start this morning meant it was sometime around noon when I walked into Naves. It seemed that I was completely out of luck as I wandered the streets of the small town. I’d arrived far too early to enjoy a cider.
The main restaurant in town was closed from September 30th to October 2nd. And the local sidreriá was closed until this evening. There were a few small bars scattered through the small town too, but none of them would begin serving food until around 1:30 pm. So it seemed there wouldn’t be any cider or a sturdy lunch for this midday stop.
Feeling a little dejected, I backtracked through town to the bakery I’d passed on my way in to Naves. I guess I would just make do with whatever sandwiches or pastries they were serving there so I could get on my way and finish the rest of the day.
The bakery’s food choices were pretty limited though. I didn’t want to order another croissant or napolitana. I’d already had that for breakfast back in Poo. So I ordered myself a coffee, and then settled on a different pastry for lunch.
After one bite though of the sweet concoction, I wondered if I’d made a bad choice. Don’t get me wrong. The pastry tasted fine. It had caramel and nut on tops, plus some sort of creamy pudding between the cake layers. But it was also so ridiculously sweet that it threatened to put me into a diabetic coma after just a few bites!
Blue Skies
A half an hour later, I rode my sugar high out of town, and then headed back into the countryside to walk the remaining 13 kilometers (or 8 miles) to Ribadesella – a coastal town that straddled the mouth of the Sella River where I intended to stop for the day.
The Camino took me out into hilly landscape with a hefty climb up to a picturesque church and a gorgeous bell tower. The morning’s dark ominous clouds and light sprinkles of rain seemed to be blowing out. A blue sky and little bit of sunshine would replaced them it seemed.
Further ahead, the sawtooth mountains of the Picos de Europa ran paralleled the Camino. They dominated my views all afternoon providing a pleasant backdrop to fields full of small ponies and sheep grazing in the pastures pastures beside the trail.
As I checked my map app during one of my breaks, I discovered there’d been an alternate route that ran along the coast. Normally, I would have eagerly jumped on such an opportunity to walk that route, but I’d missed the junction for it just before heading into Naves for lunch. Oh well, I guess that meant I was going to remain on the main Camino del Norte path instead.
The hilly route provided me with intermittent views of the ocean from up high, and I suppose, it was probably a slightly faster route than zigzagging atop the coastal headlands while stopping to take dozens of pictures as I’m usually inclined to do.
Somewhere along the way, I passed a bunch of painted rocks near a rural albergue. They looked as if different people (perhaps pilgrims who’d stayed there) painted the rocks and the owners use them to build a wall under a canopy of trees alongside the Camino. It wasn’t fine art, but the whimsy put a smile on my face nonetheless.
As I continued walking through the early afternoon, I met another American pilgrim named Kenneth. We talked for a few minutes, exchanging the typical pleasantries that every pilgrim seemed to recite. Where are you from? How far are you headed today? When did you begin the Camino?
Kenneth was in his 50s and said he was originally from South Carolina, but he hadn’t lived in the U.S. for nearly two decades. He taught English overseas and now considered himself an expat. This wasn’t an unusual backstory for someone on the Camino, but what made Keith an outlier was the fact that he was also African American.
Like so many other hiking spaces, it wasn’t common to see many people of color were out here on the Camino or in northern Spain. And I hoped Kenneth was finding the journey as enjoyable and rewarding as I did. But mostly, I was just happy to speak English with another native speaker.
The Halfway Point
Shortly after I parted ways with Kenneth, the path dipped down to the Rio Guadamila, where an old stone bridge crossed over a small river. This picturesque spot seemed relatively obscure, but it actually wasn’t. According to my GPS, this river was the halfway point on my journey between Irun and Santiago de Compestela!
I’d now completed 421 of the 842 kilometers of the Camino del Norte on foot. And from this point forward, every step I took would be closer to the end of my journey than I was to the beginning of it. I’d passed over the threshold, it seemed.
It was a bit surreal to realize that I’ve walked half of the Camino already. I made it through a week of insane ups and downs in the Basque Country. Then on to Cantabria and through a ton of rain. And now I was in Asturias, with only the province of Galicia left in front of me!
With the realization of how far I’d come, I felt as it I was just floating along for the remaining five miles of my day. I walked beside more grassy fields with cows and horses and took in the views the mountains. The ocean was less than a kilometer away, but it was completely hidden from my view as if it wasn’t even there.
Nonetheless, I didn’t regret spending my afternoon in the in the shadows of the Picos de Europa today instead walking above the ocean. I wanted to appreciate the diversity of this Camino – whether it was with epic views of the green countryside set against or these jagged mountains or looking out at the cerulean ocean.
RIBADESELLA
I arrived in Ribadesella at ten minutes past 3 p.m., which seemed like a recipe for an easy, relaxing afternoon. But in reality, my arrival was just one more instance in which my early morning start turned into a bit of a hinderance.
First, I already arrived in Naves too early to enjoy some cider or a proper lunch. And now, it seemed as if I was too early to check in to my pensión. The door to the office was closed and completely dark!!
My reservation said the place would be open for guest check-in from 3-8 pm. But here I was, without anyone else around. How was I going to get the key to my room? I just wanted to shower and rinse out my clothes and relax.
I loitered for another 5-10 minutes, then wandered around pension’s courtyard in search of help. I didn’t find anyone, but I discovered some lock boxes (like the kind a realtor might use) mounted on a wall by the office. The boxes were right below a sign in Spanish instructing guests to open to the lock box that corresponded with their room number with the code that they received from the pensión via email.
Were these lockboxes for all of the guests? Or just the people who showed up after their normal office hours? Heck, I didn’t know.
And was I supposed to have my room number already? Or a lockbox code? I’d booked my reservation on online yesterday while I was in the hotel in Llanes, and was pretty sure I hadn’t received any sort of email a room number or information about a lock box.
But then again, I’d also left my hotel early this morning. What if the pensión sent me an email today while I was out walking? Was I going to end up sleeping on the street tonight just because I didn’t have a Spanish SIM card so I could check my email during the day?
Before I began to mentally spiral into a panic, I decided to head to a cafe and order a cold soda. I’d just make sure I patronized one of the bars or cafes in town with free wi-fi so I could check my email. And then I’d know the answer for sure because sitting here waiting wasn’t going to give me the answer.
While at the cafe, I did a quick search of email on my phone, and was partially relieved. I hadn’t missed a messages with a room number or code. This news didn’t exactly solve the problem of how I was going to get into my room. But at least I knew wasn’t missing a critical piece of information. I’d just head back to the pensión and wait. Maybe the proprietor was just late arriving to the office after his or her siesta.
And sure enough, that seemed to be the case. When I returned at 3:40 pm, the office door was open, and someone was sitting at the front desk! Whew!! I wouldn’t be sleeping on the street…at least not tonight!
After cleaning up and hanging my clothes to dry, I went out on the town to celebrate the feat passing the halfway mark. I went straight to a sidreriá, where I ordered a giant bottle of cider (the only size they sold) just so I could watch the spectacle of the waiter pouring it for me from several feet high.
And to accompany this treat, I ordered a salad and patatas cabrales – a savory dish consisting of pan fired potatoes dressed with hot, melted Cabrales bleu cheese. This was another Asturian speciality. This locally-sourced cheese is made by rural dairy farmers only using herds raised in a small production zone near the Picos de Europa.
I’ll admit, the potato dish didn’t look like anything special when it arrived at the table, but it absolutely tasted delicious! I was 100% glad I had this unique way to feast over my accomplishment. I was halfway done with the Camino del Norte. My feet were feeling great after a day of rest. And it barely rained on me at all today. I had much to celebrate.
