No wrong way.

Posted by James on September 5, 2018
Posted in: Camino de Santiago, Camino del Norte, Travel, Uncategorized. Leave a comment

Day 4

Sept 2

14 Miles

29500 Steps

1920 feet in elevation gain

Getaria – Itziar (via Deba)

What a difference a day can make. I woke up this morning rested and renewed. Good conversation, great food, a bottle of wine and a good nights sleep. A recipe for uplifted spirits.

Leaving Getaria, you encounter pine forests almost immediately after leaving town. The sound of the city falls always. A gentle sea breeze whispers through the pine needles. A gentle climb gives way to a gentle descent. My legs recharged, the hiking is easy. Upon the hillside, several hundred yards away, I see three dogs playing in an open field. The boundless energy of dogs at play.

As i walk from forest to farmland and back to forest, I hear the report of a rifle in the distance. And then another. The sound carries through the valleys echoing off surrounding mountains. Unalarming, as there is some distance, between me and the source, although I am uncertain of the direction in which it is coming. Two more reports, followed by silence. I assumed firearms were banned from Spain.

I make another gentle climb to the edge of Askizu, and discover the source. A hunter out with his hunting dogs. He is loading his dogs in the back of his hatchback. A well sunned man in his mid 30’s. He appears to have little patience with the dogs he is training. After failing to load up in the car as commanded, the man scruffs the dog and aggressively heaves him into his crate and slams the gate shut. Slamming the hatch in a final show of his frustration.

The man is unaware of my approach, his Weatherby Orion clearly visible leaning against his car. 50 yards away, I don’t want to startle the man, I loudly scuff my feet while coughing. My attempt at forewarning, still clearly startling, the man spins around, carrying a gruff look. He stares at me as I approach, I return the fixed gaze. Within 10 yards, I utter, “buenas dias”.

No response. The man hasn’t moved nor has his gaze changed.

I quickly close the distance when directly across from him, I turn to my left, smile, “It’s a good day for it” and carry on my way.

Shortly there after, I crested the peak of the trail and drop down to Zumaia.

The hiking is good today. Out of Zumaia, you climb about 600 feet to Elorriaga. It’s a camping ground of sorts with a variety of hiking trails and roadways converging.

A road side food truck offers light fare. Beer, coffee, and light snacks. I stop for a short break. Approaching from the Camino I notice two women hiking together. They walk up to the food truck and I say hello. One is French the other from Belgium. The French woman engages in conversation.

She informs me their is an alternate route known as GR121 or Ruta de Flysch. I confirm its existence in my guide book. It is the same distance to Deba, although runs more along the coast.

She informs me she has heard it is much less strenuous than the same section of the Camino, but the scenery much more appealing.

She was both wrong and right at the same time. It was incredibly more strenuous, but the views of the coast cliffs were nothing short of breath taking. Vertical cliff faces towering several hundred feet in the air, meeting the crashing waves of the sea. I have never beholden such rugged oceanic beautify.

Later I would learn from a local woman, I met of the very same trail that afternoon, scenes from the HBO series “Game of Thrones” were filmed there. I could definitely see the appeal.

While walking with the Spanish woman in her 60’s, the terrain rugged and steep, she seemed to have no problem keeping pace up and down the hills, even while walking with a cane. Never assume one’s ability based on visual perception seems to be a recurring theme this Camino.

We talk about California. She happily declaring she had been to Los Angeles and San Francisco. She went on to inform me I should be thankful for the dry weather. “From February to the end of June, it rained every day”, she said.

Then through the middle of August every other day on average.

“How unusual to have 5 days with no rain, perhaps you brought it with you! The dry weather I mean. Isn’t half your state on fire?”

I nod in agreement.

She was fun to walk with, but evident we had left her husband well behind with our pace she said, “Well after 35 years, I should wait for him, you are much to young for me to run off with you!”

I laughed and parted with a smile and a goodbye.

Shortly after, I caught up with the French woman. I learned her name was Julie. She had been on the Camino for 900KM starting in France. It was her 3rd Camino.

She had planned to do the Camino Frances again, but having met her current walking companion from Belgium some 10 days before, had decided to join her on the Camino Norte.

