Camino del Norte Day 5: Ziortza to Gernika-Lumo
April 24, 2025
Waking up in a Monastery
The air was gray and chilly when I awoke. Some of the pilgrims were still sleeping, so I took a quiet walk around the monastery before breakfast. I meandered among the old trees, gazing up at the masonry of this prayer-seeped place. At 7:30 sharp, I heard a solitary, reverent voice rising from somewhere deep within the monastery. I stood still, barely breathing. After a few phrases, a second voice joined the first in beautiful harmony. Then a third voice began, intertwining with the first two like a three-stranded cord. I stood listening for a moment, barely breathing. More voices joined, each word in Latin. Suddenly, I felt as if I should not be there. They were not singing for me; they were singing soli Deo gloria.
When I returned, breakfast was bustling in the kitchen. I joined the three French girls for coffee, toast, and marmalade. Lawrence from France gave me the last bit of cured meat as a late birthday present. We each made sure to leave a “responsible donation” in the little wooden box on the wall as we left the hospitality of the monks.
The weather was overcast and rainy for much of the morning. The Camino wound through fields, farmland, and forests, often passing directly through paddocks with gates that needed to be unlocked and locked again. There were lots of friendly horses and donkeys!
A family of Basque horses
Donkeys on the Camino
Through Mendata the Camino became a muddy footpath.
The narrow way
Sometimes there was no getting around the mud, and I was grateful for waterproof hiking boots.
Where to step…
By 14:00 I reached Gernika-Lumo, which is also known by its Spanish name, Guernica. The town was famously bombed in 1937 during the Spanish Civil War (July 17, 1936 - April 1, 1939). The devastating event inspired Pablo Picasso’s famous painting, Guernica, which I later got to see in person at the Reina Sofía in Madrid.
Iglesia de Santa María in Casco Histórico, Gernika-Lumo
Rich in history and symbolism, Guernica was founded in 1366 and became a political and religious center of the Basque region. Political leaders traditionally met under the branches of the Tree of Gernika, a fifth-generation oak growing in the heart of the town representing freedom and law. The Tree survived the devastating bombing of 1937, which made it an even stronger symbol of the Basque liberty and resilience.
A sloshy climb
After Gernika, the trail became a muddy uphill scramble. Most pilgrims had chosen to stop in Guernica for the day, and I saw no one on the trail for almost an hour. The pilgrims from Zenarruza Monastery told me about a great albergue just a few kilometers past Guernica, so I decided to press on.
After a long uphill walk through logging trails, the trail suddenly opened up to a panoramic vista all around me. The blue-green hills of Basque Country sparked below in the afternoon sunshine. I wanted to stop and paint, but I decided to get to the albergue first.
When I reached the albergue, I met Sam, Zena, Lawrence, Naomi, and Luuk again. I also met two French girls who were camping, a German girl, and a Canadian lady with the most unpredictable jokes.
Approaching Casa Pozueta where I stayed the night
After signing in, showering and starting a load of laundry, I went back out again to paint a view I had seen on my way in:
In the evening, we shared another pilgrim dinner. The hospitalero cooked us a huge three-course meal. He told us that he could only bring the next course after the first one was completely gone. There was a very fat little dog in the vicinity, and we had some suspicions about it. For some reason nobody felt like talking, but that was okay. We were content to be together in the silence of each other’s company.
“I think it’s the hospital lights,” said Sam, noting the florescent lights above the long table.
The table remained quiet until someone gave the dog a few scraps. The dog suddenly turned savage like Bilbao in Rivendell when he sees the ring and goes goblin for a second. The outburst was so sudden and unexpected that all of us nearly died of laughter. Somehow the topic of allergies came up, and Lawrence was talking about how his girlfriend was allergic to dust mites. He, however, couldn’t remember the English word for “mite.”
“You know, those tiny beasts that live in your bed,” he said, seriously.
Everyone nodded along with him. I was the only native English speaker at the table, and nobody else thought this was even remotely funny. There were several times during the evening that I had to work hard to keep it together.
