September 24, 2022
- Route: Laredo to Galizano
- Distance: 32.5 kilometers (20.1 miles)
- Cumulative Distance: 263.3 km
I woke up this morning to so much rain. It rained all night long. It was raining as I packed my bag back up. It was still raining as I ate breakfast at the hotel. And, of course, it was raining when I left the comfort of dry shelter.
This inclement weather shouldn’t have been a surprise though. I’d checked the forecast last night before I went to bed, and it was pretty unambiguous. There was an 80-90% chance of rain everyday for the next week, and possibly longer.
I wasn’t going to outrun it. I was just going to have to deal with it, especially since we were supposed to get a half an inch of rain today. That much rain is highly unusual for this time of year in northern Spain. In fact, the entire month of September usually only sees 1.5 inches of rain.
Thus far, I’ve been lucky. I only had one day of rain – and that was on my first day of the Camino. Since then, it’s been dry and sunny (with an exception of some little sprinkles yesterday afternoon).
But a week of non-stop rain means my shoes and socks are going to constantly be wet. I won’t be able to hang my clothes outside to dry on the sun after I wash them. And I’ll just be constantly damp.
That also means I may need to do something serious to deal with the blister on the ball of my left foot. It seems to only be getting worse with each day, and I’m in constant foot pain. I’ve tried taping it the ball of my foot, and using Compeed blister bandages, and regular bandaids, and I even tried to just dry it out overnight – but it just keeps spreading in size and compromising more of my foot. And I’m about 99% sure adding wet shoes and socks to the mix isn’t going to help matters any.
Moreover, I really need to find a pair of replacement socks for the one Iost a few days ago. Otherwise I’m just going to have to wear the same moist socks day in and day out, and that’s going to smell pretty dang raunchy.
THE FERRY
The rain wasn’t the only reason I delayed my departure from the hotel this morning though. I also needed to wait for the ferry to start running. I’d spent last night in the beach town of Laredo, and the Camino required pilgrims to cross over a small bay of to the opposite side before they could continue on.
Yet there was one small issue. It was late enough in the tourist season that the ferry was only operating on abbreviated hours. It wouldn’t begin its first shuttle between Laredo and the town of Santoña until at least 9 am.
Given that my hotel was nearly four kilometers from where the ferry departed this morning, I decided to linger over my warm coffee, and didn’t even bother walking out of the hotel until sometime after 8:30 a.m.
The rain was pretty light when I departed the hotel, and I found the combination of my rain pants and my umbrella seemed sufficient to keep me fairly dry while I walked down the wide concrete promenade that paralleled Laredo’s long stretch of sand beach.
When I finally meandered down to the beach where the ferry was supposed to dock, a group of pilgrims was already waiting for the boat. Most of them were wearing ponchos, and I envied them immediately. A poncho could be an ideal set up for these next few days.
A long poncho was easy to pull over yourself (and your pack) to keep dry on rainy days, but it allowed enough ventilation to keep you from overheating. Of course, this attire still left some pilgrims wondering what to do with their legs though. Was it better to wear rain pants too or just allow the rain water run down the front of their poncho and risk soaking the bottom half of their hiking pants?
I walked over to the pilgrim group to join them in their wait, but I didn’t bother attempting to strike up any conversations. Most of them seemed to be speaking insanely rapid French, and I was out my depth. So I just stood there admiring their ponchos as we all waited for the ferry boat in the light intermittent rain.
Following the crowd works 99% of the time on the Camino. But that wasn’t the case this morning. The group I’d joined was standing in the wrong pick up location on the beach.
Of course, I didn’t discover this until the ferry boat landed about 200 meters further up shore and dropped its landing plank directly on the beach. And without any idea how long it would wait before turning tail and returning back to Santoña, I had to hustle my butt to get there before the boat departed again.
