Camino del Norte Day 4: Deba to Ziortza
A Golden Day
April 23, 2025
18.7 miles | 30 km
I woke up with a start as if it was Christmas. It was my twenty-third birthday, as well as my golden birthday. The wooden boards creaked under my feet as I gathered my things from the little hotel room. When I went downstairs, I found a lavish spread of breakfast foods at the bar. The host was so eager to serve me that he nearly sat and watched me eat! I was the only guest in the dining room, although I could see a few pairs of hiking boots and trekking poles outside.
A hearty breakfast at Casa Rural Pikua
After breakfast I returned my key, paid for the other half of my stay, and thanked the hotel owner in what little Spanish I knew. He was most gracious and repeated, “Gracias, Sofía!” many times. I also made friends with the Shetland ponies.
Do you think they could smell the golden delicious apples stashed in my pockets?
I checked again that I had everything and set out through the lush pine forest toward Ziorta. The path was wooded and rolling, passing through pastures and forests at intervals.
An overlook near Mutriko, Basque Country
Forget-me-nots graced the path on their dainty stems, like little bits of blue that had fallen from the sky and were captured in flower form.
God, Your creation is beautiful, I thought for the hundredth time that day.
wood forget-me-not (Myosotis sylvatica)
I tried to use trail signs instead of my phone for navigation, which worked most of the time. Every now and then I used Gronze maps to check that I was on the right path.
Above: male fern (Dryopteris filix-mas) and a typical Basque trail marker
“Donejakue Bidea” is the name for the Camino de Santiago in the Basque language. Most of the trail markers in Basque Country said “Donejakue Bidea” first and then “Camino de Santiago” underneath or not at all.
Above: European columbine (Aquilegia vulgaris)
Below: 1) 2) 3) Spanish broom 4) meadow beauty
Finally reached the top!
A quick painting from the top
Below: 1) white pasque flower 2) viper’s bug loss
Freedom
Views of Basque Country
Approaching Gernika
The quiet streets of Bolibar
Ascending the pathway to the monastery
Once at the monastery, I was greeted by a monk in a long black robe. He was on his way to prayer service, but I didn’t know that at the time. He welcomed me to the monastery, showed me to my room with the other pilgrims, showed me where I could shower, wash my clothes, and told me that the pilgrim dinner was at 8:00. As he left, he showed me the donation box.
“Please leave a responsible donation,” he said with bushy eyebrows.
I nodded and thanked him many times, grateful to have reached this haven of hospitality. The pilgrim dinner was joyous. Out of the fourteen people at the table, I was the only American. English was the common language, although I heard German, Dutch, and French conversations at various points throughout the evening. I met several other pilgrims about my age: Luuk from The Netherlands, Sam from Germany and lived in Norway, Zena from Leipzig, Lawrence from France, Naomi from The Netherlands, Aubrey, Laurent, and Olivia from France, two guys from Ireland, and two women from Canada. Sam spoke seven languages, which he did with ease around the table.
“Hot! Hot!” exclaimed the monk, suddenly appearing through the door with an enormous pot of something steaming.
Dinner was of pasta with vegetables and sun-dried tomatoes, bread and butter and jam, and yogurt for dessert. There was wine in ceramic pitchers, and after dinner the table became quite merry. Zena asked me how old I was.
“Twenty-three, today,” I said.
“We’ve got a birthday!” she exclaimed for all the room to hear.
Everyone clapped and cheered as if their team had scored. They all wished me a happy birthday and promised not to sing because “that would be embarrassing.” This was the first birthday I had spent away from my family. My heart was filled with the warmth and kindness of these fellow pilgrims, and in gratitude I lay my head down that night. It truly was a golden day.
