September 22, 2022
- Route: Portugalete to Castro Urdiales
- Distance: 26.2 kilometers (16.2 miles) + 2 km bridge detour
- Cumulative Distance: 197.8 km
Last night’s experience at the albergue in Portugalete was a real pain. And I can sum it all up with a single cause — a lot of inconsiderate behavior on the part of my fellow pilgrims.
It started with the pilgrim who had their phones’ text or notification chimes going off every 10-30 seconds. So our communal bedroom area sounded like a video game arcade full of loud electronic chiming, beeping, and buzzing noises for hours.
Then one of the ladies – who wanted to go to bed early – decided to turn off the room’s overhead lights at 8:45 pm. And she did this without asking anyone. Thus, her unilateral decision plunged the half dozen of her fellow pilgrims who were quietly reading in their bunks into complete darkness without even a warning.
But the final straw was the number of people who were using their smartphone flashlights (rather than headlamps or a flashlight with a red light) to dig through their belongings without any regard to what angle they aimed that ridiculously bright beam of light. More than once, I caught a blinding stream of light directly to the eyes as I lay there trying to sleep in my bunk.
So, all told, it was less than an enjoyable experience, and it left me wondering if I can afford to stay in pensiones and casa rurales for the remainder of this Camino. I don’t mind being physically uncomfortable or sharing bathroom facilities. But I think I’m just too old for all the other nonsense that came with last night’s stay!
DOPPELGäNGERS
On a more positive and interesting note though, I met a short German lady named Constance who absolutely cracked me up at the albergue last night. She immediately started speaking to me in rapid German. I wasn’t terribly surprised by this. I’ve been told I have a “very German look” more times than I can count, but I don’t speak more than a handful of words in German.
The blank look on my face must have clued her to her mistake. So she switched over to English. But then she repeatedly asked me if I was sure I wasn’t German!
Constance kept swearing up and down to me that she’d met my doppelgänger (a German woman) on the Camino a few days ago. She was almost certain I was the same woman. We looked so much alike that we were nearly identical, she claimed.
When I told her I hadn’t met this woman yet, and that I was actually from the U.S., she seem genuinely disappointed. I don’t even have any German heritage (my lineage is a mix of English, Irish, and Polish). But apparently there’s someone out here on the Camino who could be my German twin.
My mother in-law once said she spotted my doppelgänger too. She was in Budapest attending a in a dinner show, and she swears one of the performers was my twin. Unfortunately, the light was low enough that she couldn’t get a decent photo of her, so I’ll never know. Perhaps this same doppelgänger is wandering around Europe and is now on the Camino Del Norte. Or maybe… I have two doppelgängers.
I recently read an interesting article about this same subject, wherein pairs of doppelgängers (who’d met each other) were compared genetically to see if they were related.
In each case, the look-a-likes didn’t share any common ancestors – even six generations back. They just coincidentally appeared alike because they had some of the same genetic markers. There are only so many combinations possible with eye color, nose shape, facial structure, etc. Once the world reaches a certain population, the same combination is bound to repeat at least once or twice.
But, interestingly, the doppelgängers in the study didn’t just look alike. They also tended to share other similarities, such as height, weight, educational attainment, and lifestyle, which caused them to behave and move in a very similar manner.
And so, I guess I’ll just keep my eyes peeled for the next few days and hope we have the fortune of crossing paths. I’d love to meet my doppelgänger.
MID-AIR PURSUIT
This morning’s route out of Bilbao followed a paved hiking and biking paths for the first few hours of the day – first following the highway and then into the countryside. There were a lot more pilgrims out this morning too, or perhaps it just seemed that way because I could see so many of the people walking on the paved path ahead of me.
It was easy walking, with only gradual ascents and descents as we collectively headed back toward the ocean and away from the mountains. I hadn’t seen the ocean in two full days, so I was glad spot it once again in the small surfing town of La Sirena.
With the first 12 kilometers under my belt, I made a relaxed stop for second breakfast (i.e. my mid-morning café con leche and a croissant) at a small cafe with views of the waterfront. Then I returned to hiking on a curving wooden boardwalk skirted the length of the entire beach before crossing over the mouth of the Barbadian River.
