on the coast up to the Basque Country

What contrasts!: Yesterday morning I hiked on exposed, narrow, coastal paths, always above or on the cliff edge; cave entrances, 'folded' rocks (what forces must have acted here!), cliffs and seagull cries, with cold wind and an occasional light drizzle... ...In the afternoons and today until after lunch only city and city and city and streets and noise and buildings ever taller and bigger and 'crazier': Bilbao. Then in the afternoon after a steep climb over the city, quite abruptly and 'seamlessly,' back in the forest - trees, blooming foxglove, birds and lizards, a stream and (finally) no tar under my shoes anymore. It is hardly quiet despite everything; the city, the highway (which runs largely underground), the airport, and industrial areas are still too close. What contrasts!

But first let's go back in time and on my path: Shortly after my last report, the route changed from Asturias to Cantabria - I have now arrived in the Basque Country, the last Spanish region through which I will hike on this path. The Atlantic coast remains wild, and often it is foggy (especially peculiar when waves, street noises, bird calls... are audible but not visible) or dark-cloudy, covered and rainy, windy - coastal weather indeed. So much the nicer when the sun shines for a while. The landscape is mountainous, often steep paths and breathtaking views of foaming surf crashing against the rocks deep below me; some mountains resemble frozen sea waves.

A small chapel, more of a large wayside shrine. I rest there and drink water while an old man slowly approaches with his little dog. Murmuring, he stops in front of the Marian image and then places a flower branch against the grate (there are already others, some withered there) and heads back with his dog in the direction from which he came.

At low tide, the beaches are vast, and the bridges appear 'oversized' as the tide affects the river mouths deep inland; boats are almost 'in dry dock' in the ports. When the tide comes back, the water pushes and flows nicely under the bridges far inland - moved by mysterious forces... Wide floodplains are also found around many river mouths.

Many small places, fishing villages; then larger (fishing) towns like San Vicente de la Barquera (the old stone bridge there has 28 arches!) - on clear days, the snow-capped peaks of the Picos de Europa shine over the castle and church, which are very close here; however, when I'm there, it's ominously cloudy, and nothing can be seen of the mountains...

I visit the cave of Altamira (only a few kilometers off the 'actual path'), and although the actual cave has been closed to the public since 1979 to protect the rock paintings and only an 'exact copy' can be visited, I am deeply moved by these ancient animal paintings and the hands on the rock.

In Comillas, I visit Antonio Gaudi's famous 'summer house' with sunflower tiles everywhere - a whimsical, fairy-tale building! Overall, Comillas is a place full of surprising structures. In contrast, Santillana del Mar is too touristy for me (it reminds me of Meersburg on Lake Constance) and overcrowded or 'overrun' by buses. Nevertheless, there are pretty old houses, nice little shops and cafes, and of course the massive building of the Colegiata with weathered figures above the portal and the famous Romanesque cloister church. Unfortunately, I am there at 12:45 PM - and I cannot go inside anymore, as it is closed from 1 to 4 PM for siesta! Damn! I am sad and also annoyed that I cannot at least go in for 10 minutes; I would have gladly invested the 3 euros entry fee. I don't know why I don't just take a break there and wait until 4 PM... ...anyway, I continue hiking and later sleep in a small place called Mar on a picnic table next to a smaller sports field, supposedly in a 'dark corner' - quite in the spirit of energy saving, however, 12 bright lanterns illuminate this sports field throughout the night, and thus also my 'bedroom.' I still sleep well, but I wait in vain for the 'festival lighting' to be turned off at some point during the night... Two nights before, I set up my bed next to a (seemingly not in use) construction site between two construction containers - a very good sleeping spot!.. ...until early in the morning just after six, the first car reversed in front of one of the containers (the driver disappeared inside); as I had just fallen asleep again, the second car swung in front of the other container; the driver went inside the first one without noticing me. The thought that a car could reverse between the two 'shelters' without seeing me scares me, so I pack up earlier than intended (I still lay there for almost 12 hours) and walk into the (usually invisibly foggy) sunrise: mountains and sea gradually appear in strangely surreal light...

