¡Santiago de Compostela!

Etapa 14: Soto de Luiña - Cadavedo

It was going to be a footrace to win any of the eight beds at the albergue in Cadavedo. We decided not to rush, to walk the Camino at our own pace and in our own time, which allowed us a leisurely breakfast at the restaurant where we had eaten the night before. They served incredible toast made from thick slices of sweet local bread with green plum jam. Our friend the bartender/hospitalero/mayor was now running the restaurant. The lazy cyclist had alerted us to the fact that it was the first day of the Fiesta de San Fermin, which most people know as the running of the bulls in Pamplona. The event takes place at 7:30 each morning for one week and is televised live, watched avidly over coffee or brandy in bars across Spain. We watched the toros and throngs of costumed men surge through the streets to the bull ring, then left town on the abandoned 632 road.

The guidebook warned that this section of the Camino was poorly maintained. It directed us, if possible, into thick woods at the first monolith we came across. Sure enough, this monolith was draped with black plastic indicating that the path was impassible. It was completely overgrown. We continued on the asphalt road until Castanieras where we turned toward the Playa de Silencio to find the path. We encountered a Polish woman, whom we had met the night before, coming toward us. She said she had been up and down the road and could not find the path, which our guide described as the 'less obvious track'. At the bottom of the hill was a rocky beach that she said was too risky. (We later met friends who tried to go around the rocks on the beach, carrying their packs above their heads in waist-deep water. Very risky.) We decided to see for ourselves, and continued downhill toward the beach on a road lined with more fences made from bedframes. When we found no track, we too turned back to the main road, but wonder of wonders, saw a truly 'less obvious' track off to the right into farmland and took it.



This terribly overgrown stretch was some of the toughest going so far. Our guide said to cross a stream, but for most of the way we could only walk directly in the narrow streambed in a trickle of water. There was so much prickly matter, we really had to fight our way through it, holding back thorn branches and nettles with our hands to protect our arms, legs and faces. We prayed for a machete. Kirsten was near demoralized tears when, finally, the thorns gave way and there was a clear footpath through a surprising bamboo forest.



We crossed wider sections of the stream, as well as some muddy bits, but were now enjoying being on the real Camino as opposed to the highway our fellow pilgrims had traveled. We were the only ones to find the real path, and venture through the overgrown unknown. We emerged from the jungle in Santa Marina, a sleepy village whose sign boasted that it had received an award for Spain's most beautiful village in 1962. The next forty six years had, apparently, not been kind to Santa Marina. We stopped to rest and refresh at the only bar in service, where the Polish woman was having coffee. We eyed her lycra shorts and knew she would have fared miserably in the jungle.

We continued on the main road out of town until Ballota, where we dipped back into the woodlands, descending steeply on a wide path. We reached the bottom of the valley, looking out for the famous Puente que Tiembla, the bridge that trembles. We walked right over it without even noticing that we were on a bridge! There was as much plant life growing on the sturdy bridge as there was on the riverbank, but after crossing we could see the stones and arch of this beautiful ancient bridge through gnarled tree branches and roots. Hundreds of years ago the stone bridge had replaced its flimsier wood predecessor, which had inspired much fear due to its shakiness, particularly during storms or high tide. The French even sang a song about it which recommended having a Welsh or German pilgrim cross the bridge first to test its strength.


El Puente que Tiembla

We reached the bar in Cadavedo where we could be directed to the albegue. We were anxious to get to the albergue to confirm our suspicions that it was already at full capacity with pilgrims who had stayed on the easier and faster main road. Carlos went up the stairs into the depressing building, splattered with graffiti, to have a look. It was jam-packed, the two small rooms filled, dirty sleep mats laid out on the floor of the kitchen which did not deter the lazy cyclist from preparing his meal. Rather than sleep miserably on the floor, and endure the cyclist, we answered an advertisement on the bulletin board for a room in the next village.

The woman who answered offered to pick us up, but we opted to walk the short distance to Villademoros where the very cute red house, Casa Carin, was waiting for our tired feet. The immaculate garden, private bathroom, and queen bed with crisp white linens for 15 euro each was like an alternate universe. We thought we might have the whole house, with marble kitchen and living room with a television to ourselves but were soon joined by two sweet German girls, giant volleyball players newly graduated from high school in Essen. Kirsten's grandfather was from Essen! We were happy to share the house with Jessica and Alexa, and all washed our laundry together in buckets in the garden. There was plenty of sun left to dry our clothes, true luxury.


