September 17, 2022
- Route: San Sebastian to Getaria
- Distance: 24.4 kilometers (15.1 miles) + a bonus 5 km
- Cumulative Distance: 53.5 km
After dinner last night, I spent some time looking at Camino del Norte route. The route profile from Irun to Bilbao looked like a jagged sawtooth for at least 150 kilometers. My hope that all the steep mountain climbs were now behind me was a foolish one. I’d be hiking up and down for several more days yet.
The truth was, the Camino del Norte was going to be much, much more rugged journey that my trek on the Camino Francés four years ago.
What’s more, my map reconnaissance left me was a bit concerned about where I’d sleep tonight. If it was completely up to me where I’d end the day, it would probably be the town of Zumaia – about 30 kilometers west of here by trail. But, that plan wasn’t feasible.
I’d used the hostel’s wifi to scour the internet for various lodging options in Zumaia. The town’s 40-bed municipal albergue no longer seemed to be operating. The sole private albergue (with just a mere 16 beds) was already completely booked up. And, while there were several pensións, casa rurales, and hotels in Zumaia, every single one of them was already booked too!
Apparently, the combination of pilgrims searching for beds, surfers looking for a hostels, and weekend beach tourists (today was a Saturday after all) created too much demand for Zumaia’s limited resources. And then there the San Sebastián Film Festival which kicked off yesterday. That event was bringing a ton more people to this part of the Spanish coast and squeezing the lodging market even tighter.
So with Zumaia no longer an option, I had to move to plan B. I’d cut the day short, and walk fewer miles and stop in the tiny village named Askizu about 2.5 kilometers shy of Zumaia. It only had a single albergue with 15 beds there, and they didn’t have an online presence that would allow me to make reservations. So I guess, I’d just have to walk there and hope for the best.
I didn’t feel like this was too risky of a proposition though. My experience on the Camino Frances was that few pilgrims wanted to stay in the tiny villages where there were limited (or no) amenities. Most folks chose to stop in the bigger towns – where there were grocery stores, pharmacies (for blister supplies), cafes, and plenty of lodging with reliable wi-fi.
Thus, I was hoping most of the pilgrims who started their day in San Sebastián (like me) would choose to stop in Getaria. That town was right on the ocean, and it appeared to have two albergues along with several other lodging options. Plus, it was a slightly shorter distance from San Sebastián, which would seem more ideal for the pilgrims whose feet had a ton of blisters (like the German girl I’d met last night).
LEAVING SAN SEBASTIAN
With a solid plan to stop in Askizu this afternoon, I probably could have slept in a bit later than I did. It wasn’t getting light here in Northern Spain until well after 8 am, and I wasn’t very keen to walk in the dark. If I was going to hike up these great big climbs, I might as well be able to see the awesome ocean views, right? Hiking in the dark was a strategy for making big miles, not for enjoying the scenery.
Unfortunately, one of the other guests in our communal room set her alarm for 7 am. And once I’m awake, there’s little chance of falling back to sleep again. I quietly packed up my things, trying my best to make as little rustling noise as possible so as and not to disturb the pilgrims who were still sleeping, and departed the hostel around 7:40 am.
As I stepped out in the darkness, it was a quiet Saturday morning and almost everyone was still indoors. The streets were vacant, but warm light poured out onto the sidewalk through the giant glass window of a cafe up ahead.
The sight triggered my stomach, and I suddenly felt famished. So I was more than happy to head inside and order myself a café con leche and a chocolate napolitana for my breakfast
Only a handful of people sat inside the cafe at this hour, and I was pretty sure they were waking the Camino too (if their backpacks were any indication). Music poured through the cafe’s overhead speakers as I sat there waiting for the sun to come up and illuminate the way.
Dolly Parton’s song Jolene came over speakers and I couldn’t help but smile to myself when it did. Any touch of home while you’re traveling in a foreign land is a welcome addition. Hearing Dolly’s voice as she belted out a familiar song in English put me in a great mood.
An hour later, I was ready to start my day for real. I stepped outdoors for the second time that morning, noticing that the air temperature was much cooler than yesterday. No more thick humidity or dark clouds. Just blue skies and the turquoise ocean at the end to the sand.
Weekend runners and cyclists were trucking up and down the wide promenade that ran along the beach as I walked out of town. And then the Camino turned inland with stairs leading up a steep hillside.
A twinge of sharp pain suddenly appeared in the back of my knee on my way up the stairs. I reached down to massage the ligaments beneath my skin, hoping this pain wasn’t an indicator of how my body was going to hold up for the rest of this hike. I still have more than 800 km left to go! I can’t afford for my knee to fail me this early in the game.
The concrete stairs gave way to a dirt trail and I continued to ascend into the hills above San Sebastián. It was a physically challenging way to begin the hike, but least I had the benefit of some nice views of the city below and the beach behind me whenever I stopped to rest and catch my breath.
BAGGAGE
As I continued hiking west into the mountain range, I spotted several more pilgrims up ahead of me. I was able to catch up to the vast majority of them, as they seem to mostly be in their 50s and 60s and just sauntering along.
Most of them are also just wearing small daypacks, so I suspect they must have opted to have their luggage or backpacks sent forward to their next location.
Using a baggage transfer service wasn’t something I did on my last Camino. I preferred to carry my pack, rather than handing all my things over to a stranger and hoping it will show up on the other end. Besides, I’m physically capable of wearing a backpack the entire way – unlike other pilgrims who might have back issues or other physical ailments.
I also don’t think using a baggage service is compatible with my hiking strategy out here. Those pilgrims need to specify somewhere concrete to have their packs delivered each afternoon. That means planning everything ahead of time and making reservations for every day. That’s just not my preferred style.
I really tried to avoid making any reservations during the Camino Frances (with the exceptions of bigger cities where I opted to stay in hotels). I liked having some flexibility in my day where I could walk the distance my body felt like going, rather than to pigeonholing myself into too long (or too short) of a day.
Of course, only time will tell if this same strategy will work on the Camino del Norte. I had to make a reservation in St.-Jean-de-Luz, France because lodging was too expensive in Hendaye. And I made a reservation in San Sebastián last night because of it being such a big and popular tourist town. So we shall see!
COFFEE WITH A CULT
All morning long, it seemed as if I was hiking uphill. The elevation profile showed that would mostly be the case the first half of the day. I’d need to climb up into the mountains, and then I’d drop back down to gaps where the rivers cut between them this afternoon.
Although that meant I was putting out a lot of energy early today, I found myself distracted by all the wildflowers and local animals, including some lovely milk cows grazing by the Camino.
My morning coffee and pastry didn’t seem to be a hearty enough breakfast though. I found myself completely famished by 10:45 am, which is about the time I spotted a water fountain beside the road and decided to stop for a refill and a snack.
I’m really trying to be more mindful about staying hydrated today because I definitely didn’t drink enough water yesterday. My calves were cramping up all night long, and I’m certain it was because I’d failed to drink enough in all my excitement over starting this adventure. Nonetheless, I don’t want a repeat of that feeling this evening, so I’m trying to drink water every time I pass a fountain.
Just beyond my break spot, the Camino transitioned from pavement to an old stone path that threatened to break my ankles with one wrong step. Then, the path hit a steep descent making it even more challenging
As I slowly picked my way through the obstacle, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself and questioning why this Camino route was so difficult. But just then I spotted a bit a trail magic ahead.
In the distance, I could see a table and some chairs set up under an awning. A young man in his 20s called out to me, asking whether I wanted some hot coffee or tea from his makeshift coffee stand. I figured, “what the heck, I could use a cup,” so I shrugged out of my pack before taking the proffered cup.
I sat down in one of the nearby chairs and began eavesdropping on an existing conversation between Englishman (named Simon) and another pilgrim with an accent I couldn’t place. And as I sat there listening, I noticed there was some literature on the table. Then my attention was diverted back to the young man who’d offered me the coffee because he was currently talking to some newly arrived pilgrims about making a donation.
As it turns out, this little coffee break was set up by some members of the Yellow Deli and the Twelve Tribes. I had some experience with these folks from my Appalachian Trail thru-hike back in 2019, and didn’t want anything to do with what they were preaching.
They’re essentially a fundamentalist Christian cult with some oddball beliefs, where they’re the “chosen people” (of course), women are supposed to be subservient to men, slavery is biblically sanctioned, and corporal punishment is deemed essential to raising children.
