Guernica
Christine and Laura were just getting up as I was ready to leave so I bid them a Buen Camino and set off down the drive back to the main road. I met a Spanish pilgrim going the other way. There is an alternative route that passes Ikestei that is marginally shorter and she knew where she was going. It rejoins El Camino del Norte after Ziorta Bolibar. I might have taken it but I wanted to see Bolibar.
I reached the cafe in Iruzubieta Auzoa and turned off the main road onto the footpath.
It was a pleasant wander across fields, over hills and through forests. There were some picturesque scenes such as a large alpine style farmhouse in the bottom of the valley with a steeply sloping pasture behind it and forested upper slopes. It was scenic but spoilt by the sound of chainsaws being operated in the forest below and someone rounding up sheep with a quadbike. The slopes looked too steep to be safe for a quad bike but it was his farm, he knew the slopes that he could safely manage and he had probably done it before. But it only needs one mistake.
I walked down the slope to a roundabout and the start of Ziorta Bolibar, founded in the 11th century. Bolibar in Basque means the valley of windmills. El Camino takes a loop up the hillside away from the road to reach the centre of town. The association with El Camino is evident in the railings around the town which feature a scallop sheel (la concha) as part of decoration. The reason I was so keen to visit here was that it was the ancestral home of Simon Bolivar, the liberator of Latin America from its Spanish overlords who fought for more than a decade with assistance from San Martin, San Jose de Sucre, Admiral Cochrane who had a very colourful career and O'Higgins to name just a few of the other significant players in liberating the continent.
This is the entrance to the Simon Bolivar museum, in one of the grandest houses just off the main square, called Plaza Bolivar. The family were aristocrats and had emigrated to the new world decades before his birth. Simon Bolivar was a fourth generation Criollo born in Caracas in 1783.
The Igeslias de San Tomas in the plaza is a fine example of a fortified church. This is the east end. It has few or no lower windows, thick walls,...
...battlements, a lookout tower and stout doors to prevent access (in the centre under the canopy in the picture). It was built as a place of safety in the event of attack by bandits of enemy armies pillaging the countryside. The Moors were only expelled from the country in 1492 after nearly seven centuries of Muslim control.
After Ziorta Bolbar,El Camino climbs into the hills. The quality of the surface of the route varies, in places it is tarmac, gravel or concrete. In forests it can be covered in tree roots and in mountainous areas, it can be uneven naked stone with boulders. Just here it was a path covered with setts, carefully laid stone blocks, worn smooth by the passgae of thousands of pilgrims shoes.
El Camino goes through the centre of the medieval Monasterio de Zenarruza, built across the route which also operates a Alberque de Peregrinos. I had set off early and had seen few pilgrims and there aren't that many sleeping overnight options along this part of the route so it was an opportunity for a peaceful and reflective walk with nature without interruptions from the modern world.
The route climbs up to the top of the ridge and follows it for a while. There are some great views including one of a distant ridgeline capped with several windturbines. Either viewed as elegant pieces of engineering and essential for a carbon free future against global warming or as a carbuncle and an ugly blot on the landscape.
It was a long descent through forest, sometimes on a boardwalk, into Munitibar. I had thought that this might be a good place for a morning coffee break. There was a large crowd or Irish pilgrims gathering in the plaza with a loud hubbub of chatter. My hopes of another section of peaceful comtemplative reflection might be dashed.
Large groups move slower than an individual so I skipped the idea of a stop and walked straight through the plaza. Some way up the road, as I turned to check for traffic to ensure it was safe to cross, I saw that they had started off and were following me.
I could them talking but I thought that I would get ahead and out of earshot. It worked in a fashion but the group had disintegrated as the faster walkers outpaced the main body of walkers and had split into ones and twos. One tall chap without a pack passed me. I had kept ahead of the main group and the level of chatter had died down but there was still a couple behind me who weren't catching me up but I wasn't outpacing them, and chatting all the time.
They overtook me on a steep section but didn't pull ahead on the level. Then he said that he was going ahead and said farewell to his companion. She slowed her pace and I over took her. Ahead in the distance I could still see the tall chap without a pack, and the chap in a blue shirt, seemingly determined to catch the other one.
At last I was back to my comtemplative ramble without intrusions. I looked back and the woman was nowhere to be seen. At a bridge I passed the tall chap without a backback and the chap in a blue shirt, having a drink and a chat. I checked that everything was alright and moved on only for them to overtake me again.
On a long open straight section, there was no sight of them and I guessed they must have stopped at one of the farmhouse that offer refreshments along the route. It is not a race, but it is nice to be away from other people and to be comtemplative and lost in ones own thoughts.
But I suspect plenty of other pilgrims hadn't been so fair minded and had helped themselves over the decades. They ate the flesh and through the cores on to the side of the road. All along the route were wild pear trees, and these were fair game to help yourself.
I passed another field of fruit trees that may never join the pilgrim's menu. These were kiwi fruits but protected by a stout fence and all the fruit was out of reach. The seeds are also small and soft and unlikely to be thrown away so for two reasons, there will be no kiwi fruit for future pilgrims to sample free of charge.
But the farmer, or perhaps a neighbour had a sense of humour and had some characters overlooking the route.
It was a long slog through a forest but at least it gave shade from the sun. There were three Spanish pilgrims behind me for a while, but only talking occasionally. Two came past on a steeper section and disappeared ahead. It had rained the day before but there were only a few puddles to negotiate, so I was careful to step around or use stepping stones to avoid the mud.
I reached the top and started a descent. The twowomen that had passed me were nowhere to be seen but then I had slowed to avoid getting my feet muddy. Through the trees there were views of Guernica in the distance and I stopped to take a photo. The third woman caught me up but stopped several times to take photos.
I reached the edge of the urban fringe where the forest ends and the concrete begins. The two woman that had passed me earlier were sitting on the grass and asked after their friend. As it happened I had seen her following me about 300 metres behind and passed on the news.
I walked on into the city. All three later passed me again. As I approached the bridge over the river, they were having lunch outside a cafe and shouted a greeting. We had been playing a game of El Camino Leapfrog, passing each other several times in a few hours. I walked on to have a tour of Guernica before catcjing a train to reach my hotel ten minutes by train outside the city centre.
