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35 kilometers, 9 hours, passing through Portugalete, La Arena, Pobeño, Ontón, and Mioño.
Not meaning to harp on this, I once spent the night at high basecamp on Mt. Everest in eighty mile-per-hour winds and got better sleep than on a Saturday night in a youth hostel in Bilbao. However, I had it better than Hendrik and Sheng. They could not find beds in any of the decent albergues in town, so went on by bus to Pobeño. I ran into them later, as planned, in Castro-Urdiales.
Also, it took all morning to get past Bilbao, the port of Bilbao, and onto the seaside trails. The city is stunning. But finding the trails along the shore starting at La Arena, though they were asphalt, eased this county boy’s stress level back to near zero. Thirty-four of thirty-five kilometers this day were on a hard surface: concrete, asphalt, blocks, you name it. Walking those many hard-topped kilometers made this old man older.
There are three options to get through Bilbao: The long, higher route away from the river and through working-class neighborhoods; a route on the west side of the Nervión River through industrial complexes; and, the way that I went on the east side of the river. This third option suited me for a few reasons. Shorter, more direct, it offered views of the city all the way to Portugalete, and I got to cross the river in the suspension ferry there. A ferry car suspended from a span over the river. How cool is that?
Bilbao really is amazing, a great place to visit. It’s big, too, if you take in its industrial sprawl and neighboring towns. At Portugalete, near the mouth of the river and the end of the port, the suspension ferry was the coolest thing I’d seen in a while. It cost forty-five-euro cents to cross the river.
Leading up from the crossing and through town, part of the Camino path can be done on electric sidewalks that glide up the steep inclines. Yes, I did, thank you very much. From there, the route winds its way onto bike and pedestrian specific trails—miles and miles and tens-of-miles of them. They must have cost tens of millions of dollars to build.
The trails and the fairly level grade after Portugalete made for easy walking, just tiring after several hours. The path led through a long tunnel toward my final destination that day. After the tunnel and as I entered Castro-Urdiales, it began to rain. On the other side of the large town, at the municipal albergue, there was Hendrik in the reception area, dining area, kitchen. He had a funny look on his face. The problem: there were no beds left. They only had sixteen beds, at €5 per night, so they went fast. Guy, the young volunteer running the place gave me a list of pensións back in town. I selected one, and he called to make sure they had a room.
Before I could leave the muni, though, a young woman at the dining table said I could take her bunk, she could sleep there on the bench at the table. Wow, just wow. The generosity of people on the Camino always takes my breath away. I politely declined and went back out into the rain, backtracking into town and got a room of my own. For €35.
Out for a glass of wine and to check out the local vibe, I crossed a small plaza where moms watched their children play. At a bar tucked into one corner of the plaza, men filled the outside tables, BSing and watching the young mothers. Before long, one of the men from outside and already quite tipsy, came in for another beer and bought me a glass of wine. He seemed interested in practicing a second language, told me about his town and gave the bartender a bad time, all in English. The young man behind the bar seemed resigned to this fellow’s behavior, no doubt a regular occurrence. After finishing the wine, and never being too tolerant of drunks, I decided dinner time had come. I had the makings for a meal in my room. The plan for the Muni had been to eat there because it was at the edge of town, away from restaurants, and it was Sunday. The simple meal I had in my room and a quiet night’s sleep was perfect.