“Good thing”, she says, “Everyone on the Frances is so happy as it is most often their first Camino. Everyone becomes a philosopher, and its the biggest thing they ever done!”

Her tone was such, it was evident she had forgotten what it was like to do something so bold and new.

I pondered if I should remind her, that she was once new. You know Americans, always quick to share their opinion, I abstained from carrying forward the stereotype.

I too remember my first weeks on the Camino Frances. It was with the most bold things I had done. I indeed was the philosopher she speaks of. Should be begrudge those finding their feet for the first time? The freedom a nice long walk brings, to the body, heart and soul.

We have all been new once, at a passion, hobby or career. Perhaps we all do start out idealistic, I find its the human way.

We descend a steep hillside onto stone roads. Julie informs me that when you see roads of this structure, they remain from the time of the Romans, as they built many of the first roads in Spain.

Entering into Deba, we part ways. I’m off for a snack, and she is off to the alburgue.

Only upon reaching for my guide book do I realize, I’m in the wrong place. As a result of taking the alternate route, I bypassed the town of Itziar. Some 4 kilometers back up a steep incline is my hotel.

I laugh to myself. And realize, I am better for having messed up. I wouldn’t change a thing. Not having the will or strength to double back, I hop in a cab. Using language translations apps, we are able to have a verbal conversation. The taxi driver informs me, “This happens all the time!”

What a wonderful day.

Buen Camino.

For photos of my trip: http://www.instragram.com/diverja

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Wild Thing

Posted by James on September 2, 2018
Posted in: Camino de Santiago, Camino del Norte, Travel. Leave a comment

Day 3.

September 1st

Zauratz to Getari

About 3.5 miles

Elevation gain – 0

I woke up in quite a funk this morning. I didn’t feel well, my body was tired and I still haven’t slept well. Most of all, my heart was missing home.

The hotel was fine, but lacked AC, which isn’t uncommon in the region as the temperatures are generally fairly moderate. My room lacked a window to the outside world, however. Instead, my window opened into some sort of open air stairwell in the center of the building, the structure of which reminded me of a mine elevator. Air flow was minimal at best. After showering the night before, the humidity level was high, resulting in a night of rwaking every hour in a pool of sweat.

I tried to sleep in, but considering the humidity and general discomfort, wasn’t really an option.

Grumpy and tired, I make my way down to breakfast. It had escaped me the night before the hotel breakfast started at 8am and was buffet style. I walked into the dining room a few minutes after 8 to an absolute mad house. There were 40 people all trying to get food at the same time, it was crowded, people were loud and rude to each other. You would think these people hadn’t eaten in a week. I was no mood for the chaos so I went and found a table and waited for the hyenas to finish devouring their prey.

Much to my chagrin most of the initial offerings of the buffet were depleted. I felt exceptionally bad for the single server trying to replenish the buffet amidst the demands of the apparently starving people. I have not seen similar behavior in Spain; I was caught completely by surprise. A few angry words were exchanged with the server amongst a sea of glaring eyes at directed at this poor lady. Who the hell were these people and where were their manners?

After about 20 minutes, she managed to catch up with the backlog of requests, and replenished the depleted buffet. I made my way to the buffet to grab my breakfast just about the time, HALF the hyenas returned to the buffet to stuff their plates full of food again. They started aggressively crowding me. I wasn’t having it. I made myself as large as possible and intimidating. It was clear to those in my immediate vicinity, if you tried to push by me, you were going to find yourself missing a limb.

I was given my space.

The food was adequate. The coffee and orange juice ranking among the best. The breakfast was included with the room, so I didn’t have to wait for a bill. As I walked by the exasperated server, I handed her 5 euro. She tried to refuse but I wasn’t having any of it. She finally took it and smiled big. She knew I understood the circumstance she was in.

As I walked out of the dining room, glancing out the side door of the hotel, I saw a tour bus. The front desk later told me the tour bought out all but three of their rooms the previous night and had been a nightmare to deal with. Apparently the cost of the tour was so exorbitant the patrons used their manners as part of the payment. Go back from hence you came, ne’er to return, you rude bastards.

Needing some air and time away from said folk, I made my way down to the beach. My eyes gazed toward the sea, What am i doing here?

