May 18, 2018. I woke to the chill sea air of Donostia-San Sebastián (aka San Sebastián), and broke camp quickly so I wouldn’t be discovered. As I drove into town, I saw droves of pilgrims on the walk to Santiago de Compostela. I’d considered doing the pilgrimage and have several friends who have walked a portion of the Camino, one from his home in Netherlands. I decided to drive west along the coast to explore the nearby coastal towns of Getaria, pretty seaside towns full of history. I wandered along their cobblestone streets and found many lovely ateliers with artful displays of artisanal hand made crafts on display.

There was a dramatic mural depicting Juan Sebastián Elcano, a sailor from Getaria and the first man to circumnavigate the earth. He was captain of the Nao Victoria, the one ship in Magellan’s fleet which completed the voyage. I discovered that Getaria may be derived from the Latin word cetaria, meaning “a place where fish is canned”. Evidence of Roman facilities for canning fish has been indeed been found. Another possible origin of the name is “guaita” in the Gascon language which means “lookout”. During the Middle Ages various villages on the Basque coast were colonized by Gascons, including Getarias. The town’s name could also be the result of a mix between “guaita” and “–ari”, a suffix that is used in the Basque language for professions and would mean either the town of the vigilant. True to its name, I climbed a small lookout turret in the old town to admire the view of the sea.

I headed onward to Zumaia, a tiny town dissected by the Urola and Narrondo rivers which had its origins as an ancient monastery. In the Middle Ages, the people who lived in the Sehatz valley endured continuous attacks by pirates and pillagers, and fortified the city in response. The church retains a defensive appearance. Along the coast are steeply-tilted layers of flysch, a sequence of sedimentary rock layers that are deposited when a deep basin forms rapidly on the continental side of a mountain building episode.

The home and museum of painter Ignacio Zuloaga houses the likes of El Greco, Rivera, Zurbarán, and Goya, while across the street there is a museum of the Laia, a foot plough used for farming in Basque Country and later used in races. Within the city center I found the Basque-style Gothic church of San Pedro with its temple of magnificent reredos (also referred to as a rood screen) by Juan de Antxieta. I love reredos. These intricately carved wooden facings would divide the polity (rabble) from the well-healed in the sanctum sanctorum. They were prohibited by the Reformation and very few still exist. I have seen another lovely one in St. Bernard de Commingue, not far from here on the other side of the Pyrenees.

After my visit to Zumaia, I headed back to San Sebastián and parked in the old town. The town is nestled on the lovely Bay of Biscay, only 12 miles from the French border. Locals, both Spanish and Basque, call themselves donostiarra. It is a very walkable city, and the river bisects the Basque side of the city (Donostia) from the Spanish side (San Sebastián). A Basque family friend who traveled to San Sebastián in the 1970s, said that the difference between the people was palpable. On the Spanish side, women walked displaying their finest jewelry and rich clothing, while on the Basque side people wore much simpler clothing and seemed much more concerned about political freedom and justice.

I kept my friend’s perspective in mind as I crossed the stately stone bridges across the Urumea River. I walked along the seashore along the promenade to the terminus marked by architect Ganchegui’s landmark The Comb of the Winds at the western tip of the bay. On my hike back, I was overcome by the aroma of tapas from the bars lining the cobbled streets in the center of town. Throngs of people stood waiting in a queues. It was a Saturday, and families were out in full force. I was tempted to stop for a bite, but didn’t want to “waste time”. When traveling, I’m averse to spending the time required to eat out, and instead buy food at grocery store. I occasionally order food to go when I want to treat myself.

As it was museum day (a special day when all museums are free), I decided to go to the oldest museum in Basque country, the beautiful San Telmo Museoa, located in the ancient monastery of San Telmo at the foot of Urgull. The museum is devoted to the exploration of Basque society, focusing on its culture, arts and history. The Basque Society of Friends of the Country decided to found a municipal museum following the success of exhibitions in the city during the late 19th century.The museum was opened in 1902 and moved to San Telmo monastery in 1932 when the collection outgrew the original building. After serving for decades as an ethnographic museum, it was reopened in 2011 as a museum of Basque society and citizenship.

