Day 13 - Laredo to Guemes

Date: Thursday June 27

Start: Laredo, Cantabria

End: Guemes, Cantabria

Daily Mileage: 18.1mi (29.1km)

Total Mileage: 161mi (259km)

Though thunder rumbled across the sky before we went to bed last night, most of the night was quiet.

This morning we both woke tired. I hit snooze a couple times before climbing out of bed just after 7am. When we do long backpacking style hikes like the CDT, we are up and hiking by 6am. But this hike is not that. We are generally out of the hotel/hostel by 8am(ish) and finishing a simple breakfast of coffee and a Spanish tortilla or small sandwich by 8:30a or so... sometimes we don’t start hiking until nearly 9am. That was certainly the case yesterday. On the CDT, we would have had 7-9 miles in by 9am. Here, we are mostly concerned with when our next coffee break will be.

This morning we finished up our coffee and tortillas and began our walk around 8:15am, mas o menos (more or less).

The route for the day started with about three miles to a ferry, most of which was along the boardwalk that stretched along Laredo’s Playa La Salvé, though beach views along the promenade were mostly blocked by sand dunes, which were rich with yellow wildflowers and dune grasses.

The promenade itself was tired. Cracking patio stones, faded paint, worn buildings, sterile benches. There was nothing of interest here. Nothing to invite people to the boardwalk... not even a sign or statue. Just a long stretch of pavers, waist high weeds, and buildings that looked derelict enough that you weren’t quite sure whether they were inhabited or not until you suddenly heard a shade being pulled open. A handful of people were out walking, running, or biking along the boardwalk, but mostly it was quiet. While an important Roman site at one time, Laredo had not wowed us. Maybe it didn’t want to.

Laredo’s beach promenade.

The morning was quiet. None of the mopeds with the motors that sounded like they had been stolen from weed wackers graced the roads yet - like the many we had heard throughout the day yesterday - and for that I was grateful. Yesterday afternoon I had played a little game while we hiked out of Liendo. It was called Motorbike or Weedwacker? The solution largely based on whether the sound sped away.

At the end of the boardwalk we continued onto sidewalk to a ferry port, where we would take the ferry to Santoña, on the other side of the inlet. While it looked like the ferry had a nice pier to pull up to (if it wanted), it did the pick ups straight from the beach, lowering a gangplank into the sand. A few other pilgrims were milling about the beach when we arrived, the ferry on its way back from the other side.

Once it arrived, it was quick to load - only seven of us. It was a short trip across the inlet - only a few minutes. €2.50pp.

Statue to the Santa Maria.

In Santoña, a statue of their claim to fame greeted us - a concrete memorial to the Santa Maria, one of the three ships on Columbus’ voyage when he ‘discovered’ America, which had been constructed here in Santoña.

A much smaller memorial for Juan de la Cosa, a cartographer from Santoña on Columbus’ voyage, sat nearby. It was an unfortunate thing, this statue. Not even a bust, just a very angular and pointy head atop a pedestal. I hoped his face in real life hadn’t had so many sharp edges. It looked every bit of how we portray villainous cartoons - all evil and angles.

A face only a mother could love.

Continuing down the Camino route into town, we had already put in a good effort for the morning. Three miles down and even a boat ride. It was probably time for another coffee.

And so, we soon sat at a table outside a cafe with our coffees... though an unfortunate smell tinged the air, like an overfull dumpster nearby. We didn’t linger.

The smell, however, did linger. As we walked the Camino route through town, there was that constant sickly sweet smell of garbage. For a bit it was replaced with the thick smell of fish - like a fish processing dockyard or something of the like. But then it was back to the smell of trash, like maybe the town had missed trash pick up day.

