I took a break from the Camino and explored Bilbao from the medieval Casco Viejo to the ultra-modern Guggenheim Museum. There were people everywhere enjoying the sights and food on a pleasant sunny day.

I had my coffee at a nice place down from the Carlton hotel and then Peter and I visited the Guggenheim. We stopped by Bilbao’s Museum of Fine Arts along the way and then walked around the outside of the Guggenheim which was surrounded with tourists, buskers, and trinket salespersons.

Afterwards, we visited the Basilica de Beroña dedicated to Our Lady. The floor has a noticeable incline up to the altar above which stands the Virgin Begonia, patron saint of Biscay. I sat down and said a few prayers for three people in particular.

Bilbao was a great place to to take a break. But I am ready for tomorrow’s trek to Casto-Urdiales.

I hope many of you had a chance to watch The Way, Emilio Estevez’ film starring his dad Martin which takes place along the Camino Francés. It was re-released Tuesday for a one day run. It gives a good feel for both the camaraderie and the inner reflection and self-discovery which can occur on the Camino. Of course, there is only one way to experience anything in life and that is to do it, whether it is rafting down the Colorado River or taking the kids to a dude ranch in Wyoming.

I have learned something on the Camino del Norte. It is so much different than the Francés! Naturally, there are many similarities, like hiking for miles a day, enjoying the great beauty of the countryside and suffering from sore feet. And to be sure, this is my second time around so I don’t get all the newbie surprises. Even so, this experience is very different. My mental and physical response to the season, the weather, the scenery, the terrain and the topography combine to make this Camino a totally new experience. And which one is better? It is like your children: they are different but you love them all!

From Gernika, Peter and I had planned to walk to Lezama but could not secure accommodation. We thought we would walk to Lezama and then grab a bus or train into Bilbao. We walked past Lezama and had lunch in Zamudio. Refreshed, we decided to continue on to Bilbao. It turned into a 21-mile trek. Since we arrived a day earlier than planned, we will take a break day tomorrow and visit the city. It will be nice to walk around without carrying a horse on my shoulders.

The trail took us through more hilly countryside but the sun was out most of the day. I have noticed a lot of trees being cut down and replaced with eucalyptus. My quest for next few days is to find out why. I did not capture a lot of photos today -I was too busy catching my breath! But here are few to enjoy.

Today’s walk brought us to Gernika, the village bombed by German and Italian warplanes during the Spanish Civil War. We crossed through Bolibar, the ancestral home of Simon Bolivar where we visited a museum commemorating the city’s history and its famous son.

We hiked a solid 16 miles of good trail through hilly farming countryside. Rain did not threaten and the sun began shining here and there. My feet and legs were sore but otherwise felt good. I will keep this post short and leave you with a few pictures.

Today celebrates the feast day of San Isidro, Isidore the Laborer, patron Saint of farmers and by extension, those who live and work in the countryside. Luis, who runs the Pikua Landetxia Casa Rural where Peter and I spent the night, considers himself a country worker but laments that he does not get to celebrate the holiday because his business runs 24/7. His Casa Rural attracts pilgrims because it is right on the official Camino route and he showed us special respect because we were pilgrims. In the name of San Isidro, I salute Luis.

Today started out well with generally good trails but it was uphill to about the halfway point. I noticed more people on the trail today. We lunched midway through our trek with Joel and Anny from Quebec, whom we had forest met at breakfast. We also came across a breed of cattle known as larrebeixac, or the wild cattle of the Geopark coast. In the past, these indigenous cattle were brought down to the towns to celebrate in their festivities. Today, they are protected and live in wild.

We bumped into an assortment of other people. One fellow was hiking with his Pyrenees cattle dog outfitted with a backpack. There were some Americans who were still in high speed mode. But the most interesting, I think, was George theFrenchman, who had lost count of how many Caminos he had done. As Peter remarked, he probably felt more at home on the trail than he did back in France. I am not sure where in France he was from, but he was wearing a kilt.