The items in the permanent exhibit range from ancient artifacts like funerary stele and Boabdil’s sword to Ignatius of Loyola’s spiritual exercises and more modern items like bicycles, a Seat 600 car, and soccer jerseys from Real Sociedad and Athletic Club Bilbao. The links of the Basques to the ocean, whale hunting, iron extraction, and manufacturing have a prominent place in the museum, along with the domains of religion and art. “Challenges for Our Society” is an multi-media presentation summarizing the key challenges for the Basque society in the near future, particularly sustainability, inter-culturality, equality, and human rights.

I spent the rest of the day in the museum, emerging at dusk to see some kids kicking a soccer ball around on the hardtop surrounding the modern museum building. When it got dark, I returned to my guerrilla camping spot in a field overlooking the official campground and settled in for the night.

May 19. I awoke and returned to San Telmo Museoa, expecting to pay, and was pleasantly surprised when they let me enter for free because I had a ticket from the day before. Some museums give you 48 hours per ticket to view the collection. I spent the entire day there, and was especially moved by the religious art, especially paintings by El Greco, Rivera, and Goya, as well as exhibits of peasant lifestyles like the old Basque kitchen. The cloister was stunning and I sat for a while gazing at its columns. I wandered through the city at dusk and for a third night camped in the field overlooking the bay and organized campsite, trying to be as quiet as possible to not attract unwanted attention.

May 20. In the morning I headed to Bilbao. I had heard a lot about the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao, which houses an impressive collection of modern and contemporary art and was designed by Canadian-American architect Frank Gehry. Inaugurated in 1997 and built next to the Nerving River in the decrepit former main port of Bilbao, it is one of the most admired works of contemporary architecture. It has been hailed as a signal moment in the architectural culture, because it represents “one of those rare moments when critics, academics, and the general public were all completely united about something”, according to architectural critic Paul Goldberger. The museum was the building most frequently named as one of the most important works completed since 1980 in the 2010 World Architecture Survey among architecture experts.

I’m not a big fan of modern art but wanted to see the museum for its architecture. After wading through giant metal statues and a strange tunnel on the ground floor, I got an unexpected treat: a temporary exhibit on Chinese society and culture. I chastised myself for spending most of the day there, and left before dusk to explore the old town of Bilbao, exploring its narrow streets and walking along river. I had the good fortune of happening upon a tapa restaurant that offered take out, and happily munched away at the bite size appetizers while watching the sun fall behind the hills and birds begin their ascent to surrounding rural scapes. After satisfying my hunger, I drove for an hour searching for a place to camp, finally settling upon a dirt road on a steep incline.

May 21. I awoke to the sound of male voices just outside my tent, and wondered whether there was going to be trouble. I hadn’t realized that I’d inadvertently parked on the camino de Santiago de Compostela. I said hello to the pilgrims who had already begun their morning walk, and packed my things. As I drove up the dirt road in search of a place to turn around, I realized that the track only got narrower. Rather than backing down the hill, I made the mistake of trying to turn around at the narrowest point, only to hit a sharp rock. The tire went flat within seconds, and I drove down the dirt road to the paved one on the rim. I emptied my trunk and got out the jack, and attempted to change the tire but to no avail. I waved down two hikers and asked for their assistance, but they were impatient because I didn’t park car where they wanted me to and dismissed me with a wave. I felt completely helpless, and waited for another hour or two.

Finally I saw a police car and flagged it. They contacted emergency services who were very nice, changed the tire for me, and sent me to a tire repair place about 5 miles down the hill. I rushed to the tire, and they said I would have to wait a day as they had to order another one from Madrid. I called Citroen Europass and they said they’d put me up in a hotel. I searched for a hotel and found one, called them back, and they said it was too expensive, that they’d only cover 65 Euro. I found a place for 69 Euro, double parked in order to unload items I needed for night (including beddings and laundry, which I hadn’t done in weeks), then parked across the river where I had to pay 18 Euro to park as the hotel had no parking. I returned and organized my things, took a shower and washed my clothes at the same time, took a long walk through the city, ordered tapas to go, then came back to my flat and enjoyed my floor to ceiling windows overlooking the river.

