Day 8: Bilboa, Rest Day

April 22, 2024

I began the week in Bilbao, walking along the Nervión River as it wound its way past old stone bridges and into the soft bustle of the San Francisco district. To my left, the Mercado de la Ribera rose like a ship docked in time—curved red railings, open arches, and pillars that hint at Roman grace. The building doesn't quite wear the costume of Art Deco; it feels more like a fusion of function and flair, with escalators that glide through light-filled spaces and a palette that recalls both industry and imagination. Inside, it pulses with the rhythm of Basque life: chefs inspecting seafood, vendors arranging fruit like blessings, the dizzying, delicious stink of cheese piled high beside the scent of cured meats and fresh bread. I sipped a cold glass of vermouth beneath the vaulted ceilings and let it all rise around me like a hymn. Just behind, the Church of San Antón held its quiet vigil, anchoring this riverbend in history and stillness.

Later that day, I joined a walking tour through the so-called dangerous neighborhood of La Vieja — though to me, it felt perfectly safe, softened by the daylight and the protective presence of our vibrant local guide. The fantastic street art has strong messages about social change and protection for women against violence from men.

Images of women rising up against socioeconomic oppression in 1940s Spain.

A gentle exhale and rest in the heat on the bale of hay.

Day 9: Bilboa to Pobeña - 15 km + train

April 23, 2024

I awoke to rain—not a gentle mist, but a wind-lashed tantrum from the sky, rain drumming loudly on the windows and sweeping the streets clean of walkers. I had planned to set out that morning, but Bilbao had other plans. I tucked into my raincoat and made my way instead to the Guggenheim, where titanium curves and contemporary brushstrokes offered shelter and wonder in equal measure. For half the day, I wandered through light and sculpture, letting the heavy rain and winds batter the outside of the museum. My impression is that the art installations are not as impressive as the architecture. I walked and wondered inside, grateful for the warmth and shelter.

Eventually, it softened—not gone, but less vengeful—and I boarded a commuter train out of the city heading to Muskiz. My walk resumed loutside of the train station in an industrial landscape beaten by icy wind and soaked with heavy rain. I was moving towards Pobeña, a short but soggy 15-kilometer walk. The trail was mercifully flat, mainly walking along the side of paved roads where there were thankfully few cars. I found a rhythm in the puddles and the solitude. A hot shower that evening felt like a baptism. When the shivering stopped, I wandered to the edge of the sea, wrapped in my coat, and watched the storm clouds split just enough to let the sun dip through in streaks of molten gold. The Atlantic greeted me again. I was home.

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Guggenheim Museum Bilbao

The skies are finally starting to clear as I head into Pobena.

Day 10: Pobeña to Castro Urdiales - 22 km

April 24, 2024

The trail unspooled gently that day, sun on my shoulders, a breeze off the sea, and the kind of walk that asks nothing more than your quiet presence. It was a day of lightness, of easy steps and open sky.

Castro Urdiales greeted me like a page from a storybook. A seaside town where time braids itself together—Roman ruins, medieval walls, and bright fishing boats all holding hands around a glittering marina. I wandered its narrow streets, past castle stones and cathedral spires, stopping for tapas beneath wrought iron balconies and watching children chase birds in the square. Art lined the waterfront in unexpected places, a sculpture here, a mural there, as if the town itself was always mid-conversation with its artists.

I rested deeply that night, full from good food and the kind of stillness that only follows movement. The sea whispered just outside my window, and I let it lull me into sleep.

Harpoonist and Dog sculpture, Castro Urdiales seafront.

I was a little nervous when I saw this sign indicating tomorrow’s walk would be almost 35 km.

Day 11: Castro Urdiales to Laredo - 37 km

April 25, 2024

No day starts without coffee. And on this one, the longest day walking yet, I rose early, bleary and uncertain, in search of caffeine and courage. At the only café open at the ungodly hour of 7 am (Small Spanish towns rarely open before 10), a young man stepped in behind me and asked, in crisp English, if I spoke the language. I laughed and said yes, probably too fluently for this hour.

We chatted briefly. I told him I was walking to Laredo that day, 37 kilometers, rain in the forecast, nerves in my chest. I admitted it felt like a lot. He paused, smiled, and asked, “Would you like some company?” And so I met Arjen, a kind-hearted and charming pilgrim from Utrecht in the Netherlands. Just like that, my fear of the long day became a beautiful moment of bonding over cold rain and slippery, muddy paths. A day that would have been much, much harder on my own.

