We all slept well and it wasn’t until after 6:00 that we had our first cup of coffee. Breakfast completed, I stole away to the beach to etch our mark in the sand so all of Getaria would know, until the next high tide, that Kreuger Camino had passed through town.
Betty had some unfinished business to attend to, so it was just Laurel and I on the trail. Since we didn’t have Betty pushing us, we chose an easy 7 km loop that intercepted the inland Camino del Norte and returned along the coastal path.
Ever since our brush with the garrapata and acaro in France, Laurel has been vigilantly checking our bodies for insect bites and checking the bed with a headlamp. This has got me paranoid and now every mosquito bite is nefarious. Today I woke up with a sore throat and I never get one of those so I googled “mosquito bite sore throat.” It turns out I have West Nile virus. I told this to Laurel during our hike and she told me not to be ridiculous, and suggested I check to see if those mosquitoes even exist in Basque Country.
Back home, Betty had finished her work and had emailed us that she was going out for a walk just as we reached the edge of town, so we stopped for coffee at a cafe and watched Getaria come to life. When we met Betty, she excitedly told us that she came across a swimming race during her walk and that if we’d look out the window we would see the swimmers. We looked, but saw nothing. Betty did have about fifty pictures of men in tight speedos, but what did that prove?—I didn’t want to go there.
While we showered and had lunch, I took Laurel’s advice and googled Spanish mosquitoes. My first hit was gold: Marco Brustolin’s dissertation “Autochthonous and invasive mosquitoes of Catalonia as vectors of zoonotic arbovirus.” Laurel was right, according to Dr. Brustolin (I’m assuming he passed or he wouldn’t be publishing on the internet), it would be very unusual to get West Nile Virus from a Catalonian mosquito. Dengue fever or Zika virus are more likely. Time to go to the Cristóbal Balenciaga Museoa—I’ll confront Laurel with my diagnosis later.
After the museum, we made a quick trip to Cristóbal Balenciaga’s grave and home to verify their existence. Betty pointed out some people in tee shirts emblazoned with “St Anton’s Swim Race.” Indeed, there had been a race, but all those old men in Speedos? Anyways, it was Siesta-time. I waited until Laurel had a cold drink before I gave her my new internet prognosis. She didn’t even look up from her iPad but calmly pointed out that we are in Basque Country, and not Catalonia, a different climatic region. She added glibly that I should google “psychosomatica.”
During siesta, we all looked out our windows at the people sunning and frolicking in the surf below and came to the same conclusion: “let’s go swimming!” To the beach we went. This time I took my
glasses and phone so I could document the wave riding. It was high tide and the waves were “banzai” and Laurel and Betty jumped right in. I got some great pictures. Although Betty drank a lot of brine,
glasses and phone so I could document the wave riding. It was high tide and the waves were “banzai” and Laurel and Betty jumped right in. I got some great pictures. Although Betty drank a lot of brine,
she did master the surf. Laurel focused on keeping her eyes and mouth closed and her secrets intact. When it was my turn, I ran out into the surf and got knocked over by a “bombora.” It was then I realized that I was wearing my glasses or at least was wearing them until the wave hit me. Feeling sick, I began to walk to shore to tell Laurel, when my foot stepped on something wiry. I’ll be the first to say I was lucky. With my spectacles safely back on my face and Laurel still chastising me for being so careless, I rebutted by pointing out that I am getting new glasses anyways. Betty counter-butted (sic) that I still had to drive us to Bilbao tomorrow. I was quiet most of the trip back home—all this time I thought Betty was the referee.
Supper and one last stroll through town. Goodbye, Getaria.
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