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.

Etapa 5: Laredo - Güemes

It is always a blessing to find coffee in the morning.


Cantabria is well marked with these tiles.

Slept well in the convent with the sound of rain and slightly dampened fiesta out our small windows. Our clothes were all still wet, oh well, no choice but to jam them in plastic bags and hope the clothes we wore would dry from body heat. The plan was to walk the 4K of beach boardwalk to the end of the peninsula, which is where the ferry would take us across to Santoña. However, when we spotted a delivery man carrying a tray of fresh croissants into a cafe, we were compelled to follow. While we took cafe and breakfast outside, a pilgrim in very short shorts, with shiny black braids and a big smile greeted us but quickly took off to catch the first ferry, which she told us was at 9:00am. We followed a few minutes later, also wanting to catch the first boat, which we did, barely. It was not at all what we had imagined, a tiny fishing boat that beached itself and left out a gangplank for us to board. The whole trip took about 5 minutes and we landed in Santoña with the same girl, and two crusty old pilgrims, the French from the day before and a German man. We searched for the Ayuntamiento (city hall) to get our sellos with the old men, who told us they had been walking since Switzerland.


Catching the ferry to Santoña

We took a long, not very pretty walk beside the wall of an imposing prison. Near the beach the road went left, the Camino went right toward the sand. Our guide said to "scramble over the rocks of the promontory as best you can." We thought this meant to go around the sharp rocks at water's edge. In fact, we were to climb the massive rock mountain on an extremely narrow trail that was slippery, steep and bordered by sharp thorns and nettles. We became the mountain goats of the previous days, until Kirsten fell into a nettle bush, luckily only receiving one gnarly scratch on the leg. This was very challenging, but at the same time uplifting. We felt great. Neither of us had ever imagined doing anything like this. The descent was the same as the climb, in reverse. When we reached the white sand beach below we sat on a rock and attended to our feet before taking a long walk on the beach into Noja.


Find the path in this picture.


Always climbing. This is one prickly path.


This is hard work.


A celebratory self-portrait on the beach at Noja


The arrow directs us to walk along the beach.

Here we passed a cafe where a group of young pilgrims were smoking, including the French girl, no longer crying. After many uneventful hours through small villages, new housing developments, and construction sites, we finally reached San Miguel de Meruelo. The guide said there was an excellent restaurant in this town where we had been excited to have lunch. We asked a local to direct us to it, but he shook his head and said we were better off eating in Güemes "30 minutes" more walking. He even offered us a ride, but we declined. He did tell us a faster way to get to Güemes, but on the way Kirsten had an allergy attack that left her temporarily blinded in one eye, emergency Benadryl. The walk was actually more than an hour, up hill past cut grass with the wafting odor of cow dung, perfect for allergies.

We entered through the far end of Güemes, found the church - always marking the way on the Camino - and the restaurant that the man had recommended, Bar Luis, was directly across the street. We were thirsty and famished, cañas solved the first problem, the menu del dia took care of the second. Tremendous food: lentils a la montaña, lentils with chorizo and murcilla (blood sausage), ensalada, merluza and lomo. We were fortified for the difficult final hill to the albergue.


One of the best meals of the trip. Bar Luis in Güemes.




Our own casita!

We were greeted by Paco, a ebulient volunteer, as are all the people work there. He showed us to a little bungalow with two bunks, our own room again!, and told us that dinner would be served to all the pilgrims promptly at 8:30. Dinner had a convivial and fraternal atmosphere among the pilgrims and staff punctuated by lively conversations in many languages.


Pilgrim dinner. Sabine is center and Kirsten is on the right.


We use the term crusty lovingly. French Alain 75, German guy 73 with heart problems, and the girl who directed us to the ferry.


Our Basque friends

Don Ernesto, the founder and patriarch of the albegue gave an explanation of the history of the albergue and offered his philosophy of the "University of Life," which he asked Carlos to translate into English, and the other Kirsten who is German to translate from English to French. Just to give you an idea of how awesome this man is, he made his way through all of Latin America from Spain in a rowboat with four other men, finishing in Patagonia. He had also worked on a pirate fishing ship in North Africa for many months. The love and care with which we were all treated was inspiring, and a good reminder of the spirit of the Camino.


The incomparable Don/Padre Ernesto

Etapa 4: Pontarron - Laredo

We are really in the woods now

Due to rain and distance, most pilgrims proceeded by the main road. We decided that we would stick to the camino, which started up a muddy slope to another local road winding through small farming villages until La Magdalena. Here the guide directed us up a very steep path into a eucalyptus forest. We had to stop for emergency breakfast of trailmix in the company of two horses who regarded us with suspicion.

