Some interesting things have occurred to me over the last few days. I’ve experienced many repeat moods from the PCT and very similar feelings towards documenting my journey as I did half way through the last. As I walked in the rain with a bit more gusto than the last few days I started reflecting on the first few days on the Camino when I thought it was only me and the trail.

Initially when I started bumping into people I was shocked and excited to know other beings were out here too. Since Santander there have been many other Pilgrims along the way, and I’m finding it a little hard to adjust to the notion of sharing rooms with other hikers who snore, sleep restlessly and wake up before the crack of dawn. I have to say the first ten days of solitude have made me somewhat antisocial. A lot of the other hikers are also much older, and some of their English skills aren’t great, but there just hasn’t been that same feeling of community and people looking out for one another like the PCT. I think the big difference is that everyone out here is very self sufficient. You can’t run out of water or food for more than 10km at a time, if someone’s soaking wet you know there’s a hot shower at the end of the day for them, there’s no such thing as a trail name, hiker boxes or trail angels (although a sweet old man standing in his front yard when I passed by the other day did give me a non-alcoholic beer to take with me).

I didn’t hike this trail expecting it to be like the PCT, but I’m starting to realise I’m hiking this trail partly to reflect on the PCT with space to think outside the noise of the everyday. I’ve needed to be back out walking to fully process all of what happened last year and fully appreciate what I achieved. I think it’s inevitable that I’m making comparisons, and sometimes I do have to stop myself from wishing I was completely out in the wilderness, but I’m thinking more about what I want to take away from this experience. Some people have asked me why I’ve come all the way from Australia to hike the Camino. I’ve fluffed a few different answers, but the truth is I needed to. I needed to go on a long walk to think, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.

The strange thing is that in the first week I thought I had it all figured out. What I want to do, where I want to be, and the things I’m looking forward to doing. Now I’m constantly wrestling with the part of my brain that likes to question everything and make alternative suggestions for me to consider. If anyone knows where the off switch is for that, please let me know!

What I am somewhat confident about is my need for a base and to start building some kind of foundation for my life. I could be wrong, but there’s definitely something missing from my nomadic lifestyle which involves family, friends and community. Strangely enough my biggest sense of community actually comes from those who follow and comment on my blog. The consistent names that appear to share a thought, a question or advice. This is something I’m looking forward to building on in this ‘real’ world I’ve heard so much about.

I’ve read over my day 15 post about five times now and I just don’t have the heart to post it. Coming back to the Camino after two days off was a bit of a struggle, but it also made me look at the experience in a different way.

I realised that labelling and counting days didn’t quite feel right anymore, as each day has started to flow continuously into the next, and perhaps that’s how it’s meant to be. Losing track of days and time seems like a necessity on this trail. It’s not about beating the snow in Washington, averaging 25 miles a day or racing to the end because my visa is going to run out. It’s a journey along one of many paths in Spain that all lead to one destination. And even then there is more, Cape Finesterre or Muxia which are beyond Santiago. I’ve lost the trail accidentally many times, and sometimes purposefully taken a different route over these last few days, which has helped me appreciate the freedom and flexibility of finding my own way on this journey.

I also think forcing myself into the routine if writing everyday was putting unnecessary pressure on myself. So I’ve taken a few days to reflect and am starting the second half of my journey with fresh feet and an open mind, and through this I hope to be able to share a more meaningful Camino experience, even if it is simply through a photo or video from time to time.

I didn’t sleep well last night so I stayed snuggled in my warm sleeping bag this morning looking at the snow on the mountains outside the window. The only bus departing Urdon left at 6pm, which meant there was no rush to get down the mountain until the afternoon.

When I forced my bare feet out of my sleeping bag and onto the cold floor, I hurried downstairs to glue myself to one of the heaters before joining Ali and Agnes on the balcony for our standard bowl of warm tea. We then headed up to the bar where I spent most of the day editing a snapshot of the Camino so far through the Basque Country.