The unpaid members of their group work in delis and cafes around the world to earn money for the organization, and well, let’s just say I wasn’t interested in sticking around for any longer than it took to chug the last of my coffee and get my pack back on again.
BASQUE COUNTRY
After putting as much distance between me and the cult coffee stand as possible, I refocused my attention on the changing scenery around me. Up ahead, I could see hillside filled with grapes! I’d finally made it to the Basque wine region. Acres of grapevines stretched out before my eyes and filled my heart with enjoyment.
I love Spanish wine so much. Tempranillo. Grenache. Rioja. Cava. And now, I’m looking forward to sampling the Basque wines to see how they compare to the wines I already know.
The traditional Basque wine is called Txakoli (pronounced chock-oh-lee), and it’s a white wine made using Hondarribi Zuri grapes. It’s a sparkling wine with a really low alcohol content, and it nearly died out in the 19th century. These days it’s enjoying a bit of a revival, and I’m curious to see how it tastes.
The other regional wine grown locally is Rioja Alavesa, which is a red wine predominately made from Tempranillo grapes.
Both wines are typically paired with seafood and pintxos (the Basque version of tapas), and seeing all these grapes growing along these hillsides, was making me crave some wine and food as I headed down another steep descent to the coastal town of Orio.
ORIO
The town of Orio (pronounced like the sandwich cookie) was just a small fishing village perched along a wide river right before it dumped out into the sea. But, as with so many of the things in this region, about 60% of the signs in the town seemed to be written in the Basque language (Euskara) rather than Spanish.
I am usually able to decipher words or phrases I don’t know in Spanish simply based on their context. But, I’m having zero luck when it comes to making sense of all these Basque signs.
Part of my challenge is how different the language looks to my eyes. Basque seems more like some Slavic language than Spanish to me. It uses the letters J, K, X, and Z at about quadruple the rate that I’m used to seeing, and in unusual combinations.
So seeing menus with words like kokotxas or idiazabal just throws me for a loop. I have no clue how to even pronounce those words, let alone what I might be ordering.
The village of Orio, was no exception either. Even the lodging in this town had Basque names (Txanka Erreka and Pensión Xaloa) that looked challenging to pronounce. So thank goodness for the simple yellow arrows that keep me on the correct path. There’s no language barrier with them!
Just beyond the bridge that crossed the Orio river, the Camino transitioned to the shoulder of a wide paved road following the river’s outlet to the sea. Normally I have tremendous disdain for roadwalking like this, but honestly, I was just grateful for a kilometer or two of completely flat terrain for the first time since leaving San Sebastián this morning.
The paved road was completely devoid of traffic, and over the next 10-15 minutes, I passed a ton of teenagers running on the flat stretch of asphalt. They were all wearing matching singlets and spandex shorts, and I began wonder if I’ve stumbled on some sort of 5k race. Or maybe it was just a high school cross-country team practicing on the weekend.
Above me in the sky, I caught a glimpse of a few parachutes floating in the air above the green coastal mountains. The brave souls piloting them were paragliding into the thermals and ocean winds, sitting in their cocoon-like pods beneath their parachutes. That was definitely not a sport I plan on trying! Defying gravity isn’t my thing.
I returned my gaze back down to ground level and where a number of fisherman with poles lining the river to catch whatever seafood must be swimming in the water.
This naturally made me think of home, where Keith was probably doing the same thing along the rivers in Oregon. It’s salmon season right now, and he’s hoping to have another good year with a few large fish. I hope he’s successful too, because a big salmon means at least part of it is going in the freezer for me to enjoy when I get back home at the end of this journey!
50K DOWN
As the flat terrain ended, I found myself heading back up into the mountains again through more vineyards. Yellow and blue plastic crates were piled at the end of each row of vines in preparation for the harvest that will happen over the next few weeks.
It makes me so happy to I find myself walking the Camino in September, when the vines are as full as they can be. I just love seeing the land is its most productive state.
The next town up ahead – Zarautz – was a mere five kilometers away, but it was light years away from sleepy Orio in terms of its size and modernity.
As I walked through town, the Camino worked its way down a long wide boulevard filled with traffic. The canopy of giant trees overhead was a welcome addition though as it shaded me from the intense sun and midday heat creeping up into the upper 70’s, if not 80’s.