Thankfully, this smell would eventually subside. We continued along the outskirts of town, passing a penitentiary with barbed wire coiled high along its walls and gates, before curving around along yet another beach promenade along Playa de Berría, this beach bordered by a number of watersport schools. Escuela de Stand Up Paddle. Escuela de Surf. Escuela de Kayak. I guess all of the watersports themselves went by the same name as their English names. As a side note, oddly enough, the STOP signs in Spain are in English. Throughout Latin America, they are in Spanish (ALTO).

At the far end of the beach, we left the sidewalk to head up a rocky single track trail that climbed above the coast. The narrow trail was overgrown with thick foliage along the sides overflowing into the track. Recent rains had also made it slick with mud and in some eroded areas it looked as though the trail was slowly sliding into the sea, tenuously held together by only some very tenacious vegetation. And spiky vegetation, I might add.

At any point the trail narrowed and you were worried about slipping off the cliffside, this was also the point where the vegetation was extra spiky. At one point, my finger got stuck in a thorn, not the other way around. With any typical thorn, you would pull your finger away from the offending plant and the thorn would come away in your finger. No, with this particular thorn, as I slid down a muddy decline, my finger actually became caught in the thorn and I had to pull my finger out to continue along. All while I was slipping in the mud with one foot, the other foot being tripped by vines to the side. “You’re a mess,” Shawn said, watching as I righted every limb and digit. I never said I was any good at this hiking thing.

Eventually the trail topped out - there were beautiful views along the way through this obstacle course, I should add. Luckily, the downhill wasn’t quite as steep as the uphill. Some fancy footwork among the rocks was still required though, as well as thorn avoidance.

At the bottom of the descent we spilled onto another beach. While the official route continued on a road that paralleled the beach, we kicked off our shoes and walked along the water’s edge instead.

Walking along Playa Trengandín

The water was nice and cool, but not too cold, and the sand felt good underfoot. There is something wonderful about walking barefoot on the beach, sand squishing between your toes, cool water flowing over skin. It’s also just nice to have a break from the hiking shoes.

Down the beach, we skirted back to the road along a beach access trail. After cleaning the sand off our feet as best as we could, we were back in our shoes. While our feet have been fairing pretty well on this trail, I’m still losing toenails from the abuse of the CDT. Most of this damage caused by only the first four days through the desert. As a friend brought to our attention recently, CdN > CDT. Lol.

Ask and you shall receive.

After mentioning a lack of public toilets along the trail in yesterday’s blog, today we have seen more than we’ve seen on the entire trail. Mostly along the beachfronts. I made use of one in a beachfront parking lot here before we continued on.

For the rest of the day, the route would head inland, winding around and through neighborhoods, small towns in the countryside, fields, and pasture land.  The occasional church or hermitage.

About 12-13 miles into our day, the Camino routed along the hillsides of San Miguel de Meruelo. Dropping down into the town, we stopped at a bar along the route for a lunch of simple pub fare. Nothing special, but a quick and easy lunch.

After lunch we had just under five miles to our destination for the day. The afternoon was more of the same, routing through countryside towns and farmland. Cows mooed. Tractors were busy on the road and fields. An Amazon van sped around the roads.

I had felt a bit meh all day... the terrain had not been difficult, but I think between a couple of long days, some less than ideal nights of sleep, and the warm, high humidity days, it had all taken its toll, leaving me a little zapped. I was happy when our albergue for the night came into view not far past the turn for the town of Guemes.

I know what you’re thinking ... after all the complaining about people at the last albergue, you are probably shocked we are back in another one so soon. I was probably a little harsh last time. There is still a lot we like about albergues - like the communal vibe.

The albergue we are staying at tonight is often rated as a favorite stay along the Camino del Norte, with over 80% of pilgrims along the route staying here. Now that we are here, we can see the draw. It is a special place, well loved and cared for.

Heading up from the road, we let ourselves through the gate marked ALBERGUE, hiking across an open field to the large hacienda on the opposite side. At the main house, we were welcomed with cookies and a glass of water. Everything seemed very organized.