Casa Carin

The friendly lady who owned the house drove us all to the grocery market in town. We were entertaining the idea of cooking together at home in our deluxe kitchen. Shopping didn't render much inspiration, especially for Kirsten who had an insane allergic sneezing fit as soon as she entered the store. Shopping for ingredients was out, but we did find excellent rations for our packs, including a nice Manchego. We waited at the Casino Restaurant in Cadavedo until the kitchen opened at 9:00 for a mediocre menu del dia, although the cured pork chops that tasted like hamsteak weren't bad, and the lomo ordon bleu was unique. We enjoyed a pleasant two-kilometer sunset walk back to our casita.

Etapa 13: Cudillero - Soto de Luiña

The walk from Gijon to Aviles is famous for being ugly and industrial and mostly on highway so we asked Nardo and Belen to drop us off in Cudillero, about 20K past Aviles, a beautiful little port at the bottom of a very steep hill. It being Sunday afternoon, the entire town was closed and locked, except for the restaurants, cafes, and sidrerias in the harbor which were busy attending to the summer rush of beachgoers. Unfortunately, we would not be among those lounging under cafe umbrellas with cold drinks. We left the pretty scene behind as we climbed up out of the town which gave way to treelined roads with bus shelters and scrap yards, passing under train bridges.


The blue tile on the wall points our way.

Our stomachs called for lunch when we saw a cute hotel with restaurant overlooking the water, advertising special meals for pilgrims. More tempting was the Formula 1 race showing on the bar TV, an exciting race in torrential rain. However, the staff seemed confused about the pilgrim lunch and told us we would have to eat in the fancy and expensive-looking dining room which looked set for a wedding banquet. Instead we took our dusty shoes and not-so-clean clothes outside for a picnic on a chapel wall.



Here we were very close to the rocky shore but the path led, as ever, away from the tempting beach and into woods on a sometimes muddy and often prickly path which eventually dropped us back on the old 632, an abandoned narrow asphalt road which used to be the main highway but which has now been replaced by modern highway and sees very little traffic other than pilgrims and tractors. We enjoyed a fairly uneventful walk into Soto de Luiña where our guide instructed us to find a specific bar with information about the albergue. Might as well have a beer while we´re at it.

The albergue, in an old school building, was nearly full, but we managed to score two top bunks next to eachother when a couple who had already stayed one night was kicked out by the balding hostalero. This is a strict rule, one night only and you must leave in the morning to make way for the next wave of pilgrims. The albergue was clean and bright, but only the mens shower functioned. One shower for 24 people created quite a queue, and the ladies had to shower while men used the toilet. We later saw the same hostalero working at the pilgrim bar, then at another restaurant. We think he must also be the mayor.


Albergue de Peregrinos in Soto de Luiña

Have we mentioned the lazy bicyclist? We first met this character in his underwear, cooking dinner at the albergue in Sebrayo days before and now again he was with us in Soto de Luiña, again relaxed and cooking a meal, a bottle of sider on the table. Normally we meet a bicyclist once and then never see them again because they can travel so far in one day. This lazy guy cycles the same distance as other pilgrims walk each day, always arriving first at the albergue, always first to get a bed, and with plenty of time to chill at the beach, buy groceries, cook dinner. Luxuries granted by time which most pilgrims dont have. He will be a recurring character.

This was a very exciting night, we sat in the pilgrim bar writing, drinking tiny tumblers of excellent 50-cent wine, and watching a tennis match on television with a growing group of Spaniards, young and old who seemed transfixed. It was the final at Wimbledon between Nadal and Federerer. We had to wait for the only restaurant in town to open at 8:30 for dinner. We found the match on also in the restaurant, an historic match which went on for hours during which time noone left the room. When Nadal finally won it was heroic, the whole place erupted. Spain is on a roll. During dinner, a rainstorm passed quickly overhead casting a full rainbow across the arc of the sky.