I had terrible stomach pains today and spent a few more hours in my sleeping bag in the early afternoon before we started our descent down the mountain at 4pm. Tresviso is known for it’s award winning blue cheese, so Agnes took over 1kg down the mountain with her to share with Ernesto when she heads back to Guemes in a few days. Both Ali and Agnes are departing the trail as scheduled to head home, which meant we all ended up getting off the bus in different cities and continuing on solo. I went all the way back to Santander (80km) to start again on the Way where I left off tomorrow morning. It feels a bit weird sitting in the same bar and heading back to the same Albergue as I stayed in two nights ago, but I wouldn’t have missed this side trip with the girls for anything.

Here’s the snapshot of my first eight days of the Camino del Norte through the Basque Country…

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Today Ali, Agnes and I set off on a two-day detour off the Camino to hike up to the small village of Tresviso, 900m up in the lower part of the Picos de Europa mountain range.

The photo above was hung next to the fireplace in Ernesto’s living room, and when Agnes first talked about making the trip to go there, I knew it was an opportunity I couldn’t miss. The trip to the base of the mountain consisted of a bus trip to a tiny place called Urdon, which is basically a stop in the middle of nowhere between Santander and a town called Potes. We ended up getting a lift some of the way by a priest who owns the Albergue in Santander thanks to some fine negotiating by Ali, then the bus took us on the windy road to the base of the mountain.

It was the perfect day with the sun shining but the air still fresh. I left my tent in Santander so my pack was a little lighter which made the going up easier and much more enjoyable. It reminded me of doing the side trip of Mt Whitney in the Sierras, even though this was nowhere near as high. I can sometimes have quite a narrow focus and was surprised that I felt so relaxed about straying so far from the Camino. In a strange way I had the sense from the moment we made the decision to go, that this was always meant to be part of the journey.

It was incredible how quickly the trail climbed with what felt like very little effort. Of course we passed people who had just run up the mountain and were on their way down all in a matter of a few hours, but it was so nice to have the time to take in the views, breathe in the mountain air, and admire the beauty of the peaks surrounding us.

Even though we stopped for snacks and breaks on the way up, it took us just over 3 hours to make it to the top. There were eagles circling in the current of the wind above and below us, sheep with bells on to greet us on arrival, and horses calling to us from the snowy paddocks on the other side of the hills. There was probably about 10cm of snow at the top, just enough for Ali to write a birthday message to her youngest son Jake who was turning 22, and for Agnes to make a snow angel.

I believe there’s less than 20 people who permanently live in Tresviso, the others just come up for the summer. The fresh layer of snow gave the whole village a mystical feel as we made our way to the bar at the top of the hill. We sat around the wood fire in the corner drinking hot chocolate and drying out our wet shoes and socks. Ali immediately made friends with the bar man with her impeccable Spanish skills, then we called Ernesto to tell him we’d safely arrived.

When the man at the bar heard we were friends of Ernesto’s we were made to feel like guests. He showed us to the Albergue which had 30 beds, a huge living space and a small but industrial looking kitchen. We made bowls of tea, ate the biscuits and cakes we’d brought with us, then Agnes emptied all the half bottles of red wine left by past guests into a bowl and made mulled wine. We huddled together in the kitchen while the heating warmed up chatting like old school friends. It’s hard to believe that the three of us, an Austrian, Australian and English woman who only met less than a week ago, would be sharing this experience together up in a tiny village in the north of Spain.

I had a slow morning today, wanting to spend as much time in this Guemes haven as possible. The group had breakfast at 8am and then people started to leave for the trail. I decided to stick around and explore the place a little more.

Ernesto showed those who remained the hermitage and explained the history of the paintings inside and who helped him build it. He then showed us through the museum which contains the jeep he travelled in for 2 years alongside all of the photos from his adventures more than 30 years ago. I’ve never seen anyone’s life documented in such a way.