About two hours before we reached Marquina the raindrops caught up with us and we had a wet final run into town. We found our apartment and explored the small village. I thought I would take Peter to enjoy a Pilgrim’s mass which were interesting events last year on the Francés. We attended mass, but unfortunately it was a somber affair with no recognition or celebration of pilgrimage. It was a beautiful church but the mass was in a drab and unadorned side chapel. I will keep on the lookout for a proper Pilgrim’s mass so Peter can enjoy that special Camino experience.

To Paula and Juan Miguel and Rafael and Ignacio, and Juan Lago and anyone else in Madrid, may San Isidro bless you abundantly.

I woke up this morning and fitted a plastic cover over my backpack because rain was predicted all day until late afternoon. I stepped out of the hotel and a vicious wind ripped my plastic cover off. I went back inside to do some more engineering, then went over to Peter’s hotel. My cover survived. We had breakfast and then ventured outside. The skies were grey and the wind was ripping.

We managed to avoid rain all day, but once we passed the seaport down of Getaria, the going got very rough. There were steep slopes rising and falling off again. The earth was oozing water and the trail was muddy and slippery-worse than yesterday. But the ocean crashing against the earth made it all worthwhile. We hiked along several miles of the Basque Coast Geopark. The flysch cliffs arranged along the coast record 60 million years of unbroken deposition of marine sediments from the Cretaceous period through into the Pleistocene and Eocene stages of the succeeding Palaeogene period. (Okay, I confess I copied that least sentence from Wikipedia).

After slipping a sliding for 7 hours, we reached Deba. We had not gone as far as the day before but the steep ascents and descents on the wet clay paths made the going very slow. After a meal of pintxos in Deba, we decided to give our legs a break and take a taxi to our Casa Rural, the Pikua Landetxia and rest up for tomorrow’s journey inland to Marquina.

I arose at 6:30 and after a quick shower, began reorganizing my backpack and day bag. It takes a few days to get used to the new routine and I wanted to make sure that the items I would need throughout the day were easily accessible. This included placing my Hefty trash can liner which I use for mild rain protection at the top of my day bag. I also have a rain jacket in my day bag because the Norte is much wetter than the Francés, especially this time of year.

Pasaia port straddles a bay and I had to catch a ferry to get across. The ferry docked close to the hotel so it was a short walk to embark. The ferry is a small boat and although it was across the bay, the skipper puttered across when he saw me waiting. I had not collected any stamps in my pilgrim’s passport yet so I asked him if he had one. No, he didn’t. I asked him if he would write something in the block allocated to stamps and he agreed. As he did so, I decided I would not collect stamps on this journey but rather would ask ordinary people along the way to sign my passport.

Following the skipper’s directions, I headed down the dock to find the stairs leading over the hill to San Sebastián. “It is a little bit fuerte at first, but then it will level out,” he explained. I think it was fuerte the entire way! The trail was rugged and the rains had made it muddy and slippery. The rain caught me just as I arrived at San Sebastián and I ducked into a petrol station to wait out the worst of it. I had already donned Hefty and as I contemplated my raincoat, the rain began to subside. I dashed into a nice coffee shop and by the time I left the rain had stopped and I continued along my way. NOTE: Paula, Lisa and John: I think we hit San Sebastián at a much better time last year as far as weather goes! But the diehards were out surfing, paddling and kayaking in 58 degree rainy weather!

I got off the marked Camino in San Sebastián due to dodging raindrops but I knew the general direction and by the time I crossed town I was back on arrows. Pilgrims use a variety of methods to stay on the trail. Some just follow the arrows and other occasional signage. Some rely on guidebooks or maps on which they pre-plan their trip. And others use one of a variety of apps which, using GPS, keep you aware of where you are in relation to the Camino you wish to follow. I prefer the first method unless I am seeking out particular alternate routes, like the coastal routes for the Norte for which the apps (I use Buen Camino) come in handy. Regarding signage, particularly on the Camino of Life, sometimes there can be arrows every few feet; other times you might get anxious that you missed one and may have lost your way. You must trust your gut or your conscience.

Yesterday and today I saw people running up and down the mountain trails. Possibly just to rub it in! It reminded me of when I lived in Caracas. I would hike to the crest of the Avila and then run down the trail. It was exhilarating even though I knew I was not doing my knees any favors. That, and some hard skiing in younger years, certainly contributed to two ACL reconstructions!