Rest Day in Candas

While waiting to be picked up by our friends Nardo and Belen, our breakfast was accompanied by a troup of traditional Asturian dancers and musicians dressed in full regalia performing in the small plaza near our hostal. When they marched off, Nardo and Belen arrived. These are very old, very good friends from Galicia and we knew we would spend an awesome day with them. They wanted to take us to a small town they liked and have a weekend getaway of their own.



The festivities started with an unbelievable lunch in a traditional Asturian asador with sidras poured in the traditional manner from above the head into glasses held below the waist to aerate the cider, then swallowed in own gulp. We were seated in a giant empty cider barrel turned on its side for a meal of woodfire-grilled meats piled high on a platter of fried potatos: ox, steak, veal, pork ribs, lomo, murcilla, chorizo and probably more. This was the pinnacle of rustic meat eating. We followed lunch with glasses of hierbas outdoors under a tall horreo.





What an enjoyable afternoon and evening, it really seemed like a vacation. It was a great feeling to see familiar faces on a trip that we´re sharing mostly with strangers. We drove along the coast, stopping at a pretty harbour to take in the local charm. They had arranged rooms at a hotel, a HOTEL! What luxury. After such a huge lunch, we had a late dinner of salad, Cabrales cheese with fruit spread and pastel de cabracho, a fish pate.

Sick Day: Oviedo

Wow, that was a killer headache. We were supposed to walk from Sebrayo to Gijon, a very long distance, just Google it and add about 10K because walking through forests and fields over mountains is always the longer way. This would be impossible with Kirsten´s hangover-like symptoms after a very hard night of not drinking. The albergue woke before dawn, rustling and zipping. We stayed in our awesome silk sleep sacks until most had gone. Two pilgrims remained, a man named Carlos Pablo and his traveling companion Ulia, a black German Shepherd mutt with a scallop shell hanging from her collar. He told us that this was her second Camino, the first she did while carrying 3 of her puppies in her own backpack. He found these puppies homes along the Camino and still goes to visit them. Carlos Pablo was writing a guide to the coastal route and was a wealth of information. He suggested that instead of Gijon, which was the beginning of a very industrial stretch of highway walking, that we go to Oviedo on the Camino Primitivo, a very old and historic section of the Camino and a beautiful medieval city. We had to walk 6K to the Villaviciosa, where we again met up with Carlos Pablo and who showed us the church and the bus station where we could catch a ride to Oviedo instead of walking.



We found the cathedral in the oldest part of the city, a beautiful edifice with stone spires in the main square. The church dates back to before 800A.D. Our hostal was a very welcome surprise on a low energy day, bright, clean and with fresh paint and new linens right in the Casco Viejo, which is what the antique sections of cities are called. It was a day of rest and recovery with a little sightseeing and a simple but incredible dinner. We found a lively cafe in the main plaza facing the church, where they specialized in tostas, large pieces of toasted rustic bread with various toppings. We had a huge platter of pimientos de padron (fried mild bitesize green peppers), tostas with fois with goat cheese, shaved duck liver with onion confit, and presa Iberica which is akin to carne asada topped with piquillo peppers and a memorable bottle of Rioja house wine, all for around 30€. Please, someone open this restaurant in L.A.

Etapa 12: San Esteban de Leces - Sebrayo

We woke up from a cold and uncomfortable night´s sleep to a gorgeous morning. Our washed clothes were still very wet so we had to pin them onto our backpacks, underwear and all, a pilgrim often becomes a human clothesline. We sorely wished for coffee. Those rations came in handy when the first town we came to had only one cafe which was still closed. No caffiene, but a gorgeous trail along the Playa de Vega which connected several beaches and stayed close to the shoreline. Unfortunately the rain had played its tricks, creating deep mud pools on most of the path, it was sink or swim. The mud is never fun, but is definitely better traversed under a bright blue sky.

Our first chance to stop for rest and refreshment was at a cafe on the last of these beaches, a place we would have prefered to spend the whole day. Coffee hour had passed, it was Beer:30 for us and 3 other pilgrims who we had seen but not yet spoken with, a Portuguese and French pair traveling together, and a Spaniard who was ribbing them because they were only going to walk another 7K that day to the albergue in La Isla. He called them abuelos, but we later saw that the Portuguese guy, Christianu had the worst blisters we´ve ever seen, the soles of his feet were mutilated and the French guy was walking in sandals. We set out from the beach together, getting to know eachother, talking too much perhaps because the pair missed their turn toward the albergue and walked all the way to Colunga where they angrily felt they had been tricked by the Spaniard to walk farther than they had intended. They would walk farther still, as there is no albergue in Colunga.



