September 19, 2022
- Route: Ibiri to Bolívar
- Distance: 25.3 kilometers (15.7 miles) + 4.6 km extra for food
- Cumulative Distance: 101.7 km
As much as I loved staying at the old dairy farm last night, it had the same problem that every other albergue has: the early birds. In other words, the pilgrims who want to get up super early to get a start to their day.
At 6 am, a handful of people were rustling around, packing their bags, and shining their bright headlamps and smartphone flashlights in every which direction – including my eyes. I bit my tongue and tried to put a pillow over my head, but it wasn’t any use. I was wide awake, so I figured that I might was well get up too.
I won’t ever understand why some pilgrims are in such a rush to get started. It’s not fully bright here on the north coast of Spain until nearly 8 am. Were they really that eager to walk in the dark?!?
The albergue’s kitchen/bar wasn’t open for breakfast this morning. But any pilgrim who paid in advance for the optional breakfast was provided a sack meal along with a pod for the albergue’s coffee maker.
I’d availed myself of this breakfast option mostly because there wouldn’t by any restaurants or services until we reached the town of Markina-Xemein about 19 km (or 11.8 miles) into the day. I didn’t have much in ht away of snacks left in my pack. Nor could I wait that long for coffee. I needed my caffeine fix well before lunchtime.
I’m glad I’d sprung for the breakfast too, because when I reviewed this morning’s elevation profile it looked as if it would be another hilly day, even by Camino Del Norte standards!
The quiet countryside
When I eventually departed the albergue at a quarter to eight, and stepped out into the morning, I was treated to the pinks and orange hues of the of the sunrise. And it didn’t take terribly long before my shirt and hiking shorts were damp again. Not from sweat or effort, but from the warm humidity that saturated the air.
The trail turned north one last time, proving expansive views of the ocean under the early morning sky. And somewhere in the distance, a dull melody permeated the air as the livestock grazed and rung the bells around their neck.
Much of today would be heading southwest, into the interior where the Camino meandered through the Basque countryside with dirt forest roads occasionally giving way to narrow asphalt lanes.
As I descended into one valley, a white linear expanse of fog sat above the rural homes. It was dense enough it almost looked like smoke hovering over the low lying areas.
Each home I passed seemed to had a small garden plot planted, and I took inventory of the different crops I recognized. Tomatoes trellised their way up bamboo stakes. Small lettuces grew in neat little rows. Broccoli stalks remained, even though their florets had been harvested. While dry yellow stalks boasted ears of corn that were ready to be pulled.
At the end of the valley, the intense climbing began in earnest. My shirt really was even more wet, but now from the sweat and moisture of my efforts. After several difficult kilometers, I crested the climb and was treated to a wonderful downhill dip in the mountainous terrain.
It had been been two hours since I started walking this morning, and my stomach was already grumbling. And, with no cafes or bars to avail myself of for several more hours yet, I was grateful that I saved half of my generous sack breakfast. I needed that mid-morning snack to revive my energy.
Two giant logs lay right beside the Camino, and they made a for a splendid seat for my second breakfast. I shrugged off my pack and sat down to rest. But while I quickly gobbled the remainder of my breakfast, the cool mountain air hit the back of my sopping wet shirt, and I immediately start to shiver from the sensation.
Ten minutes of rest seemed to elapse in a blink of an eye. And as much as I wanted to sit there longer, I knew I needed to get moving again before my leg muscles got too stiff or I got too cold. Moving would warm me up again quick.
The next stretch of trail before me was a gentle roller coaster over the surrounding hillside. The Camino dipped into a forest that appeared to be a sort of a tree farm with squares of evergreens offset with acres of a much lighter deciduous type of tree of some variety.
Pilgrims, and Spainards, and Goats, oh my!
As I wove through the trees on a dirt forest road, I began to catch all the early risers who left the albergue at the crack of dawn. I remembered their faces from last night’s dinner. But as I approached each pilgrim, I was careful not to pass them until I was confident that I was actually moving faster than they were walking.
I didn’t want to play the leapfrog game that occurs when you hit an easy stretch of trail and decide to pass someone, and then a few meters later they pick up their pace and now moving faster than you, so you switch positions again.
As I passed each one, I did my best to greet them in their native tongue.
First, it was the Swiss woman whose name I totally forgot. But I recall that she spoke German (and some French, but little English or Spanish), so I greeted her with a hearty, “Guten Morgan.”
Then I spotted Renato, the Italian man who seemed to be talking on his cellphone much of the time he walked. Sure enough, he was on the phone again. As I passed him, I said a quick, “Buengiorno.”
And finally, Charles was in my cross-hairs. He’s the gentleman from Luxembourg who told me about having to take a 20-minute bus ride to find an albergue. He’s fluent in English and French (and also speaks quite a bit of Spanish too), so to him, I simply resorted to, “Buen Camino.”