From San Sebastian I made it to Orio on muddy slippery trails. There was very little asphalt and the climbs and descents were very steep. Just before Orio, I stopped at a donativo run by the folks from Yellow Deli for a coffee and got my second “stamp”. Then I stopped in Orio for a cream-filled chocolate cookie – not really! But I did have a cafe con leche and a tortilla.

My destination was Zarautz and I finally arrived about 5:30. According to my health app, I walked 20.6 miles. And in Zarautz I finally met up with Peter Hartshorn, who had arrived in Irun the night before I did. We caught up with our adventures and made tentative plans for tomorrow, all depending on the rain report. Which I will recount in tomorrow’s write-up.

Day One was a very long day. It started on Thursday at 6 am in Houston and ended up on Friday at 6 pm in Pasaia at the Donibanea Hotel. I arrived at San Sebastián airport, which is actually located in Hondarribia, next to Irun, the Basque city next to France and the official start to the Camino de Santiago del Norte. I left the airport and asked a friendly soul where the Camino was. “Right there!” he said, pointing to a stone staircase adorned with yellow arrows across the street. He was quite proud that the local chapter of the Amigos of the Camino had installed plaques and painted arrows marking the way.

It was a demanding climb to the Sanctuary of Guadalupe and an even more strenuous climb after that to 547 meters (nearly 1800 feet) elevation above sea level where I began, and would later end the day. The path I took is known as the route of the towers on Jaizkibel mountain. These towers are mostly in ruins now but were important defensive structures built in the 19th century during the Carlist wars. I started in sunshine, but some offshore rain clouds caught up to me and I hiked in a light rain and strong wind until I began the descent into Pasaia when the sun returned.

The views were fantastic. To the north was the Cantabrian Sea and to the south were the highland and Cantabrian mountains. There were horses, cows, goats and sheep grazing at the higher altitudes. The trail was muddy and wet, often just a puzzle through large rocks. It went up forever and descended forever!

Pasaia is a small seaport town and fishing village. It is quiet compared to her busy sister San Sebastián, my first stop tomorrow. The hotel was opened last year and is quite clean and comfortable. It will be a wonderful place to rest my weary bones.

The Camino calls. It is almost time to go.

Time is a funny thing, as I learned when I retired and discovered I had more “time” to really think about it. Time is as real as the Colorado River that I rafted down a couple weeks ago: flowing, everchanging, evermoving, yet ungraspable. With help from the gods of the world we are born into, we divide time into days and months and years. But how real is time? The past exists in my memories and the future in my imagination. The present escapes as soon as I attempt to lay my hands on it. I close my eyes. I sense a heart beat, and a I take a deep breath; I contemplate eternity. I become conscious of my own consciousness. I begin to experience silence where there is sound and brightness where there is no light.

And then the Camino calls! I remind myself not to get too excited. The sooner it begins, I rationalize, the sooner it will end. But that is not the way of time. It is like the river, meandering here and rushing there, spreading out forever until it is reborn.

The Camino calls and it is almost time to go.

When I wrote the last post about a month ago, it was on the eve of arriving in Santiago de Compostela. A couple days ago, I sat down and read through all my posts, with a map at my side to help remember the routes and villages I visited. I went through my photos to jog my memory of the people and chapels and albergues and other places I had come across. While reminiscing, I sometimes found myself deep in thought remembering an incident along the Camino or chuckling to myself as some forgotten event was unexpectedly recalled. It is sometimes difficult to believe that I actually undertook the pilgrimage and walked across the north of Spain. Did it really happen, or was it all a dream?

Paula can vouch that I did arrive in Santiago. At 10:30 am on October 11, as Lisa and I made our final approach into the Plaza del Obradoiro, the square in front of the Cathedral, we saw Paula and John waving us in. It was quite an emotional moment as you might expect. After many hugs and kisses all around, interrupted by compliments and congratulations, we found a spot in the square directly on front of the Cathedral to sit down on the cobblestones. John popped the cork on a bottle of Veuve Clicquot as Paula arranged four flutes in a row. We toasted ourselves and watched as pilgrims filled the square. After draining the bottle, we went down to the Pilgrim’s office which Paula and John had reconnoitered the day before and Lisa and I received our Compostela, or certificate of completion of the Camino. Then we headed back to the plaza for a second celebratory bottle of champagne.