I sat in a quiet room with my feet up, enjoying the warmth of the sun streaming in through the window and catching up on my writing. The place was so silent except for the quiet conversation of Agnes who was giving Ali a fresh trail haircut. Part of me wanted to spend days at this place, but another part of me knew this adventure must continue moving forward.

Agnes and I chatted to Ernesto about the small village up on the mountain called Tresviso where he used to be the priest. He showed us a picture of the trail heading up the 900m climb and we excitedly decided we were going to take a side trip and visit there after reaching Santander.

At around 2:30pm, after making the plan with both Ali and Agnes to visit Tresviso tomorrow, I set off for the 15km coastal walk to Santander. The trail wound itself right alongside the cliffs past many secluded beaches, and then led down to the sand for the last few kilometres.

I made some pretty firm conclusions about the direction I want my life to head this year while I walked along the cliffs. More accurately I made a firm decision about where I don’t want it to go. I’ve spent many years hopping from one opportunity to the other, never really questioning if the proposition is actually something I want to do. I’ve decided to take full control of the reins and go with my gut on this one. What it has provided me with is freedom of time, and flexibility during this trip to head off the beaten track if the opportunity beckons.

Once on the beach I met a woman walking her five dogs who I thought was going to tell me off for walking on the rickety walkway which had been fenced off. Instead she approached me as she recognised I was a pilgrim and spoke perfect English. She told me stories about her life in Africa, her first husband who she met at 16 at a barn dance in Ireland, politics in Spain, and about pilgrims she’s met along the Camino. This was all in a 2km beach stretch. It was a bit sad to say goodbye when we reached the end of the beach as I’d really enjoyed the company and conversation.

After the cute little boat ride across the bay to Santander, Carlos, a Spanish hiker who was at the Albergue in Guemes, met me at the dock to guide me to the Albergue where Ali and Agnes who had left earlier were waiting. It was so nice to have company in a big city like Santander, and more than one Spanish speaker to help me order something other than tortilla de patatas for dinner!

Every step of the 35km I walked yesterday became worthwhile when I stepped foot in the Albergue in Guemes at 7pm, which unbeknownst to me is legendary on this particular trail. The history behind this place is quite remarkable, and from what I understood, Ernesto, who is the grandfather of this home, conceived the idea of Albergues for pilgrims along the El Camino. In comparison to the last two places I stayed, I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Last night all my great intentions of an early night were destroyed by the impromptu rehearsal of a brass band in the next room. Initially I thought it was someone practising the trumpet, but a cacophony of instruments begun and continued for at least an hour.

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The rain hit today about 30 minutes after leaving Colindres. The first few hours of the trail was on roads, some of them quite large with very little space to walk on the shoulders, which did not make for pleasant hiking next to speeding cars in the rain.

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The trail did eventually go through some very sweet little villages, some with incredibly old churches which towered above the rest of the town. But my only company were the cows in the meadows and the horses and donkeys who were also displeased about the persistent rain. I even saw a couple of sheep with two little lambs in tow, hurrying to find shelter in a small little barn. They looked at me wondering why I was not doing the same.

I had the most incredible tortilla de patatas with bacon and cheese in a little bar in Gama, and while I was inside, the thunder and lighting hit so hard the lights went out. I went outside again once it had died down a little, but ended up stopping again a few hundred meters up the road to double check if I was on the right track. The woman inside didn’t speak English, so she got on a computer and translated every word she wanted to say using Google translate. Although quite a painstaking experience, as the simple conversation took almost 20 minutes, she gave me valuable information which came in handy when I found myself confused again later up the trail.

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After my comical meltdown the road turned into trail and led me up a steep cliff alongside the ocean. It was spectacular! I was so overcome with joy at the views and the chance to walk on the sand that all of the turmoil of the previous hours disappeared. The track to Noja is certainly one not to miss!