Here we truly entered wilderness. As one can guess, the way was steep and long, up and up the mountains through forest, but quite beautiful. From time to time, a yellow arrow nailed to a tree confirmed we were going the right way. This was inspiring for two urban hikers. It was absolutely beautiful.


Two roads diverged in a wood...note the ambiguous arrow on the tree.

We heard what we thought were cowbells, but soon learned were strapped around the necks of a herd of goats. This was their path in their forest, and we were intruders. At first they walked always ahead of us, but as this is the time of year when many animals have babies, the older goats soon found us threatening and became defensive of their young. The largest goat turned toward us, head down gesturing with his horns and stomping his hoof. We were about to do battle with a herd of goats in a eucalyptus forest. Definitely not in L.A. anymore! Carlos grabbed a fallen tree branch and assumed the posture of a goat herder. Incredibly, this worked. They were subdued and let us pass.


These goats mean business.

The guide directed us to the steepest part of the climb, and at each new hill, we expected to summit, but were always faced with more hill. We were in the cloudline, and it began to rain. We had to dig out our ponchos for the first time. Finally, we broke into a clearing and could see the valley below. We descended into a gorgeous green valley with rocky cliffs, to the town of Hazas. The sun greeted us, we took off our ponchos and rested on a parkbench. Four hours had passed since our trailmix snack, so starving, we ducked into a restaurant for bocadillos. Coincidentally, it was also Beer:30.


Goat territory


Incredible to look over our shoulders and see the mountain we just climbed receding into the distance...


...and then to see the valley we were just in as we ascend another hill.

As usual, the next part was uphill, connecting again with the 634. Then, it was uphill all the way to Laredo. We entered the town on a steep descent towards the water through the Puerto de Bilbao and immediately found the convent where we would spend the night. A crusty French pilgrim with a full white beard and Yosemite Sam mustache was waiting for the convent to open.
After a long day in the mountains it was a pleasure to again see coast.

We decided instead to wait in the terrific restaurant across the street, we think it was called Restaurante Cantabria, for our first menu del dia. Diners are offered their choice of four first courses and four seconds, with a bottle of water or wine, bread and desert, and that is all that is available. A good system, why doesn´t anyone do this at home? It cost 8€! We were eating a bit late, so the sardinas a la plancha which had lured us into the place were gone, and so was the other fish option. We had cocido a la montaña (beans and sausages), albondigas, (saucy meatballs with fries), and chunks of velvety braised beef also in a fantastic sauce. Classic Cantabric fare. Dinner was not so classic, a quick Döner kebap.


This salad and stew were heavenly.




Jesus is praying for our sins


Our boots in the window of the convent

Etapa 3: Castro-Urdiales - Pontarron

The market, near the plaza de toros in Castro

Since this was a shorter-distance day, we went to 9:00 mass. We started out of town on the 634 and then at the cute plaza de toros turned up into the countryside on a small road connecting many hamlets. Eventually we reached a rocky, ankle-turning track through the forest, muddy from the rain the night before, and mossy from years of shade. The path was marked by several funky gates fashioned from rusty old bedframes, a cool form of recycling. The forrest opened up ahead and we were on the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. In this clearing there was an impressive amount of goat poop! We could not avoid stepping in it.


Happy to have reached the top of the climb


The horses are muscular from work





The arrows look different everywhere.

Through pastures and farms, we reached the town of Islares hungry. We asked a local if there was anywhere good to eat in town on a Sunday. He responded, "Aqui se come como puta madre!" Which meant yes. And we did, ternera and lenguado and with the special surprise of Fransiskaners poured authentically, rolling the bottle on the table to stir up the yeast left at the bottom. Carlos called ahead to the next town to see if there was room at the albegue. We had only 4K to go.



We were told to get the keys to the albergue at the Bar Pontarron. Luckily the end of the F1 race was on, so we rested with a glass of wine. A lone crying French pilgrim captured our attention. She had terrible blisters and her friends had gone on without her to the next town. Carlos helped her get information for the bus. We went on to our first albergue experience. It was bleak. No chairs anywhere, dingy small room with bunks for 12 pilgrims. There was nothing to do but go back to the bar to sit a while with four other pilgrims until bed. The Spain vs. Italy Euro cup game was on inside and this being the only business in town, it was packed with red-shirted Spaniards. We later heard that Spain won in penalty kicks, but we were fast asleep by then. An amazing lightning and thunder storm pounded the valley as we slept.




This is Michelle (French). We brought the clothes in out of the rain and dried them on a top bunk.

Etapa 2: Portugalete - Castro-Urdiales

10K of this was hard on the feet.

Originally, this was planned to be a short day, but we had so much fun the first day and we felt that we had it in us to go the distance to Castro-Urdiales, about 32K. We were on the road by 7:15, back to the cathedral in Portugalete to pick up the markers for the Camino. Of course, we had to climb, once again, through the town until we reached a paved cycling and pedestrian trail through and over hills and canyons. Very pretty 10K, peaceful and green with many animals, but the hard surface was torture on the feet. This path ended at Playa La Arena, a touristy beach town. We stopped to rest our weary feet and took coffee and a type of tortilla we had never seen before: thick potato and onion tortilla topped with mayonaise and ham, then a thin chorizo and egg layer. A revelation!


Well-deserved coffees and crazygood tortilla

The Camino led us across the orange-brown sand of the playa, over a footbridge, into Pobeña, and up a giant incline of mossy stone steps. There was a cyclist behind us who carried his bike at first, but eventually had to turn back. We were rewarded at the summit with a beautiful coast-hugging path along the headlands for many kilometers. This was a popular trail for beach-goers, dog-walkers, and shirt-less old men. Lucky for thirsty us, there were many fuentes in the shape of scallop shells along the route.


Steep steps to the cliffs of Playa la Arena...


...and the view from the top. See the mountains on the right? We started our morning on the other side.




The camino turned inland briefly to descend into Onton, where we resumed climbing on the national road 634. The good times were over for now. This was the longest, steepest climb we had ever attempted, almost 2K of torture. We made excellent time, and were happy to be in sight of Castro-Urdiales in the distance. Unfortunately, there was nowhere in sight to rest, eat, or drink, until like a miracle, around a bend in the Saltacaballo, a lone restaurant with a terrace overlooking the mountains and valleys we had just conquered. We felt obligated to drink two giant mugs of beer (normally beer in Spain comes in a pretty small glass, a civilized 8 ounces). It was here, with our shoes and socks off, that we met a French cyclist, enroute from Toulouse in a lap around the entire Iberian peninsula and back to France, several thousand kilometers. Being French, he lit up a cigarette and chatted for a bit, but then for the three of us, it was time to continue. Onward!


Is this the right way?

Shortly, a yellow arrow pointed us off the main road onto a narrow trail down a hillside. We were unsure that this was the way because it was so overgrown with thorny bushes and thistle, but we were in the mood for adventure, and we knew that a cala-like beach awaited us at the bottom. Unfortunately, we could not stop to enjoy the water. We saw a cave ahead, fenced off, which housed a statue of the Virgin of Mioño. There was a plaque stating that she had been found by four sailors who tried to take her to Castro, but she wouldn´t get in the boat with them. If we were virgins, we wouldn´t get in a boat with four strange sailors either!


Virgin of Mioño

Here´s where it got a bit hairy. The way we thought we were supposed to go was blocked by a wooden placard with words like prohibido and peligroso. We considered turning back, but then we saw a man casually hop the fence and walk down the path. We followed suit. The path led through an old mining tunnel, and then another, but there was no more sign of the man. Through the darkness of the second tunnel, we came out into the bright light of the hot sun, and were overwhelmed by the smell of rot, and the forbidding sight of the tall walls all around. We were in a deep gorge, and directly in our way, was the decomposing carcass of a goat that we had no choice but to step over. The sight and odor of the goat made us hurry in the only direction tht seemed possible, up. We saw faint traces of a path near the top of the wall of rock, so we tried to negotiate our way to that point. We soon found ourselves rock-climbing for the first time, in full packs, and there was no way to climb back down. Holy shit! It was treacherous, but somehow we made it 50 feet to the top. Kirsten lost her sunglasses. A fair price to pay.


Carlos is about to go into that old mining tunnel.


Way down there is the dead end exit of the mining tunnel and a dead goat. We climbed up the left side.

We crossed a field, and through a creepy deserted housing developement a la Stephen King, and found the 634 which we followed in a state of exhaustion into Castro-Urdiales. After a grueling 9 hours walking, we stopped in the first pension and took whatever room they had to offer. We were lucky to get a room, since there was a fiesta that night. Restaurants were all closed, except one, directly in front of the pier and with a view of the marina, where we had our best pintxos so far. It soon began to rain, the fiestas were extinguished early. Everyone headed for the bars, but we headed straight to bed.


Boats in the harbor






A little girl in costume for the fiesta