Then, as the Camino crested the next set of hills, I could see there were no more pilgrims up ahead anymore. Instead, I spotted some local Spanish telecom workers taking a break next to a narrow, but deep trough on the edge of the road. It appeared as if they were trenching in some fiber optic cables to bring the internet to these rural mountain homes.
Just beyond them, a bunch of goats were running loose on trail. They heard me coming and most of them scrambled up onto a hillside to make way. But a handful of more stubborn goats wanted to stand their ground until I got close enough to shoo them away.
Of all the random farm animals out here, goats are the one I’m the least concerned about. I grew up around milk goats. I know they are just curious clowns. They may try to nibble on your pack if you leave it on the ground, but they aren’t going to do anything truly harmful.
Oh, My blasted knees
As the Camino continued to weave its way inland through the coastal mountains, I got a bird’s eye view of some open-pit quarry operations off to my left. I had no idea what material they were unearthing, but I’d read that there were some marble quarries in the area. So maybe this is one of them.
It’s amazing how much these massive quarries change the views and the landscape. They transformed the green, tree-covered hillsides into a terrace of gray and brown exposed earth. And based on the size of the nearby roads and construction equipment, I can only guess that each terrace was several stories high.
Down below me, I also saw the distinct outline of a modern fútbol field. It was the first sign that I was approaching a town, as there seems to always be at least one in every big town. This field looked more modern and upscale than most, but what really struck me was how tiny it looked from this vantage point up in the mountains.
Unfortunately, I knew what that meant… a big descent was in my immediate future!
My hunch wasn’t wrong. That valley was exactly where the Camino was headed, and the long, steep, paved descent had my knees crying out with each step. My right knee was a little sore, but it was left one that really bothered me. With each downhill step the pressure behind my left patella seemed to build.
I tried to change my gait to a short shuffle-step rather than letting gravity pull me forward. But, even that didn’t help. The road was just too steep.
Then I tried to abate the steepness of the incline by zigzagging back and forth across the roadway, making my own switchbacks as I plunged down the pavement. This meant a lot of extra steps, and it didn’t do much to diminish my misery.
The only thing that truly seemed to help relieve the sharp knee pain was just stopping to rest every 30 seconds. And that meant my pace was abysmally slow. Walk 30 seconds, rest, walk 30 seconds rest.
Once I finally made it to the bottom of the hill, and level with the fútbol field I’d spotted from above, I went in search for a bench to rest on. The sun was out and I needed a break. I didn’t know what was wrong with my body. My knees were generally fine, but these ridiculously abrupt grades were just killing me.
When enough time has passed that my body no longer seemed to be in revolt, I worked my way over to on a walking path leading into town, which (thankfully) was as flat as could be.
I could glimpse into all the backyards that backed up to this urban walking path too. Several of these homes had animals, but one in particular caught my attention.
In that large yard, I spotted some ducks eating from a pile of household scraps. One of the ducks greedily grabbed a large piece of stale baguette away from the other ducks. But rather than attempting to choke it down right away, he quickly waddled all the way across the yard to a large pool of water with the bread in his mouth.
At first I just though the duck just wanted to protect his treasure from his competitors. But then, much to my surprise, he dropped the bread in the water and proceeded to push it under the surface, over and over again, until it was soft enough to eat comfortably. Clearly this ingenious duck knew (from experience, I suppose) that day-old baguette was not edible without teeth! Color me impressed!
Two giant mistakes
When I finally into got to the town of Markina-Xemein, it was just after noon. It was a large and bustling town, but it still too early for most of the cafes to be serving lunch (which doesn’t seem to begin until sometime after 1pm). But I definitely needed something to tide me over.
I’d made a lodging reservation at an albergue in the town Bolivar, which that was still another 6.5 kilometers ahead. And the terrain between here and there looked pretty moderate, so I decided to just grab a quick café con leche, and keep walking.
In hindsight though, I probably should have just hung out in this large town for an hour and grabbed lunch while I had plenty of dining options. Or, at a minimum, I should have at least stopped at the grocery store I passed on the way out of town and grabbed myself some snacks. The only food I had left in my pack was a small bag of pistachios. I needed to start carrying more food to tide me over during these longer 10-15 km stretches between towns.
But I did neither. Instead, I left Markina-Xemein behind… and then I nearly got lost.
A large construction site was set up exactly where the route went, and a chainlink fence obscured the path’s markings. Consequently, I’d passed my turn and a construction worker had to whistle out to me, before pointing over his shoulder gesturing to the Camino’s actual route.
Clearly this was a mistake he’d seen before. A clueless person with a pack on who was making a major wrong turn near their construction site. It almost makes you wonder if maybe they should have put a sign up on the project’s perimeter (given that they were covering up the actual Camino markers for a critical turn)!
Once I got back on track, the rest of my walk out of Markina-Xemein was a lovely one. It paralleled a creek much of the way utilizing a developed urban walking path. The large trees lining the path shaded me from the warm sunshine, and flat ground meant I was making excellent time.