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I stopped about 1km from Noja in a little bar to warm up, then messaged Ali (who was waiting for me in Guemes) that I would try my hardest to get there. From this point I concentrated on walking. I was determined to follow the arrows and continue putting one foot in front of the other until I made it there. I stopped for a quick snack in a restaurant along the way and asked how far Castillo was. He told me I was already there which meant I only had between 10 – 12km to go. It was drizzling but not raining hard, and I felt alright until about 3km from town when my feet started hurting so much I changed to sandals and bare feet to make it the last little stretch.

When I reached the huge looking house I opened the door and was greeted by about five other hikers all sitting around an open fire warming up. Ali appeared and gave me a huge hug, then I was offered warm tea, wine, and a seat by the fire. I was completely overwhelmed. I had been in such solitude I’d forgotten how to communicate, and was blown away that there were so many others on the trail I’d never bumped into. At least five others appeared after I had my shower and sat at the dining table for a feast of soup, fish, egg and potatoes in a broth and then apple strudel!

At the end of the meal Ernesto told us the history of the Albergue and how the concept was developed. Last year he hosted over 7,000 pilgrims from 70 different countries, and relies solely on donations to keep the place running. There is a hermitage, a museum and a library here, all containing photos, painting and objects related either to the Camino or Ernesto’s travels from the past 30 years. I was so tired when I got to bed I had to go straight to sleep without writing, but I had one of the best sleeps on the trail so far.

I slept really deeply last night but had a number of very vivid nightmares which I can’t say I’ve had for a long time. Maybe it was the canned meatballs I ate for dinner last night. I hunted down a bar with wifi tonight and sat next to a group of 7 older men playing cards who were obviously poking fun at one another because there was a lot of scowling followed by laughter going on. Here’s the video I took of the Albergue in Islares last night…

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I was on the road by 8am this morning as I wasn’t exactly sure how long this stage was going to be, and I wanted to get a head start on the rain. The forecast said the rain would begin at 10am which would give me a pleasant two hours of walking along the coast and 200m up to the Chapel of San Mames. Almost on cue, just after 10 the rain hit.

I was confused by distances today as I walked 4km to El Pontarron and then saw a sign that said 24km to Laredo which was only meant to be 17 according to my notes. I had plenty of time regardless so I stopped for a coffee in a cute bar in Guriezo where the woman miraculously spoke English. I had so many things I wanted to talk about but she was busy with other things, hence my starvation of conversation continues.

The trail was grossly muddy in sections and for the first time I was actually praying for more road walking. I think my feet and legs have really got used to the hard surfaces which is a blessing because the vast majority of walking since Bilbao has been on large and small roads. I took off all my layers except my t-shirt to go up the 200m climb in my rain jacket, but by the top the rain was hammering down, and once the wind picked up it was bitterly cold. Unfortunately I didn’t have ANY cover for another hour to even put an extra layer on as it would have got drenched had I stopped. Thoughts of the PCT in Washington came flooding back and I could only be thankful that a town with a cosy warm bar was only hours away, rather than days!

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Eventually I reached the outskirts of Liendo where I took shelter in an open garage where I found a man chopping wood. I was going to see if he minded me putting on a few extra layers but he jumped in and told me there was an Albergue 1km up the road. I moved at a pace halfway between power walking and jogging and reached the town centre with the kind of cosy warm bar I’d been dreaming about. I tried to dry off a little but still entered dripping wet with all eyes at the bar staring at me. I pointed at the hot chocolate packets and ordered tortilla de patatas even though I’m officially sick of it now.

When I left the bar it was still raining but I put on my long shirt and vest and felt a lot better during the stretch to Laredo. The trail took a detour to a small town called Tarrueza which I think a car on the national route stopped to tell me to avoid, but I was already down the hill when they whistled at me. I wasn’t sure if they were trying to warn me of danger but like the theory of most hikers, backtracking is always the last option.