Lacking any sort of resolve or motivation I returned to my room and packed my bag. Only 3.5 miles today, I told myself. Just 3.5 miles.

There were two routes in which to choose from this morning. One which involved a step climb of 400 feet, by a descent of equal distance. OR. I could walk along the road complete with a pedestrian path by the sea. Let me ponder that for a millisecond. The choice was simple.

“I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.”

-D. H. Lawrence

Well Mr Lawrence, you’ve apparently never seen a pissed off, sore, frustrated, tired, inconvenienced gay man have you? One my go so far to say, they are a wild thing.

With beautiful scenery in the surround, I plodded along, to ungrateful to even acknowledge the privilege of my experience. I was certainly feeling sorry for myself. I managed a few pictures along the route. More out of the guilt, than the enjoyment of having seen it.

Arriving in Getaria, my frustration only intensified. I booked a room claiming to be in Getaria, within a quarter mile of the city center. Feeling confident in my choices thus far, I failed to validate its location. Upon arriving, I pull up apple maps and punch in the address. 5 miles away. 5 miles pretty much at a perpendicular angle to that of the Camino. The rage was real. 10 mile round trip or a cab ride, neither of which I was inclined to do.

Being a holiday weekend I knew my options were limited. At this point the idea crossed my mind to scrap the rest of the trip, get on a bus to the nearest airport and head home. While early in the Camino, I had yet to find anything that resembled a groove. Everything seemed to be infinitely harder than my previous Camino. Poor me. Pity party of one, your table is now available.

Considering my options, I walked up the main thoroughfare of the small town. A pension (think bed and breakfast) was on the left, and a woman was standing outside. I stopped and said hello. We exchanged pleasantries. She recognized me as a pilgrim, (like its hard). I asked if she had a room, and she gave me a little bit of a frown. I explained my conundrum with the other hotel.

She paused in contemplation and then said, “Well, I do have a room that I don’t normally rent. I can show you if you like.”

I’m thinking, “Uh huh, this is a storage or laundry room.”

She opened the door to a newly renovated room. Modest, but new. She asked, “Will this do?”

A nod and a smile closed the deal.

The check in was instant.

Later in the day, I learned from causal conversation the room was in fact in her families “wing” of the pension, and had been her mothers room, whom had recently passed. She had just finished remodeling it the week before, and had planned to move her eldest daughter of three into the space later that day. Recognizing the immediate terror on my face, she added, “You are a pilgrim, it is my duty to help.”

I thanked her repeatedly, lacking the proper words to show the extent of my appreciation. She smiled with a nod, message received.

I set about unpacking, and texted a dear friend who happens to be in Paris on holiday. We exchanged stories of our travels, and made mention I was struggling. He told me to hang in there, things would get better. His words were uplifting.

I emailed the hotel I had made my reservation with the previous night. The response was that of arrogance, and finality. My response was abrupt and pointed. Over the course of the next two hours and several emails, the situation was resolved. My money would be refunded, and he requested if in the region again, he asked that I stay there so he could buy me a beer. If anything, I have a way with people.

My mood started to ease. Being within a short walk to the beach, I decided therapy of the sea might be the ticket. I made my way down, it was busy but not overly crowded. I sunned for about a half hour, turning a nice shade of pink. Wishing to avoid the appearance of scalded lobster I walked back to the pension.

While walking up, I noticed a very boisterous restaurant with well heeled patrons enjoying a mid afternoon lunch. Wine and cocktails abundant, with elegant food being presented. I might just have to give it a try, I haven’t had a “great” meal since my arrival. Suddenly my attention was drawn to a woman standing on the patio, napkin in hand, cell phone pressed to her ear screaming in english, “ YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO NEGOTIATE!”

Followed by a brief few seconds of silence, then a repeat of the same. Clearly an accomplished negotiator. (Tongue in cheek)

Walking in I was greeted by the woman as before, “How was the beach?!”

I replied, “It was quite nice. What about the restaurant across the street?”

Her eyes lit up, “It’s the best! I highly recommend. Although it is quite expensive, it has a Michelin star, you see.”

I smile ear to ear, my intentions are evident. She smiles back, “You’ll love it.”

Being after 3, and based on the customs of Spain and much of Europe, “Will they seat me now?”