I was breathing hard from my brisk walk across the soft, wet sand, and had to dig deep in my hip pouch to produce the 2€ fare the deckhand was collecting from the boarding passengers. Then he set to work with a long squeegee to wipe the water off the metal benches we’d be sitting on.
His squeegee tool didn’t leave us with completely dry spots to sit, but it did pull the bulk of the water off the wet benches. And I had rain pants on, so I didn’t fret about sitting on the cold, metal benches like some of my fellow passengers.
The ride across the bay barely took 5 minutes, and the rain seemed to abate for the entire trip. But no sooner did we land at the concrete pier in Sontoña and walk into town did the skies open up with a downpour.
Then the wind picked up and began to blow the heavy rain sideways. By the time I get to a small cafe in Berria – not even three kilometers from the pier – my rainpants were soaked and plastered to my legs like wet saran wrap.
BRING ON THE RAIN
Although I was already running behind schedule today, and I needed to hike 20 miles in the rain to make my reservation in Galizano this evening, I couldn’t help but to stop in a small bar in Berria to get a café con leche and dry out for a few minutes.
It was a 60-degree day, so it wasn’t particularly chilly outside. But once you’re soaking wet from the rain, your core body temperature drops, and everything just feels so much colder.
After 15 minutes inside, I had to pull myself away from the dry, warm environment and get going. I wasn’t going to finish hiking before dark if I just sat here forever. I had to brave the elements and just get back on the Camino.
About a kilometer after my departure, the Camino split into two paths. The coastal path turned right and skirted the beach for a few kilometers until the to town of Noja.
Under normal conditions, I’d probably choose the coastal route. But I knew better than to head that way today. I’d done a little research last night, which revealed that the coastal option involved a sketchy rock scramble near a military battery above that beach, and it was supposed to be very unsafe in wet weather.
Instead, I’d turn left to take the interior route. It would deprive me of the (foggy) ocean views and involve a lot more paved roadwalking, but it was the safer choice, by far. And it would save me from the wind too. In my experience, the beach is always more exposed. And I was already struggling to keep my umbrella upright as it was.
The safer route took me past the tall stone walls of El Dueso Criminal – also know as the Prisión Provincial de Santander. This penitentiary was built on the footprint of old 19th century fort named Imperial (but sometimes referred to as “Napoleon” because it was built by Napoleon’s troops). The site played a major role during the Spanish Civil War, as the prison where Franco imprisoned prominent politicians, soldiers, and public figures.
Today it still functions as a regional penitentiary, with tall stone walls and modern guard towers. It seemed odd to me that the Camino took pilgrims next to a prison, but as long as I was on the outside…
With this one interesting exception, much of the rest of the morning was nothing by dreary, dull walking in the rain. The Camino diverted onto single lane roads into the countryside, most of which were paved as they wove through the wet green fields.
Just before noon, as I was walking past a field of wet cows, the rain slowed to a drizzle. A glimmer of hope entered my mind. Maybe the weather forecast was wrong. Maybe the storm was shifting and the worst of the rain was over.
But, it wasn’t. Just as soon as I closed up my umbrella to take some photos of my surroundings, the rain was back. The break in the storm had only lasted for a matter of minutes. And this time, it returned even harder and heavier.
As I continued walked up and down the hilly, green landscape, my rain pants and the arms of my rain jacket were beginning to wet out.
That’s one of the worst things about wearing rain gear for hours on end. If you go with any sort of breathable or lightweight rain gear, it’s only a matter of time before it’s wet through and through from the elements.
But, if you go with a sturdier weight of rain gear that repels the rain better, you often find yourself drenched from your own sweat as you hike up and down the hills. So your gear might be equally wet inside (from your own sweat) as they are on the outside from the rain.
It’s a lose-lose proposition, regardless of how “waterproof” your rain gear claims to be. Either way, you’re going to have nylon or goretex fabric clinging to your arms and legs like a wet towel.