We checked into the Parador de Santiago which is located on the north side of the Plaza del Obradoiro, next to the Cathedral. The Paradores de España are a collection of about 100 state-owned hotels, established in 1910 to promote tourism. Normally, “government run hotel” is a phrase which would send most tourists running in the opposite direction. However, the paradores are considered luxury hotels, often located in old castles, monasteries or other buildings with historical significance. The Parador of Santiago, built 100 years after Columbus’ voyages of discovery, began as a hospital and refuge for weary pilgrims. In 1953, it was renovated and joined the parador network. It certainly worked for us for the two nights we spent in Santiago. That afternoon, we reconvened at the hotel bar to plan the next steps of our adventure.

For whatever reasons, we did not make it to the pilgrim’s mass the day we arrived so we made sure to go the following day, October 12, which celebrates the Virgin of the Pillar, when Mary appeared to St James as he was preaching the gospel in Spain in 40 AD. The mass was a much more elaborate ceremony than those delivered in the churches of the small villages along the Way, but the message of the pilgrim’s blessing was the same: Lord, be my companion on this journey, give me strength when I am weary, shine light where there is darkness, console me when I am dejected and guide me at the intersections. Or words to that effect. And usually the priest will ask us to remember these supplications as we return to our normal lives, our Camino of Life. This final observation took on a special urgency with the realization that this was the last blessing of my journey. In a long moment of silence, I reflected on my pilgrimage, the many wonders revealed, and on the significance of the day. I am not a particularly religious or spiritual or meditative person. But I felt a confluence of these three pillars of the soul, and acknowledged that my pilgrimage had been a good one and now was a good time to move on. Ultreia et suseia , as they say on the Way. Onward and upward!

And thus ended my Camino. But of course, the Camino never ends. It simply enters a new stage. And for Lisa, John, Paula and me, the next stage was a drive through Spain ending with a week in Madrid. What follows is a quick glimpse of that trip, which always was a part of the pilgrimage.

After Santiago, Paula and I took a bus to Porto and had a great time just being together. We wandered the streets and the riverfront, tasted port, took the metro to a coastal fishing village for a sumptuous seafood meal with a bottle of waiter-recommended vinho verde for esophageal transit assistance, met with a pilgrim couple I knew for a chicken piri piri dinner, enjoyed those tasty little cream tarts, and pretty much stayed occupied even though we had no plans. John and Lisa rented a car and drove north to Finisterre and Muxia. A couple days later, we met up again and began our driving trip across the north of Spain, reversing the direction Lisa and I had travelled.

We drove with determination to escape the rainstorms that were to batter the northwest coast for the next several weeks. We ended up that evening in Gijon, where we found another parador (although this one without much of a parking lot!), wandered down the long promenade by the sea only to find out we had passed by all the eating establishments, and returned to select – by luck – a fine place for dinner.

The next day we drove though the Picos de Europa, three limestone massifs that thrust upward within the Cantabrian mountain range, offering stunning views of rugged peaks, alpine valleys and narrow gorges cut by rivers rushing about searching for lower ground. After a fine lunch of fabada asturiana and roasted goat, John expertly drove us along the winding mountain roads back to the coast where we stayed at yet another parador in Santillana del Mar, this one with ample parking. In the morning, we found a coffee bar frequented by peregrinos – Santillana del Mar is located along the Camino del Norte.

Our next jaunt would take us to Haro, a town in the middle of Rioja Alta country and home to many fine wineries, including that of Ramon Bilbao. This Rioja wine had become our go to red wine and it seemed only right that we visit it’s birthplace and take what turned out to be a most interesting and informative tour. Don and Erin will remember Haro and the “herradura”, the horseshoe shaped street through the old town lined with bars and restaurants.

After a relatively leisurely drive back to the coast, we came to San Sebastián, whose famous pintxos we had been looking forward to eating since leaving Santiago. John’s driving skills were put to the test again as our hotel was located in the “pedestrian only” section of town. Our quest was to find the best pintxo bar in town and after checking out a half dozen or so found that the number one spot was right across from our hotel!