There were more than a few restaurants to choose from here too. And the majority of the menus seem to be in Spanish (not just Basque) so I decided to stop and grab a real lunch and a cold drink before continuing on into the hills again.
While I ate, I checked out the rest of the day’s route. At the end of Zarautz, the Camino split in two different directions. The primary route climbed back up into the mountains to an old abandoned church named Santa Barbara. Meanwhile, a lower coastal alternate followed the N-634, the rural highway along the shore.
I chose the hillier mountain route knowing that I’d likely return to the grape covered hillsides. And that’s when I encountered something I’d never seen on any trail before.
The Camino headed out of town via a steep, rocky medieval style road. But, off to my right, was a modern shortcut that I wished tried.
A metal and glass tower stood at the base of this hill, and then rose up nine stories to the roads above. This modern tower was actually an outdoor elevator to get pedestrians up from the sea level part of Zarautz up to the newer hillside homes.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen an elevator standing completely on it’s own outdoors. In my experience, elevators are always perched the sides of structures – like a parking garage or a building.
I totally could have skipped the steep climb on all those uneven rocks. If I’d known this was a legit shortcut and open to the public, I could have just pressed a button and ridden the elevator up to a concrete skybridge at the top. But instead, I endured the difficult climb like all the pilgrims who walked this route in centuries past.
Once I made it back into the countryside again and up to the church, I was treated to some pretty fantastic views of Zarautz down below me. And I had good reason to celebrate the moment too. I was officially done with my first 50 kilometers of the Camino del Norte.
TRAILS, TRAILS, TRAILS
The next hour continued through the Basque vineyards, with nice views of the turquoise water in the sea. I’m sure the lower route was nice too, but this scenery was just just breathtaking. The Camino del Norte really was something to behold!
As I approached a signpost at a junction, I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of signs affixed to it. At first, I just assumed the signpost was full because the trail markers were in two languages – Basque and Spanish.
But then I took a closer took and discovered the real reason was because of the number of local trails that coalesced up in these mountains.
- There were signs with the red and white stripes signifying the GR121 (Vuelta a Gipuzcoa), which made a 284-kilometer loop through the Basque Region.
- And signs with the blue EU flag with an E9 in the middle of it, which signified the route for and the 5,000-kilometer E9 European Coastal Path along the northern coast of continent from Estonia to Portugal.
- More signs held a navy blue and white striped markings and a whale icon indicating the Bale Talaiak, a 10.6-kilometer loop between Getaria and Zarautz that was geared toward whale watching.
- Plus, the signs with a white and yellow stripe and and a grape icon for the PR-Gi-202 (Ruta del Txakoli) that made a 32-kilometer loop through this section of the Basque wine country.
- And finally, signs with green and blue stripes for the Eraztun Berde Urdina, a roughly 12-kilometer hiking trail that looped into the countryside around Zarautz.
That’s a heck of a lot of trails, and it doesn’t even include the Camino del Norte route I was currently on! I’d really have to keep my eyes peeler to make sure I didn’t accidentally end up on the wrong path!
GETARIA
As the bright mid-afternoon sun started to sunburn my nose and ears, I passed a side trail that led down to the coastal town of Getaria. From this vantage point, it looked like the town was built on the water’s edge with a small mound land sticking out into the ocean like a thumb.
A lighthouse stood tall on the outmost part of the unusual mound where it could signal to the boats out at sea. Meanwhile, a large harbor and breakwater seemed to fill in the gap between the town and the land mass.
It looked like a nice enough seaside town with a bunch of amenities, but I wasn’t planning to take the side trip there. That was where I expected the majority of the pilgrims ahead of me (and behind me) to stay tonight, while I headed another 2.5 kilometers up the road to Askizu.
As I plodded along under the warm sun toward Askizu, I spotted two pilgrims walking up ahead of me. I crossed my fingers and silently hoped they weren’t going to take the last two beds at the albergue. It only had room for 15 guests, and I’d hate to lose out because I was just a bit too slow to catch up to and pass those other pilgrims this afternoon.
As it turns out, the two men ahead of me weren’t going to the albergue after all. They stopped there to fill up their water bottles outside the bar, but never went inside. So I gave the men a little wave to say hello before I disappeared inside while sighing a breath of relief.