Just before the town of San Miguel del Meruelo, my detour rejoined the beach route. And up ahead of me, I could see a large church called the Iglesia de San Pedro y San Pablo.
A cluster of pilgrims was standing beside the church trying to figure out which way to go. The logical route was to just follow the road into the next town, but the yellow arrows went around the church, leading into a muddy field with a fairly indiscernible path in the rain.
I chose to stick to the Camino, and my decision was apparently enough to get two others to make up their mind and follow suit. This may not have been the best choice though. The route was harder to follow than expected, with several faint paths criss-crossing each other through the fields.
As we headed down one muddy two-track path, a pilgrim came walking toward us shaking her head and announced that the trail we were walking on didn’t go through. She got to a dead end at a fence and was doubling back to the last intersection to try again.
The four of us continued stomping through puddles and mud, and I soon regretted not just opting for the paved bike path into town. It was virtually in sight of the Camino the entire time, and it had to be shorter (and drier) than this meandering nonsense.
After two kilometers, and a detour to yet another church (this time the Iglesia de San Miguel), the Camino deposited us back to sidewalks and roads again. It seemed as if the only reason we headed into the muddy farm fields was just so we could see this church up close. Sigh.
A FRIENDLY FACE
It was close to 1 pm by the time time I returned to the paved one-lane roads that climbed a series of hills through the landscape to our west. The other pilgrims who’d walked through the muddy fields with me dropped off as I kept my consistent pace up the winding roads. Perhaps they found somewhere to stop to eat, or maybe they discovered a shortcut that would get them to their destination faster.
Meanwhile, I continued deeper into the countryside, trying to stay as dry as my umbrella would allow in the increasingly heavy rain. And the only real highlight during this next stretch was a small bridge across a waterfall on my climb up to Bareyo.
As I plodded up and down the hills, my stomach began grumbling and my mind was on lunch. I had fresh baguette of bread in my pack that I grabbed back in Santoña for lunch. Yet there was nowhere dry to stop out of the rain where I could eat it.
I should have taken the opportunity stop at the last church where there was at least an overhand to stand under and stay dry while I ate. Out here, it was nothing by farm fields, barns, and private homes. And it would probably be weird to just wander onto someone’s porch and starting eating lunch.
So I just kept plodding along until the Camino turned onto a small highway headed toward town of Guemes. For the next four kilometers, there really wasn’t any sort of shoulder on either side of the road where I felt I was truly safe from the road traffic in these weather conditions.
One side of the highway would often have a sloping gutter I could step off into if a car came, while the other side merely had a guardrail about two inches from the edge of the lane
The guardrail and gutter situation changed sides about as frequently as the road curved back and forth. So I found myself repeatedly hopping to whichever side seems safest in that moment, while listening for traffic ahead of or behind me.
By the time I get to the town of Guemes, it was around 2:30pm. My hands were freezing cold from the rain, and I needed to to warm up ASAP and get out these wet conditions.
It had been six hours since I left the hotel this morning, and I’d only stopped once for coffee (just after the ferry). My shoes and socks were squishy with every step. My rain gear felt as if it was soaked through. And my hands and feet were completely pruned up from the moisture.
I found a nice restaurant with an empty patio where I could leave my wet gear, and then dug into my pack for my warm puffy jacket, sandals, and wallet. I’d leave all the rest of my stuff outside with my jacket covering it. I’d just have to take the risk that nobody was going to steal a wet pack and someone’s rain gear.
As I stepped inside to the warm dry bar area, a bartender was rushing back and forth between the people at the bar who were drinking glasses wine and the patrons dining in the back room.
I was still warming my hands up and waiting to catch the bartender’s eye to ask for a table when someone opened in the door behind me. I turned around as the cold outside air hit me, and that’s when realized I knew this person!
It was Renato! The Italian guy who was always on his cell phone. I hadn’t seen him or Charles (they pilgrim from Luxembourg he’d been hiking with) since the three of us parted ways in Bilbao three days ago. Holy heck!
