My first night in a pilgrim hostel with 20 beds per dorm, I slept like a baby. Well, I woke up every two hours, coughed a bit, and sipped on my water bottle.
After the lights were turned off at exactly 10 PM, classical music rang out at 6 AM, unmistakably urging travelers to get up. Breakfast consisted of toast and jam along with coffee and water. The hostel father, a gentle man in his 70s, started singing a French pilgrim song, and some guests pulled out their mobile phones to capture this 'authentic' moment on film.
In my mind's eye, I saw a chicken coop filled with a variety of feathered creatures, including geese, ducks, and many roosters - middle-aged men were clearly in the majority - all in colorful functional clothing, a flurry of activity and chatter. Apathically, I sat at the edge nibbling on my toast. Was this excursion into the pilgrim world a good decision? With my yellow T-shirt and red backpack, I felt like a canary in the national colors. Around 7 AM, I left the accommodation.
In the darkness, the full moon shone particularly bright, traffic was picking up as the city awakened. The approximately 25 hikers spread out along the path, which turned into a mountain trail after just a few hundred meters. The first strains of the journey quickly made me forget the early morning unease.
An arduous alternative route led along a mountain ridge at more than 450 meters elevation between the Atlantic and the foothills of the Pyrenees toward the west. After the climb, I was drenched in sweat, but the incredible view compensated for it. In bad weather, the tour along the ridge was not recommended. But on that day, the weather was on our side.
After a few hours, we began the descent back to sea level. In Pasaia, a picturesque fishing village with a container port, we took our first break. The highlight was crossing the harbor entrance on a ferry boat. At kilometer 16, the path went up again, this time only to about 300 meters. Chestnuts, oaks, and bamboo (!) mostly shielded us from the blazing midday sun.
Around 4 PM, I arrived in San Sebastian. My gaze swept over the metropolis with its two endless sandy beaches. A dreamlike backdrop that I could not enjoy after 25 km. The backpack was heavy. My accommodation was on the other side of the city. I dragged myself along the beach promenade, past the historic old town, over the red carpet of the upcoming film festival, and left the second city beach behind me as well.
The accommodation was a classic youth hostel. I booked two nights at a reasonable price. After a dip at the beach, I visited the old town again in the evening (2.5 km without luggage) and fell into bed relieved around midnight.