We had a pleasant lunch with Manuel, the Spaniard in this town: paella, peas with ham, calamare in ink, and giant braised lamb falling off the bone. With red wine and dessert, it was 8€ per person. We walked together through stunning green valleys, sparkling in the sunlight and dew of several days´ rain. Since we spend so much time treading through thick brush and sharp plants, we asked Manuel if there are any plants in Spain like Poison Ivy, that should be avvoided. He pointed to the huge bush directly beside us, which spanned a the whole side of the road, and said, this one, Hortiga. We were shocked, as we had seen so much of this already in the forests, growing mostly along the Camino. It has tiny sharp hairs like fiberglass which break off in the skin and sting terribly, and only worsen if you try to rub them off.

At the top of a pretty hill was a small church with a shaded veranda where we could rest and remove our shoes for a spell. Christianu and Patrick were already here! Soon two old women in house dresses came to tend the flowers on the altar and a lively exchange ensued during which one woman warned that their husbands would be jealous if they saw them talking to so many men (and Kirsten). This was a lot of fun, and our short rest became a longer event. The women in such a rural village spoke in a discernable local accent, converting the o at the end of words to u: poco became pocu, todo was todu. Two friends from Güemes passed us here, Sergio and Ricardo. The headcount made everyone move a little faster to get a bed at the albergue, and a very steep climb separated us. We wanted to hurry, but the last 2K to the albergue was the worst mud yet, horrible and seemingly neverending, right up to the town. We were the last two to arrive and claimed the only two beds left.



There was a man at the top of the hill who sold fruit and other necessities including beers out of his van. We bought dinner here and went back to the picnic table at the albergue to eat and drink with other pilgrims. About this time Kirsten´s head was crushed by a massive migraine. She went into a fever and Benadryl coma for the rest of the evening. Carlos did all of the laundry and sat outside writing and chatting with the friendly group.

Etapa 11: Llanes - Ribadesella (San Esteban de Leces)

The early morning drizzle forced us to wear our ponchos, or tents without poles. The newly paved road was still closed to traffic, so we had the highway to ourselves. We finally reached the town that Carlos had been so excited to visit, Poo. The path cut across beaches where we were followed by a pitbull, at first territorial, and then curious. Once again, Carlos had to be the beastmaster, sternly ordering him back the beach after he followed us up into the hills.

We played leapfrog with several groups of pilgrims, and ran into the two friendly Belgians we had shared albergues with for many nights. The damp Camino crossed a cool old bridge and a chapel and cemetary built right on a riverbank which was very pretty and unusual. Then up into the forest and to the town of Nueva, our planned rest stop after 13K. We really liked Nueva, a fitting name for an old town that is getting a lovely facelift. We had a quick lunch of the best bocadillos so far in a bar dedicated to Fernando Alonso, Carlos´ favorite Formula 1 racecar driver.

This is a good place to mention that we are not spending all of our time in bars...we know, we know, there will be comments. However, mealtimes in Spain are very late, lunch always after 2:00 and dinner always after 9:00. This is a tough schedule for pilgrims who have been walking since just after 7:00am and must be asleep by 10:00pm. The only places where food is available are bars which offer pre-prepared small sandwiches. As an alternative to the same kind of meal that evening, we stopped in a small market to buy rations of local goat cheese and housemade cured sausage.

The afternoon walk continued in the rain, in muddy conditions, for another 15K. Negotiating the path was tiring and difficult. We finally reached Ribadesella at 5:00 and decided to try to stay the night in a pension because we had already walked 30K and the albergue was another 5K west up a steep slope. Everything in town was completo, even the very cute and colorful pension which offered special rates for pilgrims. It was clear that we would have to continue to the albergue, which was in a town with no services, so we fortified ourselves with more bocadillos and some house wine before putting our ponchos back on and ducking out into the rain again for an exhausting last leg. Our legs cramping and our moods declining, we found the albnergue with some difficulty just as the hospitalera was locking up. She quickly let us in and showed us to an empty room full of our choice of bunks, the occasional benefit of being the last to arrive, our own room. 32K equals 20 miles, today we had walked our longest distance, 35K.