I asked Renato if he wanted to join me at a table for lunch, and when he agreed, the bartender came by to direct us toward a table in the back room with the rest of the diners.
As I looked at Renato, I notice he looked completely dry. He said he’d gotten a room here in Guemes and already checked in before heading out for a late lunch. He also shared that Charles was no longer walking with him because he was having some physical pain and had to slow his pace.
Renato had been right behind me the past few days, and then leaped ahead of me when caught the ferry to Santoña late yesterday afternoon. He then asked me if I’d taken the coastal path this morning. When I shook my head, he said that was a wise choice.
He’d taken the ocean route this morningand said it was quite scary. Everything was slick from the rain, the rock scramble was difficult, and you had to hoist yourself up using metal chains. The scenery was nice, but in hindsight, he thought it was far too dangerous of a route in the rain. And he said there probably should’ve had a sign warning pilgrims to take the inland alternate in bad weather like today.
As we waited drank wine and for our food to come, I could hear a conversation nearby in English. I glanced over and locked eyes with one of the two middle aged women at the next table. Her accent was definitely North American. So I took as guess, and I leaned over to ask her, “American?”
She replied, “Yes,” and then whispered the same question back to me. When I confirmed I was also from the U.S., she had her friend became excited. They shared they were from the West Coast of the U.S. One of them was originally from California, but lived in Hawaii now. Meanwhile, the other one split her time between Santa Barbara, California, and Bend, Oregon!
Talk about a small world!! Here we were in Guemes, Spain – at least 5,000 miles away from home – and two people who live in the (relatively) small state of Oregon were dining in the same exact restaurant! What are the chances of that?
The two ladies and I talked – while Renato was busy texting on his phone – and I soon learned they only had two weeks to enjoy and explore the Camino del Norte. They knew this wasn’t long enough to walk the entire route, so they were ‘cherry picking’ some of the more scenic places to see along the way.
When the heavy rain came in today, they’d both decided there was zero chance they were going out walking in it. This was their vacation, after all! So now they planned to catch a bus to Santander tomorrow, and would jump up to Santanilla del Mar after that.
I admired their willingness to do the Camino their own way. It wasn’t how I intended to see the route, but at least they were being authentic to themselves!
When will this rain end?
After a long, leisurely lunch, Renato and I said our goodbyes. I had no idea if I would see him again. I still had four more kilometers to my room in Galizano, but that short distance might mean we’d leapfrog several more times, or he might never catch me again. Only time would tell.
Those final few kilometers into Galizano was fairly uneventful too. The rain is still coming down —sometimes lightly, other times heavy. But, at least I had an end in sight. Plus, I knew I had a solo room booked where I could just lay around in my dry, warm clothes until dinnertime.
Galizano wasn’t a major tourist stop, at least as far as I knew. There were no albergues there. It was just quiet little hamlet with two small rural hotels, one of which was offering a great deal on rooms.
As I settled in for the night, I was supremely happy. The room was immaculately clean, the shower pressure was awesome, and the water was hot enough to warm my core up instantly. As I dried off, I swear towels have never felt so luxurious.
With that task compete, I used the wifi to check the weather forecast for any updates. Sigh. It was still just as abysmal as I remembered. Another 1/4” of rain was supposed to fall overnight. Then another to 1/4” more of rain tomorrow, and a similar amount on Monday too.
I scrolled down to check the next few days too, and it was more of the same. The rain would continue into Tuesday and Wednesday, with the wind picking up to 20-25 mph those days. And then Thursday we’re supposed to get a full inch or more of rain during the daytime.
Ugh!!!! I think I may just have to take a clue from the ladies I met at lunch. Perhaps I’d just tough it out for the next few days, and take a ‘zero day’ on Thursday instead of hiking through the heaviest rain. Man, this Camino is really pushing my limits of fun.
