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