Etapa 11: Puertas - Llanes

What had been planned as a day off in Llanes, began with a 9K highway walk to the city. We found remnants of the old Camino, but it was so broken by the road that we had to scurry back and forth across traffic, and so muddy that Carlos nearly lost a shoe in the muck. Fortunately, nearer to the city there was a nice wooded hollow that carried us up hill and left us only a short descent into Llanes.

The city, which Kris and Mimi had loved and recommended, is a compact maze of old buildings and medieval structures. The tourist office where we got sellos was housed in the tower of the old fortress. We passed several closed farmacias until we found the one open later than 1:00 to restock our sunscreen and Benadryl supplies. The shop had been open since the 1890s. There was no albergue so we had to find a pension. Many were full or expensive, so when we found a funky room at a great price we jumped on it, even though the sink dripped incessantly and the toilet had no seat (but at least it was blue!). Lunch in a restaurant busy with locals was our first fabada Asturiana and veal with Cabrales sauce over french fries. Really good.

We were happy to have the entire afternoon to relax and sightsee. Notable, were the Cubos de Memoria, giant cement cubes piled as a break around the jetty which were painted in bright colors and designs. We also enjoyed following a trail of a poem welded a few words at a time on metal plates spaced along the cobbled path around the medieval cathedral. The temperature rose, so we spent a good deal of time under an awning watching families enjoying the summer, and sipping cold cañas. We had been eyeing a churros stand across the river run by a mother and her daughter, and could resist no longer. These were by far the best churros ever. Kirsten was crazy for another bag of crisp doughy sweet treats after dinner, but there would be no dinner once again. Sleep caught us early.

Etapa 10: Unquera - Puertas

We had planned a short stage to Llanes as sort of a rest day, so we relaxed in the morning at our wonderful hotel, then had late coffee with oreja, which was like an American "pig ear" pastry. Apparently, the pastry of Unquera is famous, especially the corbatas which we did not try. The owner of the hotel joined us as we sat outside looking out ofçver the river and bridge, and commenced to smoke all over us as we tried to enjoy the rest of our breakfast. She, like most people we´ve spoken with in Spain, was very interested in the Democratic primary, and specifically Barack Obama. He is the popular favorite here, hands down. There was a great internet place across the street where we spent a good deal of time, run by a friendly and very knowledgable tech guy.



Our route out of town at siesta time was first to cross the bridge which was the border between Cantabria and Asturias. We recognized symbols of Asturias immediately, sidrarias (cider houses) and horreos (antique raised grain houses). The Camino went directly up a hill, as usual, which offered a nice view of the river valley where we had spent the night. We passed over the hill into Colombres and saw our first Casa Indiano, another symbol of Asturias, a house from the same period as Victorians, which were built by people returning from South America with money to burn, in the architectural style of Latin America. We stopped for a rest in the town square and were wished good luck by an old woman sitting alone at the cafe.

We soon hit the main highway, where we met a French woman in her 60s returning from Santiago. She seemed very flustered by the way she had just come, shaking from fear of the huge trucks wizzing by. We soon had some close calls of our own, walking along the narrow shoulder.



To our relief, in Buelna the Camino joined a very pretty beach hiking trail called the E-9, which passed along the cliffs, tiny beaches, and through quiet beach villages where we saw many horreos which had been converted into summer beach cottages. The path entered the town of Pendueles, which was an intruiging place for us both. There were some very old structures in different stages of disrepair, empty and with trees growing inside, next to renovated and inhabited stone houses. The place resembled a ghost town, but at the same time, we saw many children playing on the playground in front of the cemetery. Up on the hill above town we saw a train pass by the bright yellow Feve station house (these are so cute) and decided to try to catch the next rain to Llanes, as it was getting late in the afternoon. When we got to the station, the schedule showed that the train we had seen was in fact the last train of the afternoon. We headed for the bus stop in town. The schedule said that a bus would come in 50 minutes, time enough for us to walk the 3K to next village on the same busline, Vidiago. When we reached Vidiago, Carlos called the bus info line and was told that the bus never stopped in these parts. Fantastic.