The views were splendid, and while there were a fair number of people on the handful of walking paths, the beaches themselves were completely empty.
Beyond the river, the Camino began climbing a long series of stairs up to a paved path alongside the forested headlands. I could see several cargo freighters sitting off shore, as if in line just beyond the coastline, and I wondered whether they were waiting to head into Bilbao or points further East in Europe.
Then I saw something that I’d never seen in my life – at least outside of a Hollywood action film. Off to my right, it appeared as if a motorized inflatable boat was being chased across the ocean by a helicopter.
Initially, the boat seemed to be heading out to sea and toward the freighters, and the helicopter was flying behind it and in the same direction. But then the pilot flew past the boat, and lowered the aircraft toward the water’s surface, forcing the boat to turn back toward the beach.
The boat turned and followed the course the the helicopter was shepherding it toward, but then its captain made a series of quick turns to try to cut a new course. The helicopter pilot responded in kind, and quickly circled around the boat like a cattle dog going after a wayward calf.
This game of back-and-forth between the helicopter and small boat continued for at least five minutes, with people on the hiking path stopping to watch – and some even pulled out their phones to record the pursuit.
Then a second helicopter joined the first one and they seemed to join efforts to try force the boat to return to shore. But each time I thought they’d outmaneuvered the small boat, it was make another erratic move and try to run back out to sea.
I was seriously wondering what the heck was going on. Four military-style boats of various sizes soon began to close in on the area to create a dragnet around the fast moving little boat. By this point, I was beginning to whether this chase was part of some pre-planned Coast Guard maneuvers or whether it was a real-life interdiction operation to catch some bad guys.
What ever it was, it wasn’t ending quickly and the chase went on for longer than I was willing to stand there and watch it. I continued hiking west along the rocky cliffs and eventually lost sight of the fracas.
Yet, as I made my way to the next trailhead, a police SUV was waiting, and the officers were carefully eyeing everyone who walked by on the trail. So maybe it was a real-world crime fighting scenario!
Cantabria
As I continued west toward the coastal town of Onton, I said goodbye to the Basque Country. After 189 kilometers, I transitioning out of this autonomous and culturally unique region dominated by the western Pyrenees and its own language, and saying hello to the province of Cantabria.
Cantabria is one of Spain’s smaller provinces, running along a section of the country’s northern coast. It has two distinct geographic areas though — the coast and the mountains.
The coastal area of Cantabria is dominated by jagged green cliffs that drop into sea, punctuated by some intermittent sandy beaches, river estuaries, and one giant bay (when you eventually get to the capital city of Santander).
Ten kilometers south this rugged coastline though, Cantabria’s terrain changes significantly. A long barrier of mountains parallel the sea, with several deep river valleys stretching into the interior of the province.
I was eager to see this new topography, but mostly I was looking forward to the escape from of the Basque signs with all their J, Z, H, and K’s. I’d finally be back to the familiarity of things written in Spanish once again.
THE OCEAN ROUTE
As I walked along the coastline into Cantrabria, the Camino went through a tunnel blasted through one of the rocky headlands. The sides were reinforced with lumber bracing, which left me feeling a bit uneasy. Was this support here because the tunnel was crumbling? Was it truly safe to walk through?
I didn’t have much other option though. The cliff to my left rose at a near vertical angle, and the ocean to my right dropped down nearly 50 feet. It was the tunnel or nothing. I’d just have to keep my fingers crossed that it was safer than it appeared.
When I emerged from the tunnel’s opposite side, the coastline opened up ahead of me with pleasant green, orange, and yellow brush covering the hills. Meanwhile the sea was the loveliest shade of sapphire blue.
Goats scrambled up the steep slopes to my left, doing their very best to shield themselves from the sun’s intense rays. It was warming up toward midday and the exposed route ahead of me was quickly running out of shade.
A few more kilometers ahead, the Camino dipped down into the quaint village of Onton. A dirt path diverged to my right toward a pocket beach, where a handful of pilgrims were already taking a dip in the sea. But it was far too early for me to stop. I dropped down the steep descent into the town itself, and kept walking toward the upcoming trail junction.