The following day we drove south to Madrid, checked into our Airbnb and dropped off the rental car. Paula and I always start our Madrid stays with a visit to Bodega Santa Cecilia, to try out the latest wine recommendations, and soon we were there with John and Lisa. We were quickly joined by Paula and Juan Miguel. By day, we visited museums and stadiums and took a train to Segovia to eat cochinillo and cordero, joined in this last venture by Linda Belonje, a true friend from Bangkok rugby days. By night, the six of us went to a flamenco show and a zarzuela, or light-hearted Spanish opera. On our last day, we ate heartily at Sagardi, a restaurant serving Galician fare. Appropriately, we included a chuletón of rubia gallega. And, at some point near the end of the meal, we raised our glasses and toasted each other, thankful for a wonderful visit and hopeful of returning again.

So there you have it: it was a dream after all! I want to thank all of you for the kind words of encouragement before, during and since I walked the Way of St James and I wish you Buen Camino on your journey.

Let’s start with yesterday: Lisa and I walked from Palas de Rei to Arzua, vía Melide, a town well known for its pulperías, or octopus restaurants. Pulpo Gallego is a popular dish throughout Spain. The octopus is boiled until firm but tender and then spiced with paprika and coarse salt and drizzled with olive oil. Served with a cold albariño wine, it really makes for a fine meal. I know that since Soul of an Octopus and My Octopus Teacher, some people have become very queasy about eating such an intelligent creature and prefer beef from dumb cows.

Melide is only halfway to Arzua and if we stopped to eat, pulpo or carne, it would have been a long day. And this was already going to be a 15+ mile day. So, at 2:30, we arrived hungry at the Alberge Santiago Apostal in Arzua and began a search for restaurants. We tried two recommended places, Casa Chelo and Casa Nene, but they told us it was “Impossible!” Other places were also full or closed on Sundays. However, as we went to our rooms for a shower and rest, we walked by a first class parilla, or grill, and the chef was throwing on ribs and veal steaks. Lisa and I looked at each other: “then here, said I, with a sudden cry, is our crematorium!”

Later we were feasting on churrasco, a variety of grilled meats and sausage, accompanied by our friend from Rioja, Ramon Bilbao. Pilgrims need their protein! And wine! After a not so good cafe con brandy, we figured we better make up for that with a round or two of orujo hierbas. After the long walk and the big meal and the digestifs, I did not feel the clarity of mind to write and post the days thoughts and events.

And that brings me to today. This is day 33 on the Camino. Tomorrow, Lisa and I march into Santiago. It will be a day of fulfillment, the end of a 500 mile journey over an ancient path along which have travelled the multitudes seeking revelation, repentance, release or, recently, recreation. In a very real sense, then, today is the last day on the Camino, the last time I check into a new hotel or albergue for the night; the last arrival beer and meeting up with other pilgrims to discuss the day; the last night of sleeping alone.

The Camino brought me to a lovely rural hotel for my final night. The room is comfortable with a clean bed and hot shower. Outside, I can hear traffic, but most of it is farm equipment, a bit noisy but so appropriate to the setting. And the hotel restaurant is one of those surprising finds where the food is finely prepared, proudly served, delicious to eat and with a great wine selection.

It will take a few months to assimilate this experience, but for now I reminisce: pastor Michael’s blessing in which he prayed to God to open doors for me, the long trip just to get to St. Jean Pied de Port, the beauty of the Pyrenees, the peaceful quiet of ancient stone chapels, the camaraderie of the caminantes, the dark early morning departures, Roca Rey, the solace of long lonely walks, the luthier’s workshop – and the luthier!; the sore feet – and the physiotherapist!; the alternative routes experienced by few; the Gallegos who allowed me to take their picture (and those who refused); today’s lunch; and so much more.

There are many things I wanted to talk about to give you a feel for the Camino which I either forgot or figured the day’s post was getting too long. Like how to figure where to stay or the the ins and outs of the Pilgrim’s menu. I did not play Wordle or do crossword puzzles or watch TV. I seldom checked the news (except to follow the war in Ukraine) or stock market or sports. I sang the same three songs out loud when I was walking alone. These are the topics of discussion over a beer sometime in the future. Sometime after I have walked into Santiago. Tomorrow.