Back to the highway for what would now be a tiring, long walk to Llanes, arriving after 9:30pm. There was so much construction on the road that the going was difficult, and our shins hurt from a day on hard asphalt. We saw a neon hotel sign on a hill in Puertas, looked at eachother, shrugged, and headed for what was sure to be an expensive bed. We felt we had no other choice. We showered and napped, but the 110K in 4 days had taken a toll and we never made it to dinner at the excellent looking Restaurant and Sidraria Poli where the hotel owner told us the next day that he had waited hoping to have a drink with us.

Etapa 9: Comillas - Unquera

This sign was outside the albergue. Only 456K to go!

There was an awesome automatic espresso machine in the albergue, and a table where we shared breakfast with a cyclist named Aitor. We headed out of town on a very straight path parallel to the main road, crossing many beautiful estuaries. We were sad to miss seeing the Gaudi Caprichio and gate, but onward.




Some sightseeing on the way out of town.

The Camino has taken us through many interesting settings, but we never expected to emerge from the forest into the middle of a private golf course which had been newly constructed but thankfully left the Camino intact. The contrast of pilgrims walking with all our possessions on our back through an immaculately manicured country club was striking.


They built an exclusive golf course right on the ancient Camino!

A few hills later we saw the Roman bridge of 32 arches leading into San Vicente de la Barquera, a town we had visited in 2003 with Dave and Mai for an exceptional mariscada (assorted seafood) and were excited to have another great lunch in this beautiful seaside city. We were too early to eat at most restaurants, the kitchen usually opens at 1:00 for lunch, so we found a menu del dia on a side street. This was one of the most disappointing meals of our lives, what a bummer. We hurried out of town with a bad taste in our mouths, literally, and churning stomachs.

Walking and distance from the dreadful restaurant put us back in good spirits. We walked for far longer than the guide said without finding the next marker and thought we might be lost. This was a moment of great teamwork; using the map, compass and guidebook, and a bus stop schedule we figured out exactly where we were, which was right on track, but far from Unquera.

We had 7 or 8K to go and one of the last bits involved hiking up from Pesues onto a thickly forrested mountainside. The trail was fatally ill-marked, doubled back on itself toward Pesues, causing us to walk through rough terrain and end up exactly where we had started. An old farmer whom we asked for directions said, "Oh yeah, you just walked a giant loop." Dejected, we backtracked across the same streets and Camino markers, to the main highway, which we took with heavy feet all the way to Unquera. We were rewarded with the best pension so far, a clean room, our own terrace on a riverbank, and a complete bathroom for 20€.


Delicious sardinas. Before...


...and after.

We were tired, but it was the final game of the Euro cup between Spain and Germany so we got a great recommendation for dinner in a restaurant with deluxe flat screens. The atmosphere was electric, every seat in the place was taken, and we sat beside a large table of vocal and hilarious fans in their 50s. One impecably bronzed woman dressed in tailored red clothes and gold bangles, rings and necklaces fanned herself between cigarettes or when the action of the game intensified. This was a classic Spanish image that we were, unfortunately, unable to capture on film. Carlos finally got to eat sardines, and they were not at all disappointing. Neither was the game. A fantastic final match for a team that had played brilliantly throughout the tournament. Que viva España!


A terrible picture, but a beautiful moment. Spain wins the Euro Cup!

Etapa 8: Camplengo - Comillas

Breakfast with our borrowed family, and a warm send-off with a bag of plums from their yard. It was already getting hot at 8:30 and we faced another long, sweaty stage. We finally reached Santillana del Mar, a town we had expected to see in the distance since the following afternoon, but which appeared suddenly as we came down a stone path toward a beautiful ancient house and stone-walled farm, then around a corner into a plaza right out of a fairy tale. Cobblestone streets, beautifully restored stone buildings, a very nice cathedral, empty and quiet but decorated with banners and streamers for the fiesta that night. We chose a lovely spot on a stone wall in the plaza across from an old fountain and wash basin to eat our plums and prepare our feet for the day with various bandages, pads, and the amazing body gel that Mimi´s parents sent us (THANK YOU!).



Soon groups of tour-bus tourists descended onto the jewel of a town and we escaped the crowds up a hill toward a campground. Where the dirt road narrowed we were faced with a train wreck of sorts, three camping caravans had been abandoned on the path where it became too narrow to continue, and we were soon discover, the road suddenly ended at a cliff over a brand new highway. We had to slip sideways between the caravans and a chain-link fence, through brambles, then were disturbed to find that where the path ended, so did the Camino! We had to find our way to a safe place to descend the cliff and cross the highway.