“Oh, they often require a reservation, but since lunch normally ends at three and I saw a few large parties enter just before 3 you may be in luck”, she replied.

That was enough for me.

I will spare you the minute details; suffice to say the experience was phenomenal, and the food delectable. It ranks in the top 5 best meals I have ever had. If you wish to read about the restaurant, it is called Elkano.

Graciousness of a host, relaxing beach and delightful food. My spirit renewed. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Buen Camino.

Instagram for photos of my adventure: @diverja

The Power of the Sea

Posted by James on September 1, 2018
Posted in: Camino de Santiago, Camino del Norte, Travel, Uncategorized. Tagged: . Leave a comment

Day 2

August 31st

San Sebastián to Zarautz

14.6 Miles

29,900 steps

880 feet of elevation gain (and loss)

I woke up this morning rather sore, and rather tired. Motivation was lacking, but within a few minutes I was up and in the shower. Followed by a whirlwind of activity. I managed to cull some weight from my pack. Ditching a few extra items that I brought. Someone on the house keeping staff is the new owner of a virtually new pair of Levi’s.

The shower seemed to ease a good deal of soreness from my muscles, as did the simple act of moving around.

I made my way down to the restaurant in the hotel which featured an all you can eat buffet. A hikers dream come true. I ate my fill and hit the boardwalk out of town. At the end of the boardwalk began a moderate ascent into the hills. Urban bustle was quickly replaced by the calmness of forest. Much of the walk was on a small one lane road, that continued on into rural farmland. Farmland with sweeping views of the sea.

Cows grazed without a worry in the world. Coming from California, we are shown marketing claiming, “Happy California Cows.”

Recalling these commercials, I chuckled to myself, “These are happy cows.”

I passed a number of pilgrims along the way, having the pleasure of walking with a woman from Sweden for a half an hour. The Camino was an 11 year dream of hers. She had read a book about it and bided her time until all 3 of her boys were out of school and the house. Her joy was evident. We talked about the current political climate in the US and Sweden. I reassured her, I didn’t vote for the Orange Clown. She nearly tripped from laughing so hard.

I made the comment regarding the long winters in Sweden, and she added, “Ah yes, the winters are quite long, AND IN THE DARK”.

It was a pleasant interaction, which was over as quickly as it started. As is the normal day of a pilgrim. People move in and out of your day, but you often are reacquainted at a later time by chance.

Two substantial climbs and descents within the day, the second being lesser of the two. Both being considerably less challenging than the first day. Both from a grade and elevation gain, and the comfort of your legs acclimating to the demands of the hike.

Between the two climbs of the day is a small inland port town of Orio. Clearly intended as a repair facility for larger vessels and safe harbor for a small fishing fleet. I stopped and had a quick bite of lunch, before making the short ascent out through vineyards and cattle grazing. Homes dotting the hills were large estates to large to merely be supported by the agroeconomics they produce, they were stunning. This is true of much of the Basque region of Spain. Agricultural homes, supported by the land, and income from professional occupations.

Descending into Zarautz was similar to that of San Sebastián. Zarautz being a smaller city set right against the sea with both the sea and the mountains as a back drop depending on your perspective.

Zarautz is known for surfing. Several world champion surfers, call the city home. The size and structure of the waves speaks to the allure to surfers. Frankly, the sea was a stunning display of beauty and the raw power of tidal action.

When I arrived in town, I made my way to my hotel. It was a quaint little place which reminded me of a hotel from an old British series called Fawlty Towers. Not necessarily from the way it was run, but the setup and staff just seemed similar. It was fun!

I had the good fortune of befriending a local. He was kind of enough to share some of the history of the town, along with the stories of big waves which frequently occur. He shared a story of a perfect winter storm that produced massive waves. He showed me a photo on the side of a surf shop of a world class surfer ride a monster wave from this perfect storm. The surfer looks miniature compared to the massive wall of water baring down on him. He claimed the waves in this particular storm ranged from 30-60 feet. While a boon for surfers, the storm proved very destructive to the boardwalk and businesses along the water front. Much of the boardwalk was completely destroyed and had to be rebuilt. He pointed out the difference, between the long sections of old board walk that were made of cut stone imported from the countryside, and the new boardwalk of solid poured concrete. It was evident he was saddened the boardwalk couldn’t be restored to the same aesthetics as the old boardwalk.