I sauntered up to the bar and asked one of the two bartenders about the albergue. He asked me if I had a reservation. When I said no, he wistfully shook his head. They were completely full, he told me. There were no more beds today.
Noooo.
Upon hearing those few words, I just wanted to sit down and cry. This stop was my sole plan for the day. There were no other albergues here. Askizu wasn’t even a real town, where I might be able to spring for a room in a hotel or casa rural. The only thing in this tiny village was a church, this single bar/albergue where I was standing, and a bunch of private homes.
It was blazing hot out. I was tired. But there was no room at the inn. What was I going to do now? And adding insult to injury, I didn’t even have internet to figure out a plan B.
PAYING THROUGH THE NOSE
I checked my phone and saw the bar had internet, so I purchased a soda and asked the bartender for the wifi password. He said the password aloud to me twice, but I honestly had no clue how to spell whatever he was saying (I think it was a Basque word filled with Js and Xs), so I finally just gave up and handed him my phone and let him put the password in for me.
Internet in Spain is usually modern and fast, but this was some of the crummiest connectivity I’ve experienced since the old dial-up days. I literally had no service unless I was standing right outside the bar’s bathroom, which made me feel super pervy.
Now I looked like the weirdo lurking beside the sink between to door to the mens’ and womens’ toilets. And, of course, there was a constant stream of patrons coming and going to the bathroom the entire time I was searching the slow internet for a lead on a room where I could stay tonight.
At it turns out, 4 pm on a Saturday afternoon is NOT the time to go searching for a hotel room on the busy Spanish Coast. Everything was already sold out. I used several different apps and I kept getting the same result over and over again.
The ONLY thing I could find within a reasonable distance was one triple room at a pensión back in Getaria. Not only would that option mean Id have to backtrack 2.5 kilometers to the junction I’d walked past an hour ago, but I’d have to pay a whopping €175 to stay one night!
I’d come to this particular albergue today hoping to pay €20 (or less) for a bunk tonight. Was I really going to have to pay €175? Seriously!?!
I spent another 20 minutes trying every travel hack or trick I knew, but there was nothing less expensive within a 20-kilometer radius of me. No casa rurales. No agriturismos. Nothing.
What options do I have left? Sleep in the vineyards?
What the heck were all the other pilgrims doing tonight? Did they all have reservations? Was I the only one left in a lurch like the kid left standing with the music stops in the game of “musical chairs?”
[I’d later learn that I wasn’t the only pilgrim squeezed by all the weekend tourists, surfers, and the film festival that week. Some of the more frugal pilgrims literally slept on the beach, while others took a bus 20+ kilometers off trail to find lodging.]
With great reluctance, I booked the triple room back in Getaria. With any luck, maybe I’d find another pilgrim or two on my way back there who’d be willing to split the cost of the room.
What a crummy situation!
Getaria (Again!)
I swear I was moving even slower on the walk back Getaria than before. Perhaps it was just my bitterness of backtracking, which is something I hate to do. My body was walking a 30-kilometer day, but I only have 24.5-kilometers of progress to show for it. It just made me feel so frustrated.
When I reached Getaria and checked in to the pensión, the front desk clerk is surprised that I’d booked the room for myself. She was sure there it be a group or small family, given the size of the room.
I shook my head no, and told her it was just me tonight. I explain that I’d hoped to stay at the albergue in the next town, but it was already full. But I was more than willing to share the room, I told her. And I asked her to let me know if any last-minute pilgrims show up looking for a bed. I’d be willing to split the cost.
After I washed up, I vowed not to make this same mistake tomorrow. I don’t have money to blow on this level of lodging each day. At this rate, I’d be out of funds and have to fly home in a week! I needed a plan ASAP!
Backtracking to Getaria also put me in an awkward situation in terms of the towns ahead. I’d ideally like to walk around 30 kilometers each day, but there’s zero chance that is going to happen now.
My options tomorrow are to walk 23 kilometers to Ibiri, where there’s one single albergue to stay in. Or I walk 43 kilometers (26+ miles) to Markina-Xemein. It’s just feast or famine out here, and I’m quickly discovering that the Camino del Norte is nothing at all like the Camino Frances.
And with that realization, I decided to go take advantage of the fact that I was in Getaria and go explore.