We set off together into a shifting sky, mud slick beneath our boots, wind dancing across the hills. The trail was steep, winding, and at times absurd—but we shared stories, laughter, quiet moments, and the steady rhythm of strangers becoming companions. The views were beautiful, and the terrain was constantly changing. Cliffs falling into the sea, fields painted in every shade of green, the whole world breathing deeply around us.

By the time we reached Laredo, we were soaked, sore, and smiling. Arjen checked into a pilgrim lodge housed in an old seminary, historic, peaceful, and grand, just what he needed. I continued to the apartment I had booked on Booking.com, lured by the promise of a sea view and a hot shower.

But what I found was… strange.
What looked like an abandoned apartment building, tucked into an area of Laredo that felt forgotten and was desolate. It was far from the charming old town streets I had passed through with Arjen. My suite appeared to be the only one occupied — by ME. It was a dusty echo of someone else's life. Nothing worked properly. The promise of clean clothes disappeared into a broken washing machine. The air was stale, there was a bathtub but no shower, and I wasn’t sure the locks would hold. I hobbled out to the grocery store and bought a frozen pizza, turned on the stove (mercifully functional), and made do. The view of the water was the apartment’s only grace. I watched the last light fade across the bay and reminded myself that having expectations can lead to disappointment. If I lean into delight in each new experience without the need for it to be something other than what it is, life gets better, more joyful, and I am a little bit happier each day.

That night, I curled into myself, a little uneasy but deeply proud. I had walked farther than I thought I could and ended the day with the sea on the other side of my window. Despite the less-than-expected apartment, my world and my day were both very, very alright. And that is a Camino lesson that I will take with me on the trail.

This is just before the trail got ridiculously steep and slippery. But the views were incredible.

Day 12: Laredo to Güemes - 21 km (and a ferry)

April 26, 2024

After days of shifting terrain and tired legs, Day 12 arrived like a lullaby. I crossed from Laredo by ferry, a small, quiet glide across the water that felt like a gift. The trail unfolded gently from there: soft sand underfoot, hills rising and falling like breath, and the sound of distant bells carried by the breeze. Sheep, cows, and goats grazed with casual indifference, and the whole day felt like it had been exhaled just for us.

I reunited with a member of my Camino family that day, Maria Fernandez from Mexico City. We had parted ways in Bilbao but discovered that our paths would cross again just after Laredo. And we would stay in the same hotel that night. Maria had walked onto the other side of the river the previous day, taking the ferry a day before me. She waited for me where the ferry came to dock, and we set out together for the day. Our conversation flowed with the rhythm of our steps. There’s something about walking beside someone for hours, without an agenda or expectation, that’s like peeling away the layers of a person and discovering just how similar we all are at the core.

Picos de Europa. A stunning view as we leave the pastures behind and walk towards Santander.

Along this coastline, surfers danced in the waves, and the wind threatened to blow us down to the shore.

Day 13: Güemes to Santander, 25 KM (and a Ferry)

April 27, 2024

The day began with wind, and I mean A LOT of wind! The Cantabrian Sea was roaring at our side. The walk from Güemes to Santander is pure drama, cliffside paths that dare you to look down, ocean swells smashing against stone, and views so vast they quiet even the most restless mind.

We watched surfers carve their joy into the waves below, arms raised like dancers balancing on the breath of the sea. The wind pushed at us all day, playful and wild, and I found myself whispering thanks to gravity for keeping me safely tethered to the cliffs.

After the ferry carried us across the bay into Santander, the city felt like a reward. That afternoon, we surrendered to indulgence: a Michelin-starred restaurant that also happened to be a wine museum. Every bite was a revelation, every sip a hymn—laughter at the table, the comfort of full hearts, full plates, and inevitably, full stomachs.

The Camino gives you what you need. Today, it gave me exhilaration, awe, and one of the best wind-swept hair days of my life.

Day 14: Santander to Puente Arce 13 Km

April 28, 2024

It was an effortless day, with an early stop at the Gastro Hotel Palacio de Arce. This 18th-century palace has been restored into a beautiful, peaceful hotel with two fantastic Mediterranean restaurants. I enjoyed rest and a full tummy!

As I walked out of Santander with Maria, we parted ways along the path. Walking away from the sea towards green pastures and rolling hills. The week ended with a soft sigh. With little to offer in hiking trail adventure, and much to offer in rest and comfort. I have been walking for two whole weeks now, and each day, I wake up excited for what lies ahead. The not knowing brings a delightful anticipation as each moment is a new experience unfolding in a way that touches and teaches me about myself. This is the real beauty of the Camino.