Camino Santiago II - The North Way

Tobias Heller
22. Aug. 2017
15 Min. Lesezeit

The Camino del Norte is one of the Camino Santiagos and yes there is not only one, there are three main established ones of them plus several others and variations. The most common are the Camino Frances, which about 75 % of the people walk, followed by the Camino Portuguese and the Camino del Norte, which only about 5 % walk. The smaller percentage is not due to a lack of beauty, but many yet refrain from going this way as the net of albergues and structure is not as wide spread as on the other ways. It covers the whole distance along the spanish north coastline, starting at the french border at the feet of the pyrenees and leading towards Santiago via cliffs, beaches, forests, villages and cities such as Bilbao and Santander. It reveals all the still in parts untouched beauty of the basque country as well as galicias astonishing north, and though there developped quite a hype for the Camino Santiago, the Camino del Norte is considered to be still one of the less touristic ones, anyways beautiful and full of treasures.

Day 11 / 44 km

Llanes - Ribadesella - La Isla

As attractive and welcoming sleeping at the beach may seem, the hard truth is that it is not really as dreamlike as it sounds. In my case especially, I had one of the worst nights since starting the Camino Santiago. Though I was in the strong believe it will not rain tonight, it of course starts to rain briefly before I fall asleep. Despite my effort to build a tent-like construction for safety and just-in-case reasons with my hammock and the hiking sticks, the rain would drip through it anyways. Therefore all night I barely manage to sleep due to the water which soaks through the sleeping bag, especially on the bottom part. In the morning I pack my things hastily, squeeze the water out of all my wet clothes as good as possible, cursing deeply the sand which sticks to everything and seems to be everywhere.

Being already wet and having to hike in rain is an absolutely unpleasant and miserable feeling, especially while knowing that everything inside the bag is soaking wet and I see no possibility to dry the things in order to use them tonight. I stop at an albergue to ask for dryers, though no one is available, and while sorting out my things in the backpack and cleaning off sand I hang my wet stuff for a while in a rain protected space and hope the wind will blow it dry to some extent before moving on.

After Ribadesella the way leads for a while through the forest until it opens up and offers the view over a nice beach and leads further on along the sandy outstreches until once more I find myself in the depth of the forest. Finally the sun has come out and I hang all my wet stuff on my backpack, making me appear like a walking drying rack. When once more the forest clears and the trees are less dense, I already spot fantastic green cliffs, shaped like large flattened plateaus with a green juicy carpet that has been spread over it. Natural. Rough. Unspoiled. A piece of paradise with not many living human souls around. It gives me an enormous push to move on despite my hurting feet. This absolutely is worth the effort, the blisters and the exhaustion.

Incredible how fast good impressions can be spoiled. While proceeding further kilometers on along beautiful beaches and cliffs, I then spot several tents, making me think this is merely a small camping site. The way though leads along those tents, and as I proceed the immense size occupied by tents starts to dawn on me. The more I walk, the amount of various coloured small domes rises, gets so dense it covers the whole plateau of the cliff in front me, hundreds of cars are parked, motorbikes and rough, tattooed guys in leather jackets are occupying every space available. People are drinking, large stages in the center of it all pop up amidst, while music is drumming loudly through the sunset sky. Some kind of surf & rock festival seems to go on here, forcing me to wind my way through the crowd. What a sad and unwelcome contrast, diminishing the enthusiasm of the previous natural beauty. How can they spoil this beautiful place by organizing an event like this, empty cans of beer are lying around, various plastic trash and the grass is trampled down. I refrain from imagining how the place will look in the morning. I am sure the local authorities will send out staff to clean up the space and surely nature will recover from the abuse, though I begin to wonder how often nature will forgive humanity for the mistreatment. My advice: see the world before we have destroyed it all.

Day 12 / 43 km

La Isla - Sebrayu - Gijon

Waking up on a hard bench on a playground I sometimes wonder how I find orientation so fast again. I wake up, not even wondering in the least where or especially why I am here at this uncommon - and not the most comfortable - sleeping place. Once my eyes are open I automatically start slipping out of my sleeping bag and tend to protective measures for my feet. Yesterday evening I was in desperate search for a good spot, far off the festival and I ended up in a small village, the drumming of the rock music still well audible from far distance. I start a long walk, which does not offer much more basically than a walk along small asphalt streets that lead through several villages, one of them Sebrayu, away from the seaside.