As it is with Basque people, they are very proud of the region and desire for it to look the best, and maintain its rich history.

It was a pleasant evening and I was more enriched having met him than I would have from my own meandering wander through town.

Physically my body is adapting to the hike quicker than anticipated. However I also know overuse injury is a constant consideration. I have a few hot spots on my feet, but fortunately no blisters to this point.

Tomorrow I am going to make it a short day, as I feel the need to rest to allow recovery. This is definitely a marathon and not a sprint.

Tomorrow I am on to Getaria, a short 3.5 mile walk to a smaller sea side town.

Thank you for following along my journey.

Buen Camino

Instagram: @diverja

Ups and Downs, Day 1

Posted by James on August 31, 2018
Posted in: Camino de Santiago, Camino del Norte, Insights, Travel, Uncategorized. Leave a comment

Day 1

August 30th

18.3 Miles

41,000 steps

114 flights of stairs

I started my walk right at 7am this morning. I walked through the city center and out of town. The first climb began at that point, and boy was it a climb. Only a few kilometers out of town began optical reward of doing the Camino Norte.

The scenery is breath taking. As you climb out of Irun, you soon see the Bay of Biscay in all its glory. With the lush forest and rugged terrain and the bay as a back drop, you soul becomes mesmerized and then calms to a sense of peace.

Then that piece is smashed against the rocks like crashing waves, when you begin to fatigue due to the steep climbs and high humidity. Fortunately, the temperature remained mild.

After several kilometers of elevation gain and ramblings up and down through forest, you are rewarded, with an even more rugged and dramatic descent into San Juan.

San Juan is an active shipping port nestled among the cliffs. Imagine old world Spain and the industrial ages colliding rather harmoniously.

to cross the the small bay you hop on a small ferry for a short 1 minute ride. To walk around the bay would add 8-10 completely unnecessary miles. Boarding was effortless, and was a mere .80 euro. However, because I am a dumb american and had yet to accumulate change or single euros, all I had was a 10 Euro bill, while everyone else was paying with pocket change. I was the last to board the board and went to hand my fare to the boat operator. Smugly he waved his hand and said, “ok”.

This is where cultural difference and language barrier collided. I took that to mean, keep your money.

I sat down, the ferry proceeded across the bay. Arriving on the dock, I was the third passenger off the boat. I threw on my pack and walked about 5 steps away, when I heard a very LOUD and ANGRY voice say, “HEY, NO!” I immediately turn around and see a waging finger, and a very aggressive operator yell, “YOU PAY!”

Oops. I apologize profusely. And hand him my 10 euro note. He hands me a fistful of euro coins. I apologize again and try to give him more as a courtesy for the misunderstanding. He waves me away, and turns around and walks away. I was highly embarrassed. I was certainly not trying to steal a ferry ride, particularly for less than a euro.

Head held low.i meekly walk away.

The ferry landed on in a village called Pasajes de San Pedro. And you immediately proceed to climb a set of stairs along the cliff side out of the village.

I’m 17 kilometers in at this point and pretty fatigued. Even having sat for only a short time, during the ascent, my legs began to cramp. The stairway is narrow and there are local hikers and a few piligrims behind me. If I stopped, they all had to stop as there was no room to pass. Ow, ow, ow, ow, was the cadence up the steep stairs. Making it to the top, I took a few minutes to rest and stretch. It seemed to help a bit, but it was evident, I was highly fatigued. I had another 7 kilometers to my destination for the evening, San Sebastián with nothing in between. The terrain was similar to the first half. Steep, ascent, partial descent, followed by a shorter ascent, and then a very steep descent.

I would be remiss not to include, i had moments of, “What the hell am I doing!”

About half way down the final descent, it became clear. The cities of Donostia and San Sebastians revealed themselves. Paradise by the sea. As I hobbled down the mountain will all forms of cramps and tired and strained muscles, I arrived in Donostia and made my way to the cities boardwalk by the sea. Being mid afternoon, the board walk and beach was crowded with walkers, cyclists, sun bathers and surfers. The waves were coming in in perfect curls, the surfers were pleased.

