77: Walking to Güemes

The German man who was already at the pilgrim shelter was a strange one. He spoke a lot, and the conversation revolved around him and what a groovy guy he was. Even though his English wasn't that good, he refused to speak German with me. He had done the Camino and was now doing it backwards, mostly by bus, but still staying at the pilgrim shelters.

The character of the Camino is suffering from people who behave like tourists. It is generally frowned upon to be staying in the pilgrim shelters if you travel by bus or car. During high season the shelters are packed to overflowing, and sometimes people who have walked all day cannot go in for a shower and a bed.

Matthieu arrived much later. He had had no luck getting the ferry across to Santoña, and so he was spending the night here as well.

We all left at separate times in the morning. I followed the trail markers for a while, but I saw on the map that there was a great bulge in which the trail led to the place where the ferry would drop you off in Santoña. I didn't feel like doing that extra distance, so I headed generally westwards along the carretera hoping that I would eventually find the trail again further along.

This ended up leading to a full day of walking random country roads. I passed the ubiquitous construction zones, and walked on highways that weren't meant for walking. I took a lunch break in a village that had picnic tables in the shade. The roads and villages got smaller and smaller, which made it feel more and more like a pleasant nature walk. I stopped in one village to ask if there was drinking water, and they led me to a small fountain just outside. I took off my shoes and bathed my feet. I drank and filled up my water bottle. A middle-aged couple drove up and the lady got out with some water containers that she filled up at the fountain. We talked a little, I told her about the pilgrimage and asked her how far I still had to walk to Güemes. She didn't know kilometers, but told me it was not far. She left me with an admonishment that I should become a vegetarian.

I did eventually find the trail again. As circumstances would have it, there was that older Spanish couple again whom I had met in Castro Urdiales. We walked together for a bit, following a trail that grew fainter and fainter until all that was left was a trail marker boldly pointing into an open field.

The man consulted his guide book. "Yes," he said, "we just walk right across this field and join the trail at the other end."

But the other end of the field did not seem to have a trail leading from it. After a few failed attempts to find it, we decided to continue on the country road.

I let them continue walking when I found a park beside the road. There were some shady spots in the grass that looked promising for a siesta. But after laying there for over 40 minutes without falling asleep, I decided to walk on.

It was late afternoon, and everything was bathed in golden sunlight. There were green hills, there were pastures and fields, and sometimes the road led through a bit of forest.

This, I thought, was what I had imagined my pilgrim walking to be like. Beautiful landscape in the cool of the evening. Ever since Gernika I had always had a bit of a fear that if I walk too late, I'll arrive at the closed doors of an unattended shelter once again. So I had not taken afternoon breaks for as long as I had wanted to.

Even now I was a little afraid that the shelter would be closed by the time I arrived. It was evening when I entered the village of Güemes. An old lady was working in her garden. "Ya casi has llegado," she called to me.

I had spent the whole day thinking about what, ultimately, I wanted to do in life.