Briefly before Gijón I stop the walk for today, and I am once more in desperate search for a good sleeping spot. There is a camping ground, which offers spaces for pilgrims and I ask if they have a space only for my hammock, though I am sent away despite seeing very well fitting trees on the grounds. In the village close to Gijón I finally find a well hidden playground with a castle like constructions. The king of the north found a worthy place and he will sleep here tonight, right next to the castle on the rubber surface of the playground.

Day 13 / 32 km

Gijon - Aviles

At night I once more on this journey jump up from a deep sleep as the crushing sound of several small moving tiny legs wake me up accompanied by loud grunting. A herd of pigs, leaded by the big sized mother runs across the meadow right next to me, with about 8 smaller sized versions following. It did not rain though the night was foggy and wet, so is my sleeping bag and all of my things. I walk into Gijón in company of grey clouds and my initial mood to explore the city is gone once I am in the center. It might be due to the weather, but I can not find much I like about this city, and I leave it quite soon.

When I walk out of Gijón I need to cross the industrial area, similarly as I had to do in Bilbao - inevitable. Whereas Bilbao still had some kind of appeal with the large cranes, metallic containers, construction sites and the river closeby, here I find merely an apocalyptic scenery, which is enhanced by the grey clouds and rain. Large rusty, dirty pipes run across the country, filthy brown constructions, smoking chimneys and piles of metal, sand and rubbish for the industries dominate the image. If I carried a ring, I guess finally I'd have arrived in Mordor. I increase my speed to climb upwards in order to leave this chaos, which makes me somehow sad, behind. Another part of the day leads me through idyllic meadows, though this peace only is supposed to last for a short while. Close to Avilés the highway is once more im reach and I walk into the industrial part of Avilés before arriving in it's nice and cosy center.

Day 14 / 45 km

Avils - Soto de Luina - Novellana

All night the pressure that I felt from the hard asphalt remains there, as still something would keep pressing on it. When getting up in the morning my body is stiff and it seems impossible for me to move. I strech and shovel in some leftovers which I find in the depths of my backpack and set off to Aviles Center. At this early morning hour it is completely empty, still lying completely in the shadows as the narrow lines of houses block out the first morning rays of sunlight.

Again I need to walk for hours first until I finally leave Aviles urban areas behind and once more the way waves up and down through forests. All the while I encounter people who started even earlier from the large albergue, though I overtake plenty of them during the day. As the day proceeds I cross small cities, a broad river with humid, muddy lands around, this day though does not lead me close to the coastline. When I enter into a small village with only a few houses close to today's goal, an elderly lady passes me, large plate of which appears to be freshly baked pastries in her hand, and happily she offers me to take some for the way.

Day 15 / 44 km

Novellana - Luarca - Villapedre

It had rained all night and I am happy I crept under a castle-like slide and climbing toy for children on a playground, where I remained mostly dry. The path changes from street to forest paths, whereas the latter has transformed into muddy wet slides and ponds. Even though the boots resist the wetness for long, after a while I feel my socks being wet as well, increasing the risk of further blisters. My shirt and pullover below the rainjacket are soaking wet after hours of walking, and my mood isn't the most cheerful as well.

When finally late afternoon the sun comes out I spot the chance to dry my socks and take a break, though the excitement about it subsides as fast as it has occured due to further gray clouds which destroy this illusion. I meet someone I encountered on the way to Avilés, and as he has a similarly fast pace as I, we proceed together to Luarca, a nice harbour city with an omnipresent lovely rough charme. Indeed the sun also comes out for a while, giving the city an appealing, friendly look. Though my feet are already hurtful I switch into flipflops and walk further outwards for a few more hours until I finally find a perfect hidden space to sleep, as dark clouds are once more gathering.

Day 16 / 44 km

Villapedre - La Caridad - Ribadeo

Thinking after sleeping several nights on hard concrete, wood or asphalt might help getting used to it, though in the morning my hips are aching as I am a notorious side sleeper. I start another long hike, stiff and aching though it improves with the movement of my body. The part to La Caridad is quite unspectacular, and leads me through smaller paths to the city Navia, where I take a coffee break. Later on I am constantly accompanied by greyish clouds.

Once lunch time has arrived, the sun's forceful rays finally manage to break through, and in only several more minutes the blue of the sky seems to win the battle against the grey. With spirits highly lifted I set off to the second part of today, which is much more promising as it leads past several cliffs, bays and beaches. I take the longer distance voluntarily and I am rewarded by a beautiful walk along the seaside, and the gorgeous and breathtaking view along the Cabo Blanco.