The Camino split into two alternates in Onton. The shorter route one followed the picturesque coastline as it wove in an out of coves, but it would also require a bit of roadwalking. Meanwhile the longer alternate went inland into the mountains, and away from the traffic until it rejoined the coastal route in Casto Urdiales.
I opted for shorter, ocean route, and I almost immediately second guessed my decision. I was barely out of Onton when the pedestrian trail ended and I found myself walking on a narrow road shoulder at a 10% grade.
This bit of roadwalking immediately reminded me of some of the sections along the Oregon Coast Trail from last summer’s thru-hike down the Pacific Ocean. Cars and motorcycles whizzed by, and the steepness of the climb seemed to only increase their speed as they approached.
I’d chosen this one for more than one reason. Sure, I was looking forward to the ocean breezes and sunshine. But I was supposed to pass a restaurant called Saltcaballo (jumping horse) with excellent views where I could grab lunch today and rest my feet.
I nearly missed the turn to Saltcaballo too. I got distracted by the roadsigns pointing drivers to another restaurant, and mistakenly assumed it was directing me to Saltcaballo.
After correcting course, it only took me another 20-30 minutes of steep roadwalking to find the restaurant perched up atop a cliff above the ocean. And I’ll admit, the views didn’t disappoint. I could see all the way back back toward La Sireña and virtually the entire route I’d been walking the past two hours.
The restaurant’s outdoor patio was mostly empty, save for a handful of other pilgrims. So I selected a table with a primp view, where I could enjoy lunch in the shade and my first Spanish beer of this Camino.
I’ve walked nearly 200 kilometers along the Camino del Norte, and I’ve only tried the Spanish wine thus far. Perhaps it was because I was really interested in experiencing the local Basque wines. But today was a perfect day for a cold beer, as the heat climbing back up above 80°F again.
My arrival at Saltcaballo was perfectly timed too. By the time I was finishing up my leisurely meal, a tour bus filled with a large group of people in their 60s, 70s, and 80s pulled up to the parking lot and began unloading. It was a giant mess of slow moving people queuing up for tables. If I’d walked 30 minutes slower, I would have had a long, long wait!
A BRIDGE TO NOWHERE
After lunch, it was back to the coastal route, with even more roadwalking along the narrowest road ever. There was barely enough room for one car to travel in each direction, with the tiniest of shoulders as the road wound back and forth along the folds of the terrain.
With every S curve, I felt as if I needed to assess the danger anew. Should I remain in the left lane – walking against traffic? Or should I scurry to the opposite side so cars at least had a chance see me before they came hurtling around the next blind curve?
Making matters worse, I felt as it I was baking in the sun as it perched high in the sky above me. The asphalt of the road seemed to be reflecting the heat and making it feel even hotter.
I was so grateful when I finally descended to the town of Mioño. The road now had sidewalks, and I probably could have stayed on them and easily walked the remaining five kilometers into Castro-Urdiales beside this urban road.
I had another option in mind though. I was tired of roadwalking. And one of my apps referred to a coastal path narrowly cut along the cliffs beside the ocean. I could return to the coast and feel and hopefully cool off with an ocean breeze on my face.
The ocean route would take longer, but it was likely to be far more scenic. And I was curious to explore something else up ahead near the water.
As I’d been walking along the shoulder of the highway through its hairpin turns, I’d spotted something odd sticking out into the ocean. It looked a bit a partial bridge extending from the rocky coastline. But then it abruptly ended. I knew it wasn’t a bridge to nowhere, but what could it possibly be?
The only way to reasonably find out was to head back to the water and take a detour to satisfy my curiosity. So rather than following the smooth, easy concrete sidewalk to Castro Urdiales, I was heading off the beaten path toward parts unknown.
As I neared the water, I was treated to a lovely little beach with a concrete jetty blocking the biggest of waves. The aquamarine water was so clear here that it was like I was in the tropics.
The path paralleled the water’s edge, running past a small park before it transitioned into a series of old dirt tunnels. If I’d thought that tunnel I’d walked through earlier today was sketchy, these were even worse.
