Histoires de pèlerins · Chemin du Nord

Three days on the Basque coast, or how the Norte humbled me

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Irún to Deba on the Camino del Norte at fifty-four: cliffs, rain, cider, the best food of my life and legs that did not know what was coming. A first Camino, told honestly by a man who had never carried a backpack.

Henry Whitfield septembre 2023 · 3 jours · 68 km

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Journée 1 · 11 septembre

Irún – San Sebastián: over Jaizkibel

I stood on top of Jaizkibel with the whole Bay of Biscay below me and thought: I have never been this tired or this happy at the same time.

I want to be honest about the state I was in. Fifty-four years old, a desk job, a backpack I had bought online the week before and a pair of boots I had walked in exactly twice, around the park. My wife drove me to Bristol airport and said, kindly, that she would pick me up whenever I gave up. That sentence kept me walking for three days.

Nobody tells you that the first day of the Norte is one of the hardest of the whole route. You leave Irún along the river, climb through the hermitage of Guadalupe and then Jaizkibel takes you up and up, on a ridge above the sea, for two hours. I stopped every ten minutes. A Basque couple in their seventies passed me chatting as if they were on a Sunday stroll, and the woman patted my arm on the way by.

The boat at Pasaia

The descent into Pasaia is steep enough to make your knees complain, and then, at the bottom, there is a tiny boat that ferries pilgrims across the harbour for a couple of euros. Four minutes on the water, sitting on a bench with my boots off, and it felt like a reward from the universe. Then, of course, another climb up to Monte Ulía.

San Sebastián at dusk, with the lights coming on around La Concha and the smell of the sea, made every step worth it. I ate pintxos in the old town standing up, because sitting down and getting up again seemed too risky.

Distance: 24,7 km
Moral: Fatigué
J'ai dormi à :: Hostel near La Concha

A pilgrim crossing a metal bridge on the Camino del Norte

Journée 2 · 12 septembre

San Sebastián – Zarautz: cliffs, vineyards and rain

Rain the whole morning. A farmer in Orio waved at me from his tractor and shouted 'Buen Camino'. I stopped minding the rain, and I have not minded it since.

It rained from the moment I left the hostel. Not dramatic rain, the fine Basque kind that does not seem to fall so much as hang in the air and soak you anyway. My poncho, bought at a petrol station in Irún, earned its place in the pack within twenty minutes.

The path leaves the city through Igeldo and follows the coast high above the sea, past txakoli vineyards, sheep and farmhouses with the year carved over the door. Fog rolled in and out. At one point I could not see the sea at all, only hear it, and it was somehow better that way. I walked for an hour with a Dutch nurse called Femke who was doing the whole Norte in one go and who told me, without any drama, that she had started three weeks after her husband died. We did not talk about it again. We did not need to.

Orio

Orio is the place for a long lunch: grilled fish by the river, a glass of cider poured from a height, and the farmer on the tractor who waved and shouted 'Buen Camino' as if I were a proper pilgrim. That was the moment I stopped minding the rain. The last stretch to Zarautz runs flat along the beach, and the surfers were out in the grey water as if the weather did not apply to them.

Practical note for anyone my age: waterproof socks, or at least a dry spare pair in a plastic bag, matter more than the poncho. Wet feet are what actually stop you.

Distance: 22,1 km
Moral: Bien
J'ai dormi à :: Pilgrim albergue in Zarautz

Pilgrim walking under the rain on a wet road

Journée 3 · 13 septembre

Zarautz – Deba: the day I found my rhythm

Getaria, Zumaia, the flysch cliffs shining after the rain. Somewhere near Itziar I realised I was no longer counting kilometres, and that I did not want my wife to pick me up.

The promenade from Zarautz to Getaria is the easiest and prettiest hour of the whole stretch: a paved path between the cliffs and the sea, joggers, dogs, old men on benches. Getaria smells of grilled fish at nine in the morning, which should be illegal. I bought a slice of the local cheese and ate it walking.

Zumaia is worth the detour down to the beach below the church, where the flysch cliffs stack up like the pages of a book. After the rain they shone. I sat there for twenty minutes doing nothing, which is not something I do. Then the path climbs inland, through Elorriaga and Itziar, long and green and quiet, and somewhere on that climb I noticed I was no longer counting kilometres. My legs had stopped arguing. I was just walking.

Deba

Deba arrives after a steep drop to the river. The albergue is in the old train station and you collect the key at the tourist office, which feels like a small ritual. That evening I called my wife and told her not to bother picking me up. She laughed and said she had known since Tuesday.

If you only have three days for the Norte, make them these three. If you have more, keep going. I did, the following spring, and I am still going.

Distance: 21,0 km
Moral: Rayonnant
J'ai dormi à :: Albergue in Deba old station

Two pilgrims walking into the fog on the Camino del Norte

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