I feel I could walk for hours and hours, and finally after all those last rainy and muddy days, hiking with a somewhat somber mood, the reason to do this walk besides the physical act itself is right around me. The blue of the sea seems to have such a depth and intensity, that after these grey days it seems so unreal, like an artwork of expressionism where the artist would have taken a much more vivid colour than the reality would be. And here I am, fully enjoying the day, walking amidst this beauty, feeling like lively part of a perfect painting. I arrive at a small city, Tapia de Casariego, from there a walk past several beaches proceeds, some more touristic than others, some less. After sleeping outdoors for the last nights without shower, I feel pretty disgusting after all this muddy fights, and at a beach close to Ribadeo I use one of the public showers. Weird how fast I adjusted to this kind of lifestyle, taking showers in public places, sleeping in forests, playgrounds and whatever I deem apt for more or less proper sleeping, walking for hours and hours. I somehow enjoy this nomad´s life. It shows that there is really not much that is really needed to be happy.

Day 17 / 55 km

Ribadeo - Mondonedo - Abadin

Spending the night in a little village, I walk over the 600 m long bridge to the center of Ribadeo. It is early, and though knowing the walk would be off the civilization with no possibilities to by supplies, I set off without buying anything to not waste too much time by waiting for the supermarkets to open. It is somehow a sad goodbye, as this is the last I have seen of the coastline, the path to Santiago now swerves inwards. I have so much energy I find myself walking in a pace that is moreover close to a run than a hike, and neither my blisters nor my knee seem to be any problem - for the moment. The way indeed leads through forests and small streets, rarely cars pass by here and I feel relatively left alone. I meanwhile got pretty used to the silence, though while proceeding away from the crashing waves od the coast, the seagulls shrieking sound and the lively harbours filled with fishermen, I feel once more the definition of silence has changed in the density of this forests.

When I arrive in Mondeñedo I get my stamp for today from an elderly lady in the church there, who explains the stamp is the same this church has used since the 12. century, rather fancy shit I would say. I have another quite monotonous supermarket dinner and drink two small cans of beer, which despite the refreshing taste I will regret soon as they make me tired and drowsy. Soon it will be three weeks since I started in Irun, and while after 2 or 3 days I had the feeling this is going to be an endlessly long hike, now time passes overly quickly. Anyways, supermarket food is my main nutrition, rarely do I opt for warmed food in order to save up money. When I roll down the socks, I spot the blister patch has gone off the skin, and below a rather yellowish, explosively filled blister has evelopped, approximately the size of a plum. Unhappy by the sight as I have cleaned out this blister already two times, normally once the liquid is gone it heals enough in order to grow fresh skin over, though not this time. I slightly press on it, and a small fountain of blister water splashes my left arm and face. I tend to preventive measures and hope the slight yellowness of the liquid is not going to develop into an infection - this could mean the end briefly before the goal.

Once again in Flipflops I proceed even more, and I find myself still walking when my feet are getting more and more hurtful, aching under the long term occupation, the wrong shoes that give nearly no protection and the weight they have to support. I again remind myself 'You could also handle all this more relaxed, you know?', while I reply that I know that, though this is just the beginning and there is more to be done. All leads somewhere. I have become a Gollum-like creature, talking nonsense with myself.

Day 18 / 41 km

Abadin - Vilalba - Baamonde

What a bad sleep once more, finding nothing else than a bus station to sleep at, some locals in a bar who spot me highly amused, though I ignore them as best as I can. I feel worn out already before starting today's stage, my bones are aching and the blisters on my feet do not look overly to well. Hastily I shovel food I had saved in my backpack into my mouth, and set off for another long day. I meet two hungarians and we walk together for a while until I leave them behind as I have much more energy to spend and my feet are urging me to alterate speed.

The day goes well though does not offer overly special scenery, and by the time I get closer to Baamonde the highway is an inevitable companion, sometimes to my right then to my left as I pass through several times over bridges or below in tunnels. In Baamonde I take an albergue in order to find better rest this night and several hours later my hungarian friends also make it to their destination. Here I am confronted with people using their phones, being on calls with family and friends and I just recognize suprisedly that I have neither been in contact with anyone I know nor had spent thoughts on it for nearly three weeks. Well, surely I thought sometimes about family and friends, though indeed not only the wifi remained switched off, also my brain cut off from any connection. The task at hand is what keeps me occupied and busy enough to not even waste a thought about social media, and whereas I thought it would be kind of hard to get away from it, I absolutely enjoy the fact of being on my own. Unreachable. Just me. And the occasional encounters with strangers.