Big boar, little pony.

A few kilometers through farmland and up ahead on the hill like a beacon was the solitary church of San Pedro, a perfect place for a quick picnic of pate, cheese and bread. A couple arrived with armloads of hydrangeas to decorate the altar for the celebration the following day, Dia de San Pedro, and the church´s 400th anniversary. They invited us in for a look and offered us water from a fuente in the cemetary.


Invited inside the Church of San Pedro



More bucolic rambling on undulating paths through small villages, one of which was known for it's lemon trees. The Camino came close to the main road and we spotted Meson Alfonso. They let us split the menu del dia, not usually allowed, which was more of the gorgeously juicy local melon and jamon and dorado a la plancha (which we think is John Dory) with sweet piquillo peppers and onions. Fantastic meal, which was even better with a cold bottle of vino rosado which came with the menu.




This was rough going right after lunch. Note the arrow on the rock pointing up, always up.

After missing an arrow back onto the Camino, we ended up taking the main road all the way into Comillas. Another very old, historic city with a beautiful and inviting beach which lay to our right as we entered town. It was difficult to leave the cool waters behind to search for the albergue, which was a surprisingly nice building with new bathrooms, hot water, a clothes dryer!, and single beds instead of bunks.



Comillas might be even more beautiful than Santillana del Mar, we would love to return someday. The square was lively with vacationers and locals, another fiesta was about to begin! We had a simple dinner in the square, surrounded by lively conversation, children playing, and the frequent blast of fireworks. We opted to conclude our evening in a cozy meson on a quieter street. At 10:00 it was time to head to the albergue, already a late night for a pilgrim, especially after another 30K day.


Abandoned boots, R.I.P.

Etapa 7: Santander - Camplengo

The way out of the city is notoriously dangerous on the very busy highway so we opted for a short train ride to Bezana, about 4K. We arrived early to have cafe con leche in the station cafe and then hopped our train. In Bezana we found the church, always the landmark for finding the Camino route, to stretch and prepare our feet. This was when we realized that we had left our camera on the bar of the cafe. Holy crap! We nervously trecked back to the train, and had to ask the station agent to PLEASE help us. He called the Santander station cafe and confirmed that they still had our camera. Big PHEW! Back we went, to Santander, and then had to wait for the next train. This put us way behind schedule, so we had to travel a little farther, to Boò, about 8K. We were relieved, but the mood was a bit heavier all day, we were on edge. until we reached Mogro at lunchtime for our first rabas. We ordered them not knowing that they are fried fingers of calamare, meaty and delicious.

We put our heads down and grinded out more kilometers to a bar noted in our guide that gave sellos, pilgrim stamps. The friendly owner told us that we were the first Americans she had ever seen, confirming our suspicions that most Americans opt for the Camino Frances. We were close to the albergue, but she convinced us that it would be better to walk to the next one, adding 10K to our day, which as usual, turned out to be more like 13.







This part is notable only in that it was the ugliest stretch of Camino yet, along a pipeling for 4K, behind factories, and along a giant chemical works with a tall smokestack spewing suspiciously colored smoke. Also, we were passed by a procession of nearly 30 Ferraris: red, yellow, shiny, but slowed by traffic on the small road. Who knew, a little slice of Beverly Hills in Spain.



Soon we were back in the countryside, struggling up hills that led to more green fields, but no town in sight in which to sleep and we were exhausted, our feet throbbing like they had been slammed with a giant cartoon hammer. Ahead we spotted a low wall on which to rest, an lo, there was a sign for the albergue Arco Iris. We hoofed it another 400 meters are were there, greeted warmly by Jose, his father Pedro and mother Charo who generously run the place in their home. Jose offered us cold Fanta while we removed our shoes, and told us we could wash our clothes in their machine, our first washing machine! He actually loaded our clothes while we showered and immediately began to prepare dinner. We relaxed on the terrace, where he served us jamon iberico and perfect croquettes with a glass of wine, and then returned from the garden with a giant head of perfectly green lettuce, larger than a soccer ball, and said, "Do you like salad?" We feasted with his parents, as we were the only two pilgrims to arrive that day. Pasta soup with meat, a gorgeous salad with anchovies from Santoña (the best we´ve been told several times), and lomo with jamon wrapped around juicy melon. While we ate, he hung our clothes to dry on the line. We felt utterly pampered. We stayed up talking with Jose and Charo, and he opened a "special" bottle of 1999 Riserva from Valdepeñas, which he proudly told us he had bought for 2€...now called 2-buck Carlos. A terrific end to a difficult 30K day.