The trail also took a long windy way into Laredo, but the views were beautiful and there was a monument for the Camino right at the top of the hill. On the way down the hill I passed a sign for a restaurant called Cantabria with a Camino symbol on it. I thought they might have a Peregrino special, but when I arrived I found it was quite a fancy establishment. It was too late to make a quick exit as everyone’s attention was on the hiker with a dripping wet pack still attached to her back. I was shown to a table complete with white table cloth and cotton napkin and ordered the mushroom crepes and some kind of incredibly tasty fish which has changed my idea of Spanish cuisine completely.

I drank a bottle of still water from a wine glass and ended the meal with the best coffee I’ve had yet. I thought I would feel completely lethargic, but I actually bounced out of the restaurant ready to tackle the last 5km to Colindres. I decided to go this route rather than worry about the ferry to Santona which was a great choice as I later discovered the ferry wasn’t running which would have been devastating. Instead I walked in the thunder and lighting for another hour, a little concerned my aluminium hiking poles might act as conductors, so I kept them as low to the ground as possible. When I reached the Albergue the door was locked but I had the number to call in my notes. The woman didn’t speak English but I managed to take down another phone number which she read out in Spanish to call. The second number was for the local police who also didn’t speak English. Somehow I managed to communicate that I was at the front door to the Albergue and about a minute later a police car showed up to escort me to the bar which had the key. It felt incredibly odd being driven in a cop car to a random bar to pay 5 euros for a key and get another stamp in my passport. They then drove me back again and wished me well. Gracias Carlos and the other guy whose name I couldn’t pronounce.

It’s a bit weird being the only person in these Albergues which have beds for at least 18 people and must be bustling in summer. Even stranger is that this one has two doors which are locked and I think one must be the toilet. I’ve tried the key 100 times with no luck. I went to a pub close by to use the bathroom but I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do if I have to go in the middle of the night. You don’t even want to know the creative options which have been floating through my head!

I turned my 17km day into a 24 today after arriving in Castro Urdiales at 2:30pm in the pouring rain, and figured I may as well continue. I woke up naturally at 6:30am and couldn’t get back to sleep because my back and legs were aching. Seeing as though I had a bathtub I decided to soak for a while before heading downstairs for breakfast. The tortilla de patatas is a great staple, but I think I’ve already over done it and my stomach wasn’t in a happy place this morning.

I used up my 1GB of data in 8 days and had enough credit to top it up except to do so I had to call a special multi-language customer service number for Orange (902011900 – this number took me hours to find). The call cost drained my credit below the amount I needed which meant I had to find another place to buy credit before calling again. Oh boy, the joy of learning things the hard way.

Most of the trail was road walking today. Either the insoles are working or my feet are toughening up because it didn’t bother me as much as it has. My right knee has flared up tonight though and my lower back is giving me its usual grief, so Barbie if I make it to 80 I won’t be going anywhere either with my creaky joints! The rain started at about 11am and didn’t give up the rest of the day. I am SO incredibly thankful that I invested in rain gear despite my grumbling about the price of my Salomon rain pants. These pants are magical compared to what I had on the PCT. My the lessons I’ve learned since April last year. Even the latex gloves over my 1 euro fleece gloves is working a treat!

There were a few conflicting arrows today but mainly to direct bikes one way and hikers the other. When I reached Castro Urdiales an old man walked up to me as if I was a celebrity. ‘Camino’ he yelled and continued to pat my arm as if to say ‘good on you’. His smile and enthusiasm gave me a huge burst of energy which helped me decide to continue onto the next stage, even though Castro was beautiful and now on my list of places to revisit.

Castro was about 2km long and right at the end I passed the Albergue which Ali had told me was fab. Ali’s only got 2 weeks on trail and has skipped ahead a little which means she can send me notes on what’s coming up. Even though we only stayed one night in the same town I feel an incredible connection with her. Probably because she’s the only other person on this planet I know hiking the northern trail and can sympathise with the horrible weather, muddy trail and the consequential aches and pains from walking 20+ kilometres a day on this trail (mostly on roads), with a heavy pack.

