July 9: Getaria

July 9: Getaria

The beginning of this write-up is sad tale and not for the faint of heart. It is the true account of the 2019 Kreuger Camino bed bug encounter. This tale actually began the evening before when Laurel found many bed bug bites on her body and a few on Jim. By the time I awoke, I found their packed backpacks on the kitchen floor ready for disinfection (scalding hot wash and hot drying). After packing up my belongings we drove to the nearest town, Zarautz, and lucky for us, we found a near empty Laundromat where with the aid of Jim’s google translation, we took care of our problem. A small side bit of info—we have been walking for over two weeks and my clothes are snugger than ever. I hope it is because I have twice washed them in scalding water, once by accident as I didn’t check the water temperature on the machine and once intentional to kill unwanted critters.

We arrived back at the flat feeling very proud of ourselves for fixing the problem in record time without losing much of the day only to discover we were locked out of our place. Thanks to a very responsive and animated landlady and her friend, who used a large stiff piece of plastic and handyman Jim to  yank on the door periodically, we were back in our apartment within minutes. Herein ends the sad tale.

We wasted no time in changing and heading out on a walk along the promenade that runs all the way to Zarautz. The walk there was stunningly beautiful as was the beach upon arrival. Zarautz is home to the longest beach in the Spanish Basque Country and also to famous waves that attract surfers from all over the world. I really loved this afternoon as we got the opportunity to observe a sport’s culture that I knew nothing about in a beautiful setting with a perfect temperature of about 24. After lunch in a beach side restaurant we returned home for a round trip total of 16 kms.

After siesta and dinner we went out to explore a bit more of Getaria. It is really lovely to see how the Spanish town people make use of the public spaces. There are always families out walking and many children playing pickup games of soccer or handball. From the outside it appears there is a strong sense of community.

St. Jean Pied de Port—Getaria

I guess it’s no surprise that we got up early, while it was still dark and hit the road.  We were shocked to find our roommate already awake and pondering whether or not to begin her journey to Santiago de Compostela. A thunderstorm had been raging for much of the night and it was still raining pretty hard.  I think she was looking for encouragement, so we provided it. We told her to stay in bed and wait for the rain to stop and then said goodbye.

The dark rainy roads were not the best driving conditions and during the first 30 minutes we were all wishing we had taken our own advice and stayed in bed until the rain stopped.  A boulangerie was open so we stopped for coffee and that changed everything. Back on the road, the sun was starting to appear, the clouds had cleared from my head and it stopped raining as well.  The rest of our trip to Biarritz was easy.

We dropped our rental car off at the airport and caught a shuttle to 
San Sebastián, just across the border in Spain, where another car 
was waiting for us. It was a short drive to Getaria, our home for the next week.  

Parking was available right along the beach and looking up from the car we could see our apartment on the edge of a cliff.  Excited, we hopped, skipped and jumped the long way up to our street.  “How is the luggage getting up here?” I thought. Our host, Pili, met us on the the street and guided us up to our apartment on the 3rd and 4th floors of the building. “How is the luggage getting up here?” I 
thought.  Pili was exuberant and genuinely keen on helping us in five 
languages all at once.  Watching her was like a game of fractured charades.  Enthusiastic gestures involving her arms, legs and face were punctuated only by non sequiturs in Basque, Spanish, French, Italian, & some English. Asking for clarification resulted in same pantomime with more effusive spoken foreign language sub titles. Pili persisted with her heartfelt kindness and we eventually understood that:

1. Our car would be towed soon if we didn’t move it from the beach road.
2. We could drive our car up the narrow cobble-stone street to her apartment if         a) no one was coming from the other way b) our mirrors didn’t stick out too far and c) we could somehow make a 12-point turn, and drive out before anyone noticed us,
3. Only open the windows on one side of the apartment at a time otherwise something resembling the Tasmanian Devil (from the Bugs Bunny Show) will happen.

There were other important things she told us but we never found out what they were.

We unpacked, snapped some pictures of our incredible view and 
then headed out to explore the town of narrow streets and delicious smells.  The smells were of fish grilling in the streets and of pinxos (tapas—but don’t use that word in a Basque bar or you’ll never get served).  We stopped, sampled a few pinxos and then continued our exploration. We all noticed more kids out being active in Spain, more than we noticed in France.   After supper, we walked around the harbour where Laurel and Betty put their hands in the water then we wended our way back home vowing to all get a good night sleep, which seemed somewhat foreshadowing?

July 7 — St. Just Ibarre to St. Jean Pied de Port

It was a trip UP memory lane, as we hiked UP the steep Rue de la Citadel past the Camino Office in St. Jean Pied de Port and the last 2 kms to the Orisson Refuge (Hostel) on the Camino de Santiago* en route towards Spain (*in French, referred to as the “Chemin de St. Jacques”).  The ‘beaux village’ of St. Jean Pied de Port is the starting point for pilgrims walking the “French Route” of the Camino and where we had embarked in 2016, while Orisson is the first stop on the trail, where we had enjoyably spent our first overnight on our Camino trek three years ago.  It was quite emotional to revisit this place — seeing the familiar scenes; dropping in at the Camino Office to get our ‘Credential (Camino Passport)’ stamped; having coffee at the same sidewalk cafe; drinking sangria again at Orisson; interacting with this year’s pilgrims all excited, full of questions, and eager with anticipation to start their Camino adventures; and sleeping in a pilgrim’s hostel.  We chatted with pilgrims from various countries, and wished them “Buen Camino,” somewhat wishing we were going to Santiago, too, as they are off on a trip of a lifetime!

