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Just when I was having my supper at the albergue in Castro Urdiales
the pilgrim whom I had seen on the road entered.
He had taken a room in a hotel after having arrived at Castro
because he did not know if the albergue at the exit of the town was closed or not.
He talked a bit with me and the hospitaler and went for dinner.
If I see him again on the road today?
There he is. Shortly after having passed Cerdigo I see him and accelerate my steps to catch him up.
He is called Josep, a Catalan from province of Tarragona.
. He says his nickname at home is "Monk" for being very silent,
but I can hardly believe that as we have a very intense conversation, and it's him who speaks almost all the time.
It seems that he is no less happy than me to have found someone to speak at last.
All this lack of communication during the past few days already had a pretty discouraging effect on me.
But with an interlocutor like him, time flies by.
There is little swell, the waves do not reach the rock.
In Islares I see the only sea water geysirs in action on this way, but they're pretty far.
In Asturias there are more and the way passes directly in front of them, but at low tide they are inactive.
Between Islares and Liendo the way is on the N-634 national road, but instead of following the road
I have convinced Josep to take the coast way over a cliff that offers exceptional views.
While I stop several times to make some shots of the mountains, the coast and the sea,
Josep accelerates his steps and increases the speed.
It seems that he considers the ascent to be a challenge for him.
Suddenly I don't see him any longer.
Well, at some point I will see him in front of me or he will wait somewhere, is what I think.
I don't see him again, Josep is not at the albergue, but he mentioned the youth hostel in Santoña.
According to my guide book there is no guarantee that the ferry boat between Laredo and Santoña circulates.
Josep told me so and said he wanted to take the bus. He will have taken it directly.
To clarify this about the boat I go to the tourist office where I am told the same thing:
The boat will definitely not circulate, it's only possible to take it in the morning from the Holy Week on.
As I have no desire to walk about nine miles (14 km) across the whole bay on road
I have decided to take the bus too, tomorrow morning.
It's sad because I love the beach walk to the Puntal de Laredo where you have to take the boat.
And yet I don't know that it is a lie what they have told me at the tourist office, a misinformation.
Pilgrim exaggerating on the beach of Laredo.
After having gone to an internet café I have known that Kevin, my Australian pilgrim friend,
will also come to Leon to join me and Joaquin on the way of the Saviour.
But our meeting will be postponed another day later because of Kevin's arrival.
In Laredo, I see for the first time that the Spanish economic depression
caused by the burst of the housing bubble in 2008 is evident everywhere now.
Many shops that still existed three years ago are empty and closed now.
Laredo, which has the longest beach in northern Spain, is a national tourism resort,
only a few foreigners come here because they usually prefer the warmth of the Mediterranean beaches.
And as the Spaniards do not have money to come and spend the holidays here, it's very bad for the local economy.
Josep has talked of a lost generation, young people who come from highschools, colleges and universities
who do not find any work, for five years already.
When I return to the albergue there is another pilgrim:
Ricardo, a young, tall and very athletic Italian. He is a sportsman, a swimmer.
He knows at once who I am.
He met Hannah at the albergue in Deba where she had stayed to recover.
They had made two stages together, to Cenarruza and to Guernica.
After that he has made two stages with almost thirty miles (50 km) each,
from Guernica to Portugalete and from there to Laredo, all on asphalt.
It looks like he's running from something.
At the nuns' albergue in Laredo.
Ricardo, the Italian pilgrim who has met Hannah too, has already left.
He's left at six o'clock.
It's raining, and the boat won't go to Santoña.
After breakfast and having packed the backpack, the rain clouds have gone fortunately.
Another lovely day.
Joaquin told me by phone that I had to see his childhood friend Robert.
Having arrived at Santoña I see that the ferry boat is there. I ask the crew if they travel between Santoña and Laredo,
and they affirm it. They have to do it so that people can go to the hospital in case of illness, they explain to me.
But the people from Laredