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 as 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 and bar weren’t open for breakfast this morning. However, any pilgrim who had paid for the optional breakfast was provided with a sack meal, along with a pod for the albergue’s coffee maker.
I’d arranged for this breakfast option. There wouldn’t be 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 remaining in the way of snacks in my pack anymore. Nor could I wait that long for coffee. I needed my caffeine fix well before lunchtime.
Eating breakfast was going to be non-negotiable. This morning’s elevation profile promised 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 sunrise. Unfortunately, it didn’t take terribly long before my shirt and hiking shorts were damp again. The moisture wasn’t from sweat or effort, but from the warm, humid air that saturated the air.
Ahead of me, the trail turned north one last time, providing 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 rang 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 that it almost looked like smoke hovering over the low-lying areas.
Each home I passed seemed to have 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 the dry, yellow stalks boasted ears of corn that were ready to be harvested.
At the end of the valley, the intense climbing began in earnest. My shirt was growing even wetter, but now it was from the sweat and moisture of my efforts. After several difficult kilometers, I crested the climb and was rewarded with a wonderful downhill descent through the mountainous terrain.
It had been two hours since I started walking this morning, and my stomach was already grumbling. But, 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 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 started to shiver from the sensation.
Ten more minutes of rest seemed to elapse in the 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 quickly.
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 tree farm, with squares of evergreens offset by acres of a much lighter, deciduous type of tree of some variety. It was like a forester’s quilt as far as my eye could see.
Pilgrims, and Spainards, and Goats, oh my!
As I wove through the trees on a dirt forest road, I began to catch up to 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 whenever you hit an easy stretch of trail and decide to pass someone. It’s incredibly frustrating to pass a walker only to have them pick up their pace a few meters later, and you need to switch positions once again.
As I passed each pilgrim ahead of me, 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. Instead, I spotted some local Spanish telecom workers taking their 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 the 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 ones 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 always seems to be at least one in every big town. This pitch 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 my 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 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 of 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 on the Camino del Norte were just killing me.
When enough time had passed that my body no longer seemed to be in revolt, I worked my way over to 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 thought the duck just wanted to protect its treasure from its 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) that a day-old baguette was not edible without teeth! Color me impressed!
Two giant mistakes
When I finally got to the town of Markina-Xemein, it was just after noon. It was a large and bustling town, but it was still too early for most of the cafes to be serving lunch (which doesn’t seem to begin until sometime after 1 pm). Nevertheless, I needed something to tide me over.
In an effort to continue on my 30-35 kilometer days, I’d made a reservation at an albergue in the town of Bolivar, which was still another 6.5 kilometers ahead. And the terrain between here and there looked pretty moderate, so I decided to 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 definitely needed to begin 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 without getting food… and then I nearly got lost.
A large construction site was set up exactly where the route was supposed to head up a flight of stairs, and now a chain-link fence obscured the path’s markings. As a result, I’d walked right past my turn on the Camino, and a construction worker had to whistle out to me before pointing over his shoulder to gesture to the actual route.
This was clearly a mistake he’d seen before. A clueless person with a pack on was making a major wrong turn near their construction site. It makes you wonder if they should have put a sign up on the project’s perimeter directing pilgrims where to go (especially since 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 consisted of only a handful of homes, a bar, and a 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. The tops of my ears felt as if they were burning, and my forearms were starting to look a little pink, too. The further inland I walked, the warmer it seemed to get here in Spain.
As I got closer to Bolivar, I weighed my options. Should I go to the albergue first so I can get cleaned up before eating? Or did I want to head directly to the restaurant in town and sit at an outdoor table 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 now made. I was 100% 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 it appeared they were open. Maybe they just weren’t offering patio service this afternoon??
As I pulled 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 tiny town 2.3 kilometers back in favor of lunch here in this equally tiny town. This was mistake number two.
It was after 2 pm 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??
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 was being remodeled or torn down entirely. Whatever the case, it wouldn’t have done 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 got to the Usandi Albergue, it was nothing like what I expected. It was more like an Airbnb than a traditional albergue. 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 informed me which room I was supposed to occupy, so I headed upstairs to find it. 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?!?
There was also no food here. The kitchen had a sad, half-empty vending machine that sat in one corner. But even if I wanted to try to scrounge a bag of chips or some cookies out of there, I wasn’t sure if I could. I had plenty of Euros in my wallet, but I had very coins. So, with no bill changer on the machine, I wasn’t going to get very far in solving my hunger.
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 for the town I was in.
I came to Bolivar knowing it’d be on the small side. But I didn’t realize it would be THIS small. I’d assumed that the presence of an albergue, a restaurant, a bar, and a museum (the Simón Bolívar museum, dedicated to the Venezuelan military leader whose family originated here) meant it’d have at least the bare minimum of amenities I needed.
But now I was stuck. There was nothing to eat in this town. The next closest towns were the one I passed earlier (roughly 2.3 km back) or in Muntibar (which is still another 5.3 km further up the trail). What was I supposed to do with this crappy situation? I was four days into this Camino and couldn’t seem to catch a break. Was I really this bad at planning my adventures?
As I pondered my situation, I jumped into the shower. The cool shower water seemed to calm my emotions and clarify my situation. I had a plan. I was walking the 2.3 kilometers back to Iruzubieta, and I needed to hurry. Both the bar and the restaurant in this small village were open when I walked by an hour ago. If I hustled, they might still be open when I returned.
It somehow seemed even hotter outside now. But at least I was free of my heavy pack so that I could make quick time of the return trip through the countryside. I decided to try the restaurant first. If I were lucky, they’d still be serving the typical late Spanish lunch.
My luck paid off. 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 knew I’d get a large three-course meal 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 get my logistics dialed in a little bit better so I’m not walking backwards a third time!