Our room at the Arco Iris had fresh flowers.

Magnificent hostaleros Jose and Charo

The Grand Update, Long Overdue

Yes, friends, we ARE alive and very well. Finding internet has been something of a pilgrimage unto itself. The towns we have passed through have been smaller than we can easily describe, and certainly smaller than we had expected. Internet is a rare bird in these parts. As of this update (from Luarca) we have walked more than 200 miles. Our bodies, and most importantly, our feet are holding up to the challenge. We have seen some nasty blisters on the feet of other pilgrims and are doing our best to guard against that horrible fate. Thank you all for your comments. We love the support and the laughs. We promise more photos as we can (and photos of food!). Also, thanks for the phone calls, we love hearing voices from home. Salud!

Etapa 6: Güemes - Santander

Morning God-lighting in the valley of Güemes.

At breakfast with all the pilgrims we sipped coffee from bowls and ate bread with jam. Don Ernesto offered an alternate route along the coastal cliffs that he said was longer but far more beautiful. Most other pilgrims opted for the shorter marked route, but we chose the cliffs. Somewhere in Galizano we took a wrong turn, as this way was not signed by the same yellow arrows as the Camino. Knowing that all roads here lead uphill, we climbed a mountain to see if we could spot the beach below. This was a smart choice, we found a path to the beach, and then back on the path up another cliff to the ridge. Wow, the view was stunning and would be like this for ten kilometers as we walked mere feet from the edge in pastures overlooking the Cantabric Sea.


We had to remove our shoes to trek across the tide.







Hours later we reached the beach in Somo, a vast sandy stretch blanketed with families. We removed our shoes and walked barefoot in the cool water. You can't imagine how good this felt after having our feet crammed in hot, stinky shoes for hours every day. When we consulted our map, three boys around 6 years old came up to offer their help. They told us the ferry to Santander was all the way at the other end of the beach, a few kilometers away. This was a very sweet exchange, but we were happy when halfway there a German woman wished us a buen camino, and told us we were actually very close to the ferry. Perfect timing, another example of the little angels that keep us on the right track every day. If not for her we would have passed it by 2 kilometers and then backtracked.


Walking barefoot across Somo.




We almost missed this directional sticker high on a lamppost.


A few minutes of rest on the ferry to Santander.

This much larger ferry, filled with travelers, carried us across the wide bay to Santander, a big city for this region and an important port. We found a nice pension, Botin, a pleasant yellow room with a gallery window overlooking the mercado, and with a shower ensuite! The problem with arriving in towns so late is that that most restaurants close their kitchens and there is nothing available to eat but bocadillos that have been sitting out all day in bars. At dinner time we decided, enough with the bocadillos, and found a busy and very cute Italian restaurant, which unfortunately served truly the worst pasta we've ever eaten. Tomorrow we would be back on the Spanish food. Again, the rain started. It has rained nearly every night, and then each morning been clear or at least dry and overcast. Good walking weather.


View of the mercado from our pension


In the cloister of the Cathedral



We passed a drizzly day off, resting and sightseeing in the bustling port town of Santander, and an odd night in the completely full albergue which was run like a jailhouse, lights out and doors locked at 10:30 for bedcheck. Sadly, we could only watch the first half of the Spain v. Russia Euro Cup match, but we could hear by the shouts and fireworks that Spain had been victorious. Later, all we could hear was the guy sleeping on a mattress on the floor in the front room, who had voluntarily banished himself due to sleep apnea, roaring like a freight train. Albergue life is a new twist, imagine a youth hostal, crammed with many bunkbeds in one room, usually a single shower and toilet, only instead of fresh faced high school grads, most are in their 40s and 50s and even some in their 70s.


The albergue where we stayed our second night in Santander.