May 22. I had a leisurely morning and called the tire place when they told me they thought the tire would be ready at 11:30. They told me they closed at noon (all businesses seem to close between noon and 3), so I ran to the car, drove back and threw my things inside, arrived by 11:50am, got the tire changed, headed to market and bought veggies and cleaned car, then headed to Oviedo, Woody Allen’s favorite Basque town. Oviedo was hosting a festival, and there were lots of people in the park, crowded around a stage with a funny MC who kept cracking jokes (he must have been speaking Spanish not Basque because I understood him). Bagpipe music wafted across the plaza, and I realized that I was near Gallicia, the northwestern most part of Spain, where Celts had settled centuries past. I have a blond fair skinned friend whose family is from Galicia. Case in point.

Oviedo is the capital city of the Principality of Asturias, due west of Basque Country about 19 miles from the sea at an elevation of almost 1000 feet. I saw the remains of a palace and marveled at the beautiful countryside. There was a long history of agriculture here.

From Oviedo, I had planned to go to Parque Nacional de Los Picos de Europa (aka the Basque Alps) and the Lakes of Covadonga, but decided that since I’d lost a day with the tire fiasco, I needed to press on to Lugo, the only city in the world to be surrounded by completely intact Roman walls. Lots of old stone buildings, some dating back centuries. I found a place to camp outside the town and settled in for the night.

May 23. In the morning I returned to Lugo and found a few things I needed, including a hairbrush and yummy raisin nut bread (I didn’t really need it but wow was it good). I spent a few hours walking around the town, admiring the gates/portos and the old Roman ruins, and hoping to find a nice latte. Found lots of history but none of the black liquid. In the late afternoon I headed to Santiago de Compostela, the capital of Galicia. I was immediately impressed by the lovely gardens and park lands, and saw that it was a very important tourist destination, both for pilgrims and the non-believers. People were extremely friendly. I liked the town a lot, and walked through the medieval town and out to eastern gate from whence the camino started. As usual at night fall I searched for an adequate place to lay my head and bedded down for the night.

May 24. I returned to Santiago in the morning and was struck by its beauty and diversity. I could have stayed there for days. My inner Parisienne smiled at finding a beautiful terrazzo on the city wall that served delicious coffee drinks. From there I headed to the Cidade da Cultura de Galicia, a center of Galician culture and heritage that had some interesting exhibitions and art. I then headed to the Museo da Catedral, which features a large area of the architect Mateo’s original carved stone choir, which was sadly destroyed in 1604 but was later rebuilt. There’s also a great collection of religious art and even some medieval tombs. I then headed to the Museo das Peregrinacións e de Santiago (Museum of Pilgrimage and of Santiago), located in a converted building in the Praza das Praterías, based on the epic pilgrimage towards Santiago that every year thousands of people embark on. The museum hosts changing exhibitions as well as a fascinating permanent collection, which features art, artifacts, models and memorabilia.

I’d hoped to explore Galicia more, especially the coast from Noia to A Guarda, which is supposed to be very quaint and picturesque, but I knew it would take days to wind my way along the coast, so I headed to the Portuguese border. I was so impressed by the look of the ancient walled city of Tui, located on the right bank of the Miño River, facing the Portuguese town of Valença, that I stopped and walked around. I drove into the walled fort, something I’ve done in Serbia and other countries. I waited at the light for what seemed like ages until it was green. It was extremely narrow, and I felt like I’d scrape the sides of the Citroen C3 I was driving (which is a tiny car). After a while I crossed the river and walked around Valença, which was incredibly picturesque, and watched as the last rays of sun danced over the river. I decided to come back next day, and drove off to find a camp sight. There were some guys burning eucalyptus trees along the road, and I tried to get far away as I could out of fear that it might become an uncontrolled burn.