My Camino Day 2021 – getting there

Working to clean up and organize this site, I discovered that this post has much of the same material as a newer one, My Camino Day 7/28 to 8/2 2021 – Washington to Madrid to Zumaia. Each of the two does have unique material, but there is also a lot of overlap. They were written a year or more apart and any conflicts between the two are tricks of my memory or the result of added efforts such as fully transcribing my 2021 Camino journal.

¡[Expletive Deleted] It!

The story of arriving at my “[Expletive deleted] it! I’m going” moment is captured in My Camino Day the lost years post. It was this photograph, not the photograph of memory, which is of a young woman wearing rain gear and seemingly pirouetting with her arms upraised in joy, her smile transcendent that led me to quietly say the words my spirit demanded: “[Expletive Deleted]! I’m going.” If this requires an explanation, well, the 6th definition.

I made Airbnb reservations in Madrid and Zumaia and purchased a Renfe ticket from the Chamartín station in Madrid to San Sebastian. From there, I would make my way to Zumaia using the local train as I had done, in reverse, in 2018. From Zumaia, I would recommence my Camino Journey.

One fly existed in the ointment. My tiny stove required fuel pellets that are not to be transported on board airplanes and, for some reason, are not commonly available in Spain. A combination of an Internet purchase, expedited delivery, and my wonderful friend Julian’s willingness to drive into Madrid to leave the pellets at the Airbnb where I would spend my first night solved that problem.

It begins

Memory plays tricks, but mine is pretty clear that the first step in heading for Spain was something entirely new to me as I had to have a COVID test done, have negative results, and download the Spanish health / COVID app to my smartphone before leaving. This was unfamiliar territory and, given that the smartphone world is often a challenge for me, intimidating.

The worry was for naught. I passed the test and the app worked so everything was “go” about 24 hours before heading to the airport.

There was no planning required for the airplane part of the trip as my tickets from Washington National to Kennedy to Madrid had been purchased in May and we had not yet changed them. My very understanding wife – Janis, who would not be joining me in Spain on this trip – dropped me off at National shortly after noon on July 31st and by 5 PM I was on board American Airlines flight 94 to Madrid.

The flight was uneventful and landed at Madrid Barajas around 6:30 AM on August 1st. Jetlagged and disoriented, I navigated my way through that vast airport, wearing my mask and ever alert for COVID notices.

Memory plays tricks, especially for the seriously jet lagged senior pilgrim almost two years later, but mine seems clear that, while there were stations set up for rapid COVID testing for anyone who needed it, nobody asked to see my COVID app and I simply kept moving. Somehow, I believe via the Madrid Metro’s Line 8 train, I arrived at the Chamartin train station about 8AM.

The plan, or lack of plan, was to walk to the Airbnb from Chamartín. The walk was a reasonable distance, about 1.5 kilometers, a mile or so. There was a small street market along the way, but looking about took only a few minutes. Then “Sitting here with a local bar’s ‘snacks’ erasing the memory of the airline food” according to a text to my wife. All in all, it probably required an hour or so. Two at the most.

Sadly, the lack of a plan reared its ugly head at that point because check-in at the Airbnb hosted by Andre was – wait for it – 3PM. It is not clear to me how long I slept on this park bench. It was a nice nap, however, and one that, combined with some other exploration that allowed me to arrive at the Airbnb “en punto” or right on the button.

The rest of August 1st is vague at best. Google Timeline has deleted that period through a change in the default deletion protocol. I seem to have taken almost no pictures. And so, my brief visit in Madrid on my way to the second part of my Camino Journey gives way to returning to Zumaia.

Trains and transfers

I vaguely remember walking to the Estación de tren Madrid Chamartín, or the Chamartín Train Station, the following morning. There are two train stations in Madrid, Atocha being the other one, but it is Chamartín that provides the regional train to San Sebastian.

I must have gotten on board, both because I arrived in San Sebastian some hours later and have some pictures from the trip. Picking one of those few pictures, choosing between fields of sunflowers and the mountains of Spain’s north, was not as easy as might be expected.

In any event, I arrived in San Sebastian without mishap, disembarked from the Renfe train, and headed to the Euskotren station to continue my journey.

Have I mentioned the jet lag and some attendant mental, uh, mushiness? Well, I knew, from 2018, that the Euskotren from San Sebastian to Irún left from the same station that the Renfe train from Madrid to San Sebastian arrived in, the less than artistic circle in the map on the right. I also knew that the Euskotren westward to Zumaia left from a different station on the other side of the river, the less than artistic square in the map.

Well, I forgot all that and boarded the first Euskotren from the Renfe station and headed for France. Fortunately, my addled mind notice the error almost immediately, I got off the eastbound train, boarded a westbound one back to the main station, walked across the bridge to the westbound Euskotren station, and successfully made my way west.

Zumaia

Riding the light rail train to Zumaia, I spent some time wondering whether to spend both days that I had planned in Juan Luis’ Airbnb. Leaving a day early would sacrifice the rental price, but it was very reasonable and I was anxious to return to el Camino.

What to say about Juan Luis’ fabulous Airbnb or the beautiful, friendly town of Zumaia? Which pictures to use? This one, taken from the balcony of my room will have to suffice.

Whether it was the jetlag (probable), the food the restaurants in Zumaia served me (possible, this is the Basque Country and the food is great even by Spain’s lofty standards), or Zumaia’s other charms such as watching a crew training for a whaleboat race (unlikely), I decided to spend the second day with Juan Luis. I was glad I did as the jetlag induced fatigue was still much with me on August 3rd. It also gave me a little extra time to continue patching the damage our cat had done to my combination rain cape and tent, a long story proving, once again, that I am capable of missing the obvious under any circumstances.

Memory plays tricks, but mine is pretty clear that, on the eve of my return to the Camino, I was both excited about, and intimidated by, returning to my Camino Journey. There would be no more safe haven in San Sebastian as had been the case in 2018. Yes, three years before I had proven to myself that, at 72, I could do this. I had also learned that the 70 kilometers or so, about 43 miles, that I had hiked had avoided much of the Camino experience because, except for the night of August 4th, 2018, the Euskotren would take me to my host family’s condo for an ensured night in a bed.

Now things were very different indeed. There was no host family and my sleeping arrangements for the night of August 4-5 2021 were totally unknown, my camping equipment had very limited capability, my camping experience was limited to my time in the Boy Scouts three score years before, my age had risen to 75, COVID warnings were everywhere, our Spanish friends had cautioned me that the pandemic was taking a terrible toll on Spain and that visiting in the summer of 2021 might be a bad idea, and they were going to be very far away vacationing at their condo near the Mediterranean.

I would be on my own.