It’s an 8 km uphill hike to Orisson — quite a hike — so, we decided to drive part way up and walk the last 2 kms.  This saved wear and tear on our legs, but was quite a drive, nevertheless!  The road is narrow (only wide enough for one vehicle — we just prayed that we didn’t meet anyone), steep and windy, with some hairpin corners, up and up!  And, to top it off, there was thick fog!  We cautiously made our way, waving encouragement as we passed by about 15 hikers plodding along, as well as some cattle.  Our last two kms, on foot, 

were also through thick fog and then suddenly the hostel appeared out of the mist!  (We had been fortunate in having had good weather in 2016, and had seen all the gorgeous mountain scenery, complete with rainbow — no scenery to be viewed this time!).  So we ate a bowl of soup (pretty sure it’s the same that we had three years ago) and had a drink with an Australian pilgrim, then reminisced, took some photos, and then made our way back down to the town.  

Last time that we were in St. Jean Pied de Port (2016), we were so focused on getting our Camino started — registering at the office, arranging for luggage transfer and dropping off the bag with Jacotrans, searching for a couple of last-minute supplies, finding our 

way out of town on the trail in the right direction, etc. — that we did 

not have a chance to explore and appreciate the lovely town.  So, 

that’s exactly what we did next today!  We scampered all around the citadel and up and down the cobble-stone streets, shopped and window-shopped, ate, drank, took in the sights, and snapped photos like regular tourists.  And in the evening, we managed to locate the “elusive” Basque sport of pelote, as we joined fans at regional semi-finals that were being held for boys and men.  It’s a fast and physical game, and we were very impressed and entertained by the prowess of the players.  A singing scorekeeper rounded off the entertainment.

I should also mention that St. Jean Pied de Port, though usually the 

starting point for a Camino hike, was, for us this time, the ending point of our walking experience from Lourdes to St. Jean.  This particular way is known as the “Piemont Route” (or “GR78”), feeding into the “French Route.”  We had logged a total walk of 157 kms.

Next stop — Spain!

"

July 6: Mauléon-Licharre to Saint Just Ibarre

We left our luxury accommodation early this morning in order to arrive in Saint Just Ibarre before the sun heated up the day. The sun rose just before arrival and we stopped to take photos. 

The morning walk started out perfect! A lovely rural setting where the old and the new seemed intertwined. The weather was cloudy and bearable as we started walking toward Pied de Port. These idyllic conditions continued for about 4 kms and then we started a 2 km STEEP climb. It was obvious from the tracks that both cows and sheep had made the same trek and I have since gained a whole new respect for them. By this time the sun had broken through so we decided to head back before the sun became unbearable. 

The Compostella de Piemont is not as populated with villages as is the Compostella de Santiago. It is a rare and welcome site to fine a coffee shop or bakery open along our way but this morning was just one of those lucky days. After a brief stop for apple tart and an almond meringue we continued back to Saint Just Ibarre where we enjoyed a very delicious lunch.

Following a much deserved siesta we decided to drive into Pied de Port for a sneak peak at tomorrow’s destitution and a walk down memory lane as this was our starting point for the Compostella de Santiago three years ago. We looked into the Camino office and as we watched the volunteers advising tomorrow’s perigrinos we reminisced about our excitement and misgivings 3 years ago. A picnic dinner completed our day and I am certain that all of us will be dreaming about past and future walks.

July 5: Mauléon-Licharre

Walk-Shower-Rest-Repeat!  This has been our music for more than a week and we love it.  Each day has a unique harmony of sights and sounds, but the rhythm is constant and keeps us going.

Today was our second day in Mauléon-Licharre and, since we were caught up with laundry, we got another early start.  After locating our trail, it was a long steep climb up and out of the town.  Early on in the climb, the first of many enigmatic signs announced  “Ball Trap.”  Laurel and Betty concluded it was a sports pitch for an obscure Basque game.  As the climb intensified, the signs became more frequent and an urgency was implied by the hand-written font. It was a warning and I wouldn’t expect my companions to understand. Every male hiker knows the risks associated with steep inclines (or declines) and winding roads.  Care must be taken to keep your knees parallel and well spaced and your equipment must be periodically checked and adjusted to prevent slippage, binding, or God forbid, abrasion!  I am happy to report that with these precautions I suffered only minor injuries during this trek; an ounce of prevention is indeed worth a pound of cure.  The top of the hill, coincidentally, was also the location of a skeet shooting club.

The accent was 3 kilometres and took more than an hour.  Betty’s Fitbit was buzzing as she set and broke new records for stairs 
climbed; it would be 86 floors by the end of the day.  

The sun’s unrelenting heat told us to turn around about 2 hours out and so we followed its advice and beat a hasty path back to town.  Parched, we stopped at the first cafe we came across to rehydrate.  The owner had hiked the Camino many years ago and gave us a complementary snack and some ice water.  I only noticed when it was time to leave that I had stepped in some dog merde and was now leaving a scent trail every where I went. I tried everything to decontaminate my boot: the curb, gravel, grass, and a fountain—nothing seemed to work. Finally, after lunch, I stopped at a car wash and power-scrubbed my boots avec mousse et plus forte.

Siesta and then back to town to watch a game of pelote. Every  Basque community has a large stone or brick wall and adjacent 
paved surface in the centre of town that is the field of play for a 
number of games known collectively as pelote (ball).  The games are mostly variations of squash but played with hands, paddles/bats or woven scoops. We enquired at the Tourism office about when and where to catch a game—“every night at the main square,” was the reply.  We parked at the church and then walked nearly 3 km to essentially cross the street—Betty was navigating—only to find the court deserted.  This game is elusive or fictitious, perhaps a scam to sell people like me a €32 paddle and a €5 ball.