One of them had even collapsed in on itself, forcing hikers and coastline explorers to detour up and over the headland that this tunnel once bore through. But the views made up fro it. They were really something else!
The path eventually led to some serious concrete tunnels that reminded me of real mining tunnels. They clearly weren’t in use any longer, but they were in far better condition than any of the other ones I been through today, and there were even a few tall windows with bars covering them for safety.
Two narrow gauge rails ran down the center of the tunnel, leading me to believe that the funny little train I’d seen back in Miono once served in the operations up here. And midway through one of the concrete tunnels, I reached on opening that looked out to the sea. This was where the rust red metal bridge extended out into the ocean.
A chainlink fence blocked my forward passage out onto the bridge – not that I was ever honestly considering walking out onto the dilapidated structure that extended out over the sea as waves crashed onto the rocks 50+ feet below it. So, I had to satisfy myself with views from my safe perch.
I still didn’t know what the structure’s real purpose was. However, based on the size and condition of these tunnels, as well as the narrow train rails, I had a hunch. I suspect the short bridge was used to load ship waiting to transport whatever was being mined here.
Small cargo ships could cozy up to the concrete pylon holding up the far end of the bridge, and then they could be loaded from above. Once that occurred, the mined material could be transported in bulk across the ocean to be sold elsewhere.
At least that seemed like a plausible theory. But I’d never really know since there weren’t any signs nearby, and this wasn’t really a tourist destination.
CASTRO URDIALES
After coming up with my working theory, I pressed on – hiking beyond the bridge and through another tunnel. But then I came to a dead end and wasn’t able to hike any further. The next tunnel had a locked iron gate extending across it. And it was sealed up without any gaps.
I sighed myself. I should have known it wouldn’t have been this easy. I’d have to back trackback to where the tunnels began and find another way up and over the headlands jutting into the ocean. I definitely wasn’t going any further through them.
As it turned out, I’d need to return all the way back to the beach and jetty again before I would find somewhere feasible to climb up the hills.
This took me longer than expected, and the sun was pounding down on the trop of my head as I trod on a trail across the exposed golden farm fields above the ocean.
I could see Castro-Urdiales up ahead beyond the next series of cliffs, but it never seemed to get closer. My pace was just abysmally slow as the sun drained my energy and my feet began to hurt.
Eventually though, dry open fields transitioned to a developed area where new homes were being built along the ocean. And then I was on trail I switchbacking down toward the sea toward my final destination for the day.
When I made it to Castro Urdiales’ sandy beach and wide concrete promenade, I was beat. It was 4 pm, and I was a tired, sweaty mess.
I lugged my extremely weary body into town, searching for the room I’d rented for the night. This ritzy beachside resort town only had a single 16-bed municipal albergue for pilgrims. And there were no private albergues to choose from. So I found myself back in a pensión yet again – paying more than I wanted.
The Camino del Norte was definitely not turning into a budget camino adventure. I’d spent more money on lodging than I’d ever intended. Maybe that aspect will change when the route moves further west and away from all these coastal vacation towns. But for now, I feel as if I’m just hemorrhaging money – whether it’s at the albergues or these pensiónes.
I got to work washing out my clothes in the bathroom sink so I could hang them to dry before the sun went down. And that’s when I made another unfortunate discovery. I was missing one of my socks!
I was wearing those socks when I arrived at the albergue in Portugalete last night. And I was 99% sure that I’d stuffed them both into my pack after my shower last night. The other dirty sock was there. But its mate was missing.
I exploded my bag across the floor in desperate hopes of finding the sock, but it was to no avail. It was definitely gone! I must have accidentally left in back in albergue this morning.
I’d only brought two pairs of socks on this trip too! I had the pair I’d worn today (my injinji toe socks), and I had the pair (of running socks) I’d worn yesterday. And now, I was down to just one pair of socks to walk in.
I sighed to myself again in frustration. How exactly was that going to work? Was I going to wear the same pair of hiking socks for the next 640 kilometers? No. That wasn’t feasible. I’d have to find a new pair of replacement socks in one of the upcoming towns. Maybe Laredo will have something tomorrow.