Leaving Donostia, you cross a river bridge separating the two cities. San Sebastián was more even more beautiful. With the beach even larger and more densely populated. The energy was vibrant and relaxing at the same time.

I made my way to my hotel. Pretty much walking baby steps by this point. When I arrive at the waterfront hotel, I’m sweaty, stinky tired, dehydrated and starving. I walk in the rather upscale only to experience what I could call, “Nearly a Pretty Woman” moment. I approach the front desk, and see a well heeled tall tan lean woman. She glances and me, and immediately looks down. Her body language was clear, she thought I was in the wrong place and she wasn’t going to speak to me.

Another young woman at the front desk, immediately pegged me as an american and in perfect english said, “Good afternoon, how may I help you.’

I said, “Thank you, I have a reservation.”

The young lady requested my passport, typed away on the computer, and said, “Yes Mr. Carver, I see you have prepaid for a room.”

To which the manager scoffed and walked away! I’m generally not one to make a scene, particularly knowing I did absolutely looked like hiker trash. But I REALLY wanted to say to the manager, “ Don’t assume by my appearance I am poor, you BITCH!”

But I refrained.

The hotel was quite lovely, having been built in the 1800’s. The lift (elevator) was a throw back to the time of elegance, retaining the double door system, and a capacity of two at best, and running up between the staircase of the hotel.

I quickly tended to my needs, shower, water, ibuprofen, and clean clothes. I walked out to the boardwalk to find food. I was shaky at that point, and would have eaten almost anything. I quickly found a beach side cafe with open seating, considering the hour, the offerings were that of bar food. It didn’t matter, I devoured my food in mere minutes. Which was immediately followed by that feeling of, I need to sleep RIGHT NOW.

I walked back to the hotel, The manager was at the front desk and still refused my existence. I smirked.

I laid down with the intention of taking an hour nap, even setting an alarm. 3.5 hours later, I wake up, realize it was dark in my room, and have that gut wrenching feeling we have all had, “WHAT DAY IS IT?!”

It was just after 9, and dusk. I had hoped to have a little beach time that evening, and enjoy the sun. Apparently my body required rest over sand and sun.

I was hungry again, but had a more pressing matter to attend to.

My father.

Embarking on the Camino, I knew I wanted to interm my dads ashes in a beautiful places in Spain. As soon as I walked into San Sebastián, I knew I would be leaving part of him behind.

In the failing light of a beautiful day, I walked down to the beach. I walked along the sea, and became immediately overwhelmed with emotion. Tearing trailing down my cheeks my thoughts raced. Is this the right place? Would he like it here? Am I doing the right thing? Should I keep his ashes and take then home with me.

Sorrow and mourning came flooding into the depths of my soul. “Why is this so hard?!”

My dad passed away in March. Surely sufficient time had passed that I would be able to undertake such an act without sobbing like a child. I was wrong.

I found a spot in the sand and wept. Then sobbed. Then wept. I took a picture of a panoramic picture of the beach and sent it to my loved ones at home. I asked them, “ Do you think he would like it hear?” I was having a very difficult time with rational thought.

My husband providing comfort in saying,

“I think so. Its beautiful. Near the water (that seemed to be important). One memory that you talk a lot about is your deep sea fishing trip with him..so near the ocean.”

My boyfriend, Sidebar (Im in a polyamorous relationship, I have a husband of nearly 20 years, and we have a boyfriend we have shared our lives with for 4.5 years) said, “Damn, yeah I know I’d be fine staying there. I didn’t know him but I bet he’d like it there. “

I received other feedback all with a resounding, “yes, its perfect”

Even with their reassurance, I struggled. I struggled to let him go. My father was a good man, but from childhood we had a strained relationship at best. As an adult, there were multiple instances in which years would pass without us speaking.

This part of the process, the letting go, was not only of letting him go, but also letting go of the pain, anger, anxiety, and disappointment I experienced having him as a father. I had to let this go.

I let time pass, and collected myself. I took him down to the sea, and let him go. I wept for a few minutes. Within moments, a wave of relief set upon my being.

