28: Accomodations near Zumaia... or not

Amidst prayers for daily bread and and thoughts of sleep deprivation I arrived in Zumaia. I asked around if there was something like a hostel there. They told me about hotels and pensions, but when I asked if there was something cheap as well, they told me that there was one hostel up on the mountain ridge. One man eventually pointed it out to me. Fortunately the Camino de Santiago went up to this ridge as well, so I wasn't making some unnecessarily difficult detour.

Along the way I asked one or two more people, and they confirmed that yes, that building up on the hill (or maybe not exactly that one, but one like it up in that area anyway) was indeed a hostel.

When I arrived, I found out that it was simply a farm.

"Isn't there also a hostel nearby?" I asked.

"Well, not really nearby", said the farmer. "Follow that tractor path and it will turn into a trail. About... maybe four or five more kilometers, and you'll be at the hostel."

"Really? Down in town they told me it was on this ridge here."

"Well, it isn't." He said with a sort of finality that indicated that he wanted me to shuffle on.

Well, that's that, I thought, and continued walking. My knees were not doing well, especially on the downhill stretches. I was becoming increasingly convinced that I was carrying too much weight. I had washed my clothes the day before, but it had been intermittently rainy, and so they had not had a chance to dry. I was feeling the extra weight of the wet laundry. But most of all I was just feeling the desire of finding a bed and falling asleep. I had not gotten a full night's sleep in over a week, and last night had been only about two hours of sleeping on a windy beach.
I continued my interrupted thoughts on the nature of sleep and depending on God for daily provisions.