In Santander, I visit only the 'lower church' of the cathedral: under the Gothic church, there is still an early Gothic crypt, a low vaulted space (the silvered skulls of two martyrs are supposed to be kept here, but I cannot discover them); glass panels in the floor reveal remains of Roman structures under the church... Otherwise, the city is too loud and too big for me; I move along the seafront, climb a tower near the water from which I have a good view of the colorful city and the mountains behind it, then I take a ferry at 2 PM with a small, overcrowded passenger ferry over a wide area of the sea - following the road would mean several dozen kilometers of detour. Also, in Santona (where I sleep in a kind of youth hostel (municipal) in the fishing harbor area, separated from the actual town by a long bridge: a very impersonal, school dormitory-like overnight spot, which unfortunately closes at 7:30 PM, just as the most beautiful evening light lies over the water, the picturesque fishing boats, and the 187 m high 'Montehano' with its castle ruins...) the route only continues over water. It's Sunday, and I'm way too early at the ferry dock - no ferry crosses before 9 AM! Yet it’s only about 600 m to the other side! So I wait for an hour and a half; everything is still quiet, only the seagulls cry and fishing boats head out, fishermen stand along the promenade; an oversized stone sailing ship on a tall pedestal decorates the place by the shore; two men walk four dogs - no! on closer inspection, it's three dogs and a goat... When the small ferry finally arrives, I am the only passenger - however, over in Laredo more than 20 pilgrims are waiting to storm the boat: there are definitely advantages to going in the opposite direction to everyone else... (...and it also feels lonely, I think simultaneously, as I wistfully watch the group, the 'community' of calling, chatting, and laughing peregrinos as the ferry departs. But actually, I am glad to continue hiking alone and quietly. I enjoy going days without really speaking to anyone (I have long since resumed my self-talk...). Right here in Laredo, I walk 'timelessly' and seemingly 'endlessly' over the sandy beach, at this time and in chilly, windy weather, almost completely deserted.

In Güemes, a little off the coast in the mountainous 'backcountry,' pilgrims from all over the world meet in the 'cult hostel' of Father Ernesto. An almost 90-year-old man with a white beard, who was born here, worked as a priest in a small church high up in the mountains, and as a young man took a 27-month journey in a green Land Rover to Africa and Asia, which he called 'the university of life,' then returned to his parental home and founded a meeting place for youth and people from all over the world more than 40 years ago; over the last 25 years, these have increasingly become pilgrims who find accommodation here - the car from that great journey still sits on the hostel grounds, fading photographs and souvenirs from around the world hang in every room, and every evening before the communal dinner, the padre tells stories from that trip, about the Caminos of life, about the idea of humanity setting off together, helping each other, hosting, and sharing meals... There are 'ecumenical worship areas' and sleeping spaces for more than 70 people on the grounds; in summer, they probably eat at a long table on the lawn. I am allowed to take a whole day off there (and stay a second night) - I talk to Father Ernesto himself, as he surely remains 'the heart' of it all, he decides, he is present, he is truly impressive - and the place he created is equally so! Since it is raining, I actually spend a large part of the day cuddled in my sleeping bag - and feel quite strange about not moving forward at all for an entire day!

In Castro-Urdiales, the massive gothic church (appearing dark under gloomy weather) is just as closed as almost all churches. Halfway up along the wall, a frieze of wondrous beings stretches, half animal, half human, grimaces and mythical creatures, but so weathered that some are barely recognizable: what wealth is being lost! Sometimes I am downright angry that all these buildings remain inaccessible. So I make a deliberate 'detour' to see a large Romanesque church a bit outside of Bareyo. It is already beautiful from the outside, but closed; especially nice is that there is even a sign in front of the grate with photos of the purely Romanesque interior of the church! When I ask an older woman about it, she replies that mass is at 10 AM on Sunday - very funny: it’s Saturday morning... When I arrive in Bareyo, there is a large sign at the entrance of the village with the picture of that church promoting the place as 'romanic and gastronomic' - and then you close the church...

Yesterday, barely in the Basque Country ('Euskadi'), a wall is sprayed with 'Freedom for the Basque Country' and the red-white-green flag beside it, which waves here as often as the blue-yellow one did in Asturias... And the information boards at special places are now no longer in Spanish and English, but instead in Euskadi (Basque) and Spanish - what a pity, I no longer understand anything...

In the evening, I stand at half past five in light drizzle and after 28 km of hiking in Portugalete, a suburb of Bilbao, tired and hungry finally in front of the Albergue Municipal - surprised that everything is closed; until I find the sign indicating that this public hostel only opens on June 1st. So I search (thanks to the Internet) for a hostel about a kilometer up the hill where I get a squeaky bed in a large dormitory for €20 and can finally boil tea and warm my frozen vegetables in the microwave... At night, I finally use the earplugs again, which I received from the snorer from Ticino at the beginning of the Via de la Plata ('bad conscience'...)

This morning I first glide under a high suspension bridge (the suspended ferry hangs below it) over the El Bote Tours, the river along whose banks I then walk for more than 13 km to Bilbao's old town, wandering through narrow alleys, visiting the cathedral - and then increasingly realizing that I am leaving the city... ...and, as mentioned at the beginning, the forest takes me back in.

Now I sleep on the already full floor of a hostel in Larabetzu (it is raining), and at regular intervals, a plane thunders over the village towards Bilbao airport...