The process proved to be hugely cathartic. I walked out of the water, grabbed my belonging from the beach and began to walk along the water. I had walked about 25 feet, when I see a family of 5 walking toward the water.

Much to my surprise, the father and mother disrobe and charge toward the water with their 3 children cheering and rooting them on! They plunge in waves receiving cheers and applause from their kids. Then the children disrobed and followed suit! It was quite a spectacle to behold considering the intensity of emotion I had been experience a few short minutes before. All i could do is laugh. And laugh.

The message was clear, life goes on, and there is happiness to be enjoyed.

I walked around the bustling nightlife along the boardwalk. The feeling of joy of those around was palpable.

I soon walked back to the hotel, calling it a night. More hiking to do tomorrow.

Buen Camino.

Photos can be found on my instagram @diverja

Whirlwind of Travel

Posted by James on August 29, 2018
Posted in: Camino del Norte, Travel, Uncategorized. Tagged: , , , , , . Leave a comment

The week leading up to leaving for the Camino was one of anxiety and planning. How does one prepare to be gone for 45 days?

The short answer. You don’t. You just hope for the best!

An overview of my travel itinerary.

I took the red eye out of San Diego on Monday leaving at 8:40PM. Landed in London around 2pm Tuesday. After a 4 hour layover, I traveled on to Barcelona.

Arriving at 10:00 PM, collecting my bags, and clearing Customs, I arrived at my hotel around 11:15. Only to get a few hours sleep and head back to the airport at 5:15AM for a 6:45AM flight to San Sebastián. Unbeknownst to me, the San Sebastián Airport is only a few kilometers from Irun. I was under the assumption it was significantly further.

I arrived at my hotel around 9AM and promptly allowed to check in.

Since then, I have been organizing my back pack and getting ready to start the Camino Norte tomorrow. After reading more about the northern route, it was an easy decision. It is a little more physically demanding, but the scenery and the food more than make up for the added physical challenge.

My pack. Oh my pack. You would think I have no experience with the Camino. The phrase over prepared comes to mind. In reality, my pack weight will be right around 25 pounds.

My starting pack weight for the Camino Frances was around 23 pounds. I culled that down to 18 pounds within the first week.

This time around, I brought a few more luxuries, all with a purpose of course.

Luxury items this time around include. Instant coffee. Ice tea bags, a small collapsible tea kettle. And additional clothes. I’m sure you are thinking, “Ice tea and coffee are luxury items?”

Yes, as a matter of fact they are! I couldn’t find a glass of ice tea in Spain to save my life last time I was hear. Occasionally a little bit of home goes a long way. And for me, that’s ice tea. I drink ice tea every day. It was something I missed, EVERY. SINGLE. DAY!

Coffee. The coffee in Spain is as good as any coffee I have ever had. However, I generally start hiking between 6 and 7 am. And you simply cant find anything open at that hour.

Fortunately both of those items are consumable, so the weight of them will diminish over my trek.

As for additional clothing. Previously, I had literally only the clothes I wore to hike in every day, and a pair of basketball shorts and T-shirt for the evening. While it worked well. I occasionally felt under dressed when going out for dinner. Additionally, on the Northern route the opportunity to swim in the ocean presents itself frequently. I can think of nothing better than a dip in the sea as a refreshing break.

My additional clothing items this trip are a pair of jeans (which I’m already planning to ditch. They are heavy!), a pair of swimming shorts, a polo shirt and a nicer pair of shorts. I also brought along a pair of light tennis shoes instead of flip flops. In theory, flip flops are great. But after walking all day, day after day, your feet become extremely fatigued. In the evening, while walking around town, the simple act of keeping them on your feet is a chore.

The remaining additional weight in my pack, are the cremated remains of my Father. Part of my pilgrimage is bringing him along on my adventure, and spreading his ashes across Spain.

Over the years, he shared with many people, reading and hearing about my adventures always brought a smile to his face. We never experienced one of my longer trek adventures together, although we talked about it on occasion. I thought he would enjoy coming along for the ride, posthumously, as it might be. It will also allow me time to make peace with his passing.

Tomorrow begins my newest Camino. The remainder of today will be spent catching up on sleep, as I am running on 8 hours in the last 48 hours.

Buen Camino!

*For photos of my adventure, please visit instagram. @diverja