My Camino Day 8/11 2018 – San Sebastian to Orio

My Camino Day 8/11 2018 was similar in some ways to my adventure of My Camino Day 8/4 2018, because it was a hike of about the same distance and had the same kind of climbs and descents. But there were differences as well.

Memory plays tricks, and perhaps the most significant difference between the two days is simply my memory. On August 4th, choosing to take the path up the hill was a major decision and one filled with uncertainty, even a little fear. On August 11th, knowing that the distance to Orio was about 16 kilometers (10 miles), that it included 300 meters (about 1,000 feet) of climb and descent, and that my planned return to San Sebastian depended on catching a commuter train based on a train schedule with which I was unfamiliar, I had no uncertainty. My memory says that I had no doubt that I could do this.

My memory also says that the second major difference between My Camino Day 8/11 2018 and My Camino Day 8/4 2018 was that the 11th lacked a “magic moment” that could compare with the one I had on the Jaizkibel ridge when I realized that I could successfully hike el Camino and that I could do it alone at the age of 72. That was, and remains, a unique and very special memory, one that I hope at least a few senior pilgrims will share because they find inspiration on these pages.

As with August 4th, August 11th included a beginning, a middle, and an end.

The Beginning

To paraphrase the song – sorry, Kris – I woke up Saturday morning and stumbled down the stairs to meet My Camino Day 8/11 2018 on a somewhat delayed schedule. It was about 8:30 AM when I slipped out of my host family’s condo door to enjoy my next small taste of El Camino de Santiago del Norte. A few minutes later, I was crossing el Puente de Zurriola and watching that tidal river rush to the sea as the tide went out.

The walk along Paseo de la Concha, La Concha is an absolutely gorgeous beach with relatively few people on it early in the morning, was very easy, indeed. It is flat and paved with tiles that are both smooth and beautiful on both sides of an incredibly colorful tunnel. If you look in the distance and on the right of the picture on the left, it is possible to make out Igeldoko Dorrea, an 18th-Century tower that one can climb. It is right next to a 4 Star hotel, Mercure San Sebastián Monte Igueldo.

The Way passes through some parkland as it climbs across a ridge, apparently to avoid running along the side of the headland that is next to the Bay of Biscay and extremely rugged. Eventually, one is treated to a wonderful view of the Bay and Igeldoko Dorrea on the hilltop in the distance. Even this far away and on a lovely summer day, the shoreline along the headland looks imposing.

My equipment research had indicated that an important, if not the most important, part of my hiking gear was a way to carry water. I took this to heart in 2018 by wearing an Osprey Talon 22 backpack that included a 2-liter capacity hydration (water) reservoir and a siphon tube to drink from. Both have since been retired, albeit for different reasons.

The hydration reservoir was a casualty because I concluded it was overkill for me and, especially, El Camino del Norte. A big part of this conclusion may well apply best to my very limited experience in Spain’s north country and especially in el Pais Vasco, the Basque Country, where a great number of people step up to help pergrinos along their way, including with water. The occasional spring is marked as potable and there are fountains. There was even a much appreciated water stop where one of the many wonderful people of the community that has formed around The Way provided water in large bottles and even included a sello and ink pad for pilgrims, such as me, seeking stamps in our Camino Passports. ¡Gracias!

I’ll discuss what el Camino has taught me about my backpack needs as a senior pilgrim, sooner or later, in my equipment ruminations.

The Middle

Memory plays tricks. Looking back at the pictures that I took that day, and selecting the very few in the narrated set at the link, my memory recalls the beauty, the farms, the people, the signs, the roads, and the paths. There was, I know, exertion. I vaguely recall fatigue as I hiked along, up and down the hills, but that part of the day is only a faded memory while the beauty, the sights, and the smells can return in a flash. The difficulty is, somehow, lost and only the joy and beauty remain.

The End

Memory plays tricks. It seems as though the descent into Orio on My Camino Day 8/11 2018 was effortless and perfect, if a bit too soon.

Orio is built on some hillsides, making the streets steep by my northeastern United States worldview. They were a combination of exotic, interesting, and curiosity as my Pennsylvania youth looked and said “but what about when the snow flies in winter?”

I have never been to the north of Spain in the winter. The summer weather seems to include a day or two of rain and blustery conditions each week. The high temperatures can easily be held to only 16 or 17 Centigrade (60 to 65 Fahrenheit) on those rainy days by the cool air and water flowing from the north as part of the North Atlantic current. My guess, emphasis guess, is that this usually keeps northern Spain free of snow in the winter at the expense of grey skies and rain. That is what the social director of the Lacunza School, where I took Spanish lessons, implied in one conversation.

There seem to be endless surprises along The Way. As I walked along looking for the train station, I was struck by the picture on the bow of one of the boats in the harbor: a small, but distinct, black and white image of Che Guevara. This was not quite the surprise that finding myself in a restaurant honoring Pancho Villa in Mexico City was, but it did take me off guard.

[Unrelated factoid: my father was with General “Black Jack” Pershing when he pursued Pancho Villa as a bandit just before the United States got involved in World War I. I grew up thinking Pancho Villa was a bad guy.]

The day ended, memory says it ended a bit too early, as I easily found the local train and used it to return to my host family in San Sebastian with no difficulty. If anything, it worked a bit too perfectly as it led to a combination of overconfidence in my own abilities and a misunderstanding of the local train service along the Bay of Biscay.

But that is another story about another My Camino Day.