About four kilometers later, the Camino cut through a tiny town called Iruzubieta, which was nothing more than a handful of homes, one bar, and one restaurant. I bypassed these establishments too. In another 30 minutes I’d be in Bolivar and with ample time to get lunch and a cold beer, I told myself.
The sun was now directly overhead and it was scorchingly hot. I tops of my ears felt as if they were burning and my forearms were starting to look a little pink. The further inland I walked, the warmer it seemed to get here in Spain.
As I got closer to my destination, I weighed my options. Did I want to go to the albergue first so I could get cleaned up before eating? Or did I want to head directly to the restaurant in town – and just sit outdoors so my sweaty, wet clothes were less likely to offend someone with their odor?
I was dripping in sweat by the time I walked into Bolivar, and then I laid eyes on the electronic kiosk in the town square. The current temperature was 28°C (or 82°F). Warm for a September afternoon, for sure. But I swear it felt at least 10 degrees hotter to me! My decision was made. I was heading to the restaurant first and getting myself a cold beer.
There was only one restaurant in town, so my choice was easy. But as I approached it, something odd struck me. All the outdoor chairs were locked up, and no one was sitting outside. A man exited the restaurant while I was staring at the chairs, so clearly they were still open. Maybe they just weren’t doing patio service this afternoon.
As I pull the door open to take a step inside the cool, dark building, a bartender looked up at me. And then he said a single word that nearly broke my heart.
Cerrado.
Really?!? They were closed? There were people still inside at a table. And I just saw that customer depart. How could they be closed??
I asked when they would re-open, and he told me, “Mañana.” Tomorrow. They must be closing early for some reason, and they weren’t going to re-open until tomorrow.
Crap! What had I done now?? I’d deliberately chosen to walk out of Markina-Xemein without sticking around for lunch (or even grabbing some snacks). That was mistake number one. Then I’d walked past that last town 2.3 kilometers back in favor of lunch here in this town. That was mistake number two.
It was after 2pm now. I was hot and hungry (perhaps even borderline hangry). But the sole restaurant in this miserable little town just closed for the day. What was I going to do now??
There was supposed to be one other bar in town too, but all that remained of it was a hollowed out shell of a building and an old sign. A construction fence surrounded the building, and I had no idea whether it’s being remodeled or torn down entirely. Whatever the case, it wasn’t going to do me any good today.
With no other choices left, I decided to head over to the albergue. Maybe they were serving food. Or at least had something I could buy for lunch while I sorted out my options.
However, when I get to the Usandi Albergue, it was nothing like what I expected. It was less like a traditional albergue and more like an AirBnB. There was a code to open the front door (which had been emailed to me when I made my reservation), but there was absolutely no one else there! No host. No other pilgrims. Just me.
The email with my reservation also told me what room I was supposed to occupy, so I headed upstairs to find the room. There was nobody else up there either. Just a vacant house, with a kitchen and living room on the main floor and bunk rooms upstairs. What the heck?!?
And there was also no food here. Unless you counted the sad, half empty vending machine that sat in the kitchen. Even if I wanted to try to scrounge a bag of chips or some cookies out of there, I wasn’t even sure if I could. I had plenty of Euros, but I very little of it was in coins. And there wasn’t a bill changer on the machine.
Fixing my mistake(s)
What a day! I couldn’t believe my bad fortune. I’d been so worried these last few days about having a place to stay that I booked this albergue online without any real consideration toward the town I was in.
I’d come to Bolivar knowing it would be on the small side. But I didn’t realize it would be THIS small. I’d assumed that the fact that there’s been an albergue, a restaurant, a bar, and a museum (the Simón Bolívar museum dedicated to the Venezuaelan military leader), meant it would have at least the bare minimum of amenities I’d need.
But now I was stuck. There was nothing to eat in this town. The next closest towns were the one I passed earlier (2.3 km back) or Muntibar (which is still another 5.3 km further up the trail). What the heck was I supposed to do with this crappy situation??
I jumped into the shower and quickly washed up while I formulated a plan. Then I tucked my full backpack under my bunk and grabbed my wallet. I was walking the 2.3 kilometers back to Iruzubieta, and I needed to hurry. Both the bar and restaurant were open when I’d walked by an hour ago. But would they still be open when I returned?
It was blisteringly hot out, but at least I was free of my heavy pack and I could make quick time of the return trip through the countryside. I’d decided I would try the restaurant first. If I was lucky, they’d still be serving the typical late Spanish lunch.
My luck paid off too. The restaurant was still open and I was directed to a seat toward the back. It was already after 3 pm, but if I ordered from the menu del dia, I’d get a large three-course meal that would probably ample enough to hold me over for both lunch and dinner. And so that’s exactly what I did!
The Camino del Norte was sure handing me some tough lessons this week. Two days ago, I had to backtrack 2.5 kilometers because of the lodging shortage along Spain’s northern coast. And today, I needed backtrack 2.3 more kilometers because I’d failed to plan my food more carefully.
Let’s hope I can get my logistics dialed in a little bit better so I’m not walking backwards third time!