The additional 7km were wet, cold and hard on the feet. I laughed when I came across a huge sign for camping pointing into a concrete tunnel. I think I would have rather slept in the tunnel than a soggy campground, most of which are closed until summer. There were some nice views on the final stretch and I used the time to practise some of my ‘Learn in your car Spanish lessons’. A man surprised me from behind as I was practising how to say ‘do you have a cheaper room?’ ‘Tienne un quarto mars barato?’ (no idea how to spell any of these phrases by the way!)

I had called ahead to the Albergue already and got excited when I saw someone else’s washing and peeked into a room to see someone sleeping. Another hiker! When the man woke I discovered he actually lives here and was the guy I spoke to on the phone. We discussed the upcoming stages which have many alternative routes to consider and he was shocked that I’d actually walked the Camino in the rain over the last few days and didn’t just walk the highway. He gave me some good advice and got out several books to prove that the alternative routes are also officially the Camino, even though I argued why there would be more than one ‘official’ route. I guess it’s not as black and white as the PCT, and in the end it’s up to the individual. Hike your own hike I suppose!

I took a video to prove that I actually made dinner tonight but my internet is so painfully slow I’ve got no way to upload it. Instead of waiting until 8:30pm and going outside in the pouring rain 7 minutes up the road, the guy at the Albergue offered me some pasta and meatballs to cook up. Eating meat out of a can always irks me a little but my hunger won over my tastebuds on this occasion. There’s no heating in this place and I can feel a draft coming in the window beside me, so I’m snuggled up with five layers on hoping for a good nights sleep.

I got all philosophical over breakfast this morning and started writing about searching for contentment and a few other things, but mysteriously the draft has disappeared, so I’ll have to save these thoughts for another day. There’s been a few strange occurrences today that have tested my patience like deleting all my favourite PCT videos and a host of others off my phone by mistake this morning, spending two hours trying to add data to my phone which ended with me making the purchase, only to discover that I may have accidentally bought a new SIM card that will be shipped to an old address in Australia, and being rained on so heavily I couldn’t even get my phone out to film because of the latex gloves I needed to wear over my fleece gloves and freezing cold hands.

The day was short (maybe less than 15km from Ortuella), and flat, so I’m counting this day as a nero (near zero kilometres). I was in a strange head space for a while, which made the endless walking on a cycling path a little arduous. There were also so many conflicting arrows pointing in three different directions at times that I started losing my mind and became verbally abusive at the trail, ranting out loud and stamping my poles in disgust. Luckily a kind man who may have seen my outburst walked just ahead of me and got me back on track. He even waited at the top of a steep climb for me to catch up so he could point me in the right direction.

Everyone I’ve met has raved about Pobena, so when I arrived as the sun came out I had high hopes about finding a cute little cafe I could drink a hot chocolate and relax in. Because it was Sunday, the town was absolutely bustling, and all the bars were spilling out onto the pavement which meant there was little space for a dripping wet backpacker. I felt self conscious the whole time, and hid away in the corner of one bar with my chocolate a la taza.

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When I left Pobena the trail wound around the cliffs of the Cantabrian Sea once again with breathtaking views. The powerful crashing sound of the waves was so rhythmic I fell deep into thought, and despite the bitter cold wind, the rain held off making the whole experience magical. I passed many people taking a leisurely stroll plus a Shetland pony I mistook for a large dog.

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The trail continued along the cliffs until it swung into Kobaron, where as stated in the notes, there was no accommodation. I ended up having to cross over the provincial border into Cantabria to El Haya where I found a hotel with wifi and rooms for 35 euros. Not only that, this room has a bathtub which I’ve already soaked my legs and back in for a couple of hours. Now I’m waiting until 8:30pm to eat a proper meal downstairs for dinner.