We checked in, received our pilgrim stamps, and were given a tour of the property and shown to our room. There are over 100 beds on the property, divided among many rooms. We were the first pilgrims shown to this room, so had our pick of spaces. We took two bottom bunks that faced each other along the same wall. Throughout the afternoon, the hosts spread the arriving pilgrims out throughout the rooms, rather than crowding each room until it was full. While our room has 10 bunks, only five people were ultimately assigned to the room. We are all able to have bottom bunks, which is nice.

The buildings and grounds here are well kept and cared for, the space providing everything needed for pilgrims, with clean bathrooms, nice hot showers, laundry facilities, clothes lines, and nice outdoor spaces to hang out, in addition to the many well kept bunk rooms. The surrounds are peaceful and it was a nice place to relax in the afternoon.

We had read in comments that you were required to attend some sort of storytime before dinner. Upon hearing this we had made jokes about being brought to a cult. “This is a cult, you’ve brought me to a cult.”

Indeed, about an hour before dinner, a man walked around the property ringing a bell, the sign that it was time to gather. We were slowly herded into a small roundhouse that served as a prayer/meditation space. Story time commenced.

Ascending to the gateway...

It was actually pretty nice - very entertaining (and good Spanish practice for us). The man leading story time (his name is escaping me) told us the story of Padre Ernesto, who had started the albergue. In his life he had become a priest, traveled around the world, and returned to his home area of Cantabria. He’d done a lot of work in the community, including working for over forty years at the very prison we’d walked by earlier today.

In addition to telling us about Ernesto and the property/albergue, he told the story of the spirit of the Camino in general and the parallel to the journey of life. A set of painted murals around the room told the story of this spirit of the Camino.

The man who told the story spoke in clear, easy to understand Spanish, and was also a very funny storyteller, which helped. It was nice to learn a bit more about the history of this place and the story themes set the tone of community before our communal dinner.

After our story gathering, we all filtered into the dining room. While at our previous two hostels there had been quite a mix of nationalities, to the point where most were speaking English between groups, tonight it seemed that the majority of the people here were native Spanish speakers. This was fine for us, as we were happy to practice our Spanish. It was only a bit hard where we sat to break into a conversation.

Painted map of the Camino del Norte on the outside of the albergue.

Finally, I asked the woman next to me (in Spanish) where she was from. In the words of Dwight from The Office,  “Donde are you from?”

(Just kidding, I didn’t say that).

“De donde eres? España?”

She was not from Spain. And she was annoyed. She launched off in English. She was living in Berlin and was honestly a bit exhausted. The last two nights she had been in hostels where people were speaking only Spanish. “I know we are in Spain and that Spanish is the native language, but everyone there knew that I did not speak much Spanish and they all just spoke only Spanish anyway. I have felt very excluded.” She seemed to be at the end of her rope. “It’s okay,” I said. We spoke in English. She was originally from St Petersburg, but had been living and working in Berlin. Eventually she apologized - twice - for being so direct about her annoyance the last two nights. “I think I was just growing tired of being left out.”

Eventually we expanded our conversation to others at the table - some Spanish, some English. Dinner was a meal of squash soup, bread, rice with vegetables, and sweet yogurt for dessert. All very tasty. At the end of dinner, Ernesto came in and spoke, telling us a bit more about himself, their mission here, and the some practical bits, including the breakfast time.

After dinner, I walked around the dining room looking at the many photos Ernesto had taken on his travels. Many of them were pretty impressive considering they had been taken 50+ years ago with film. Organized in various categories, there were groups of photos of mountains, llamas, glaciers,  volcanoes, women, men, children, and - my favorite category - “luz” (light). Here, there were pictures of rays of sunlight glinting off mountaintops, dappling tree branches, and spilling across a rippled lake.

Following my brief look around, I head back to my bunk. The evening was chilly and I grabbed a blanket to set over my sleep liner, just in case. It was a tiring day and I am ready for sleep.