< Norte Day 4 — Norte Day 6 > < Norte Index >
27 kilometers, 7 hours, passing through Munitibar, Mendata, and Gernika.
The bells not far above our room rang and rang—before six. They rang and they rang. Big bells with deep tones to wake the body, small, high-pitched bells to wake the spirit. Monk’s time; not mine. I curled up and pulled my sleeping bag up tighter.
There, on the Camino del Norte, rising before 7:30 seemed silly. New rule: stay in bed later than at home. (It wasn’t light until 8:00, anyway.) Then mother nature called. Out I went into the cold and down the stairs with my headlamp. The restrooms and showers are on a lower, basement level not accessible without leaving the dorm/kitchen/bunk room and down some stairs (That would suck in a snowstorm). Soonest possible, jumping back into the warmth of my bag.
Others began to rise, readying for the day. Bumps and flashes of lights. Water running, microwave humming. A tiny-house had nothing on that place: nine beds, dining table for twelve, and kitchen—all in 200 square feet. I rolled over, facing the wall.
Late as I could, I hit the trail and climbed away from the monastery. Voice recording some thoughts about the story I was developing; I got those thoughts out of my head. “I hummed with all the wanting I had inside.” Judy Blundell
At the top of the short climb from the monastery, I ran into Jody, whom I had met the night before. She had left early, in the dark, and got turned around, losing the trail. She had lost maybe two hours. See, new rule— sleep in, wait for the light.
Trucking along, walking on a dirt road through the dark forest, I saw Jody. She walked up the trail in my direction, looking up then down to her phone. I knew the look. As she saw me coming, I said, half-joking, “You’re going the wrong way.” She told me she couldn’t find the route and that she had just downloaded a map app and was trying to figure out how to use it. I pointed over her shoulder and said, “There’s a yellow arrow.” She turned to see it and began cursing like a sailor.
Jody turned around, happy to follow my lead. As we made our way down a trail, then a long staircase and passed by farmhouses, Jody would say, “I was here two hours ago,” then swear some more. She had trekked down this part of the route to Munitibar, taken a wrong turn, and walked up a paved road—to start it all over.
We walked together to Eskerika, having stopped in Gernika for a bite to eat and coffee. We stopped that night at a very nice albergue run by a Basque man named Iñake. Dinner would be simple that night; there were few options. But the wine was inexpensive and from Rioja. Jodie and I split a fine bottle of red.
Later, Hendrik and Sheng showed up. Then three French people we had not seen before, or after, this night—they stayed to themselves. Jodie and Sheng fixed dinner for us at the outdoor kitchen. The food, wine, and company were wonderful.
Iñake charged one euro per person to use the kitchen facilities. Jodie struggled with the concept of paying separately for the kitchen and argued with him a little. Paying for using a kitchen was definitely not the norm at any of the albergues I have stayed at before.
Another not-norm: Iñake had a rule about no bare feet. I have already said that Jodie runs around barefoot when not on the trail. He said something to her two or three times. We laughed at her. I can only imagine that she likes bare feet because she walks on the beaches of her native Australia like any other Australian beauty. I never did ask for clarification on my assumption.
I don’t think we ever paid for the kitchen. Sorry, Iñake.