It rained heavily all night, and all I could think of was how lucky I was to be safe inside my little tent. I felt so at home that it got me thinking about the fact that I actually lived in my tent for 6 months. That’s longer than I’ve stayed in some apartments. I automatically put all my items in the same places they used to live: phone and watch in the top side pocket, water bottle to the far side of the door, rain jacket under my dry sack pillow, and draw string bag for tent behind the lower mesh pockets (although I moved it because it was getting wet), pack, shoes and poles outside under the awning. I set my alarm for 6am this morning but snoozed for 30 mins when I saw how completely dark it was outside.

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It was an absolutely stunning and peaceful morning, except for one car blaring house music with the engine still running. There were actually lots of cars parked with people in them as I walked down the hill into Bilbao – they all seemed a little suspect to me.

I ate a banana on my way down the hill and a mini croissant I grabbed on the way before finding a cute little cafe/bar for a coffee. I began studying my notes for the day ahead and saw that I’d already walked 147.5km. I’ve now added 20km to that which means I’ve crossed the 100 mile mark. Sadly there was no 100 written with stones, sticks or pine cones to mark the occasion, but it did get me thinking about those stinking hot miles to Warner Springs on the PCT and the state of my feet when I arrived. I’m not sure how I ever made it.

I was told I had to visit the Guggenheim Museum, so on the way I was on the lookout for a gear store as my hiking pole ends had worn out already after 6 days. I found two fit looking joggers who were able to point me in the right direction to Decathlon. I spent an hour in this store drooling over incredible gear at ridiculously low prices. If I didn’t have to carry it I would had stocked up on absolutely everything a hiker could ever want. What I did end up purchasing were two new rubber ends for my poles, a pair of fleece gloves, a down vest, sofsole gel insoles for my shoes, chocolate cookies, cereal bars and Gatorade all for 60 euros. Insane! My friend Murad said I could donate the vest he had lent me, so I gave it to a sweet old man who was probably the worst clarinet busker, though one of the most entertaining I’ve seen, as I checked out the Guggenheim.

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I knew there was no justifying any short cuts to this journey, so I begrudgingly took the red route and immediately regretted it when I was greeted with a jungle of concrete and an incredibly steep, never ending climb in the rain.

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I took a rest with my entire body sprawled out on a park bench not long after, and still had a ways to climb to make it to the top. Once I stopped producing heat from all the climbing, the wind and rain picked up which left me freezing on the way down and in great need of a coffee and cosy little bar to thaw out in.

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After finding one of my favourite bars in a town called Cruces, the trail was blocked off behind a football stadium with huge fencing and a bulldozer. After using a couple who were just visiting the area to translate what one of the construction guys was telling me, I discovered some temporary arrows along the way. At one point I thought I was really lost, then magically saw the original yellow arrows appear again. I must have built up some good trail karma as I haven’t made many wrong turns throughout this trip.

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Then suddenly things went pair shaped. One simple decision on which way to go caused me to somehow miss Portugalete altogether. An old man spoke to me on the way for at least 10 minutes while I nodded and smiled and pretended to understand because I was tired of fighting it. He probably told me exactly which way to go, but instead I must have followed the arrows on the outskirts of Portugalete which should have been tomorrow’s route. When I discovered this my mood turned very dark indeed.

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Then it got worse before it got better…

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The group of kids literally dragged me to a hotel close by, but I was a little unnerved by some of their gestures and bursts of laughter that at one point I thought they might be taking me to a brothel. They brought me to the Ortuella Hotel, who to my dismay charge 50 euros a night. I asked if the price included any food, but the guy laughed so I assume that means no. As a result I made myself at home as any thru-hiker tends to do by hanging my tent to dry in the shower, then bought a very cheap and nutritious dinner of chocolate milk, cheese and popcorn.