Day 19 / 54 km

Baamonde - Sobrado dos Monxes - Arzua

Muffled sounds, silent whispers and the aching, screaching sound of the wooden floor wakes me up before the alarm I set. The first people are getting ready in the semidarkness of the large room to proceed on the Camino. I had a marvelous sleep unvoluntarily I leave the softness of this matress, well knowing that for tonight I will by far not have something as soft and cosy as this. After preparing myself, taping my blisters and sorting things back into the backpack I step outside into the fresh morning air. Looks like it is going to be a beautiful day.

The first part indeed leads along the broad asphalt street, then changes into deep thick forests. At a certain point I encounter something unexpected: the way splits and it gives the choice to choose between a longer path via several villages, though I see at my map it leads mainly along streets. The other path though is apparently new and not mentioned in my guide, though somehow shorter, and I reckon it will lead through nowhere specific. I opt for the latter, hoping it to be dusty, dirty paths which do not include too much asphalt. And indeed, it leads through a nice natural territory and the whole day I encounter barely anyone, I am cheerful and motivated. Wide open empty spaces with trees, meadows and flowers make me sing out loud - at least no one can hear me. Singing I arrive at Sobrado dos Monxes and enter into the cloister for a stamp, which is given to me by one of the priests with whom I enjoy some nice talks as he speaks pretty well english. When he speaks I feel some aura of wisdom and gentleness around him, and find it very refreshing. An honorable man of the church who seems to speak from heart and with truth. Rare those days.

Despite having done around 32 kms I decide to make my way to Arzúa, not sure what to encounter there as the Camino del Norte will collide with the Camino Frances. Once I arrive in the city's center I understand why I read about this being a 'cultural shock' after the quietness of the Norte way. Bustling with people of any nation, filled with shops specialized on the Camino Santiago, selling shells, sticks, tissues, shirts, magnets and cheap plastic souvenirs, the center does not really offer the kind of atmosphere that anyone would expect from such a small city. Signs for albergues and accomodations are everywhere and I spot the entrances of several of them, with 'hikers' playing snooker or drinking while in the background music is humming. This somehow now, after all the silence and authentic rough appearance of the path I chose, it seems fake and surreal. I kind of feel like stepping into a small Vegas alias holiday zone and I see the hype for the Camino Santiago attracts people who have completely another spirit for this journey and while they swarm in from everywhere the environment inevitably reacts and creates the surrounding the consumer asks for. And sadly it includes cheap plastic souvenirs and first class albergues.

Day 20 / 38 km

Arzua - Pedrouzo - Santiago de Compostela

Once more it was a wet and unpleasant night and It is still completely dark when i slip into my hiking boots and set off for Santiago, hoping to get through this part as fast as possible in order to avoid the large crowds of people on the Camino Frances at least for a while, before they all creep out of their beds. Briefly past Arzúa, off from the crowd, I found only a bench which appeared to be okay for the night. I basically see nothing at all when I walk through the dark forest, and my forehead lamp's batteries are on the verge of dying already. With the advancing hours though the light starts to break through the darkened forest, though the grey clouds and the constant drizzle that starts briefly afterwards do nor lift my spirit a lot.

Soon I would encounter more and more people and it was as I have heard in stories and how I expected it, and also this is the reason why I want to get over quickly with this for me moreover unpleasant part. Indeed it is some kind of mass pilgrimage, while in the Camino del Norte I occasionally encountered well equipped, fit hikers here it is a mix of anything. Not only Camino Frances is colliding with the Norte Version, but also many people are walking only the last 100 kms in order to get the certificate in Santiago. Easy enough to put apart those who already covered a large distance and those who tend to walk only a part, as they sometimes are neither dressed appropriately nor do they have luggage which exceeds daypack size. Old and slow silver haired men, whole families, smaller children and even disabled people in wheelchairs or with any other forms of handicap are on their way, and during the whole walk to Santiago I at least overtake about 200 way slower people, indluding groups of school classes.

Finally in Santiago I enter into the big square with the cathedral - which unfortunately is under construction - and find it clogged up with people in mood for celebration, singing, dancing, cheerful and happy. It seems slightly surreal to me after those quiet walks mainly in loneliness to encounter those masses of walkers, piles of backpacks lying there with flags sticking out. Initially this all is quite a lot to handle, but once I drop off my bag at the post office I am way more relaxed and happy to have done the Camino, though I keep in mind for me the goal is not reached yet. I queue on the large line for the credencial, the official document that demonstrates to have done the Camino, which takes about two hours in one of the longest waiting lines I have ever seen. Well, my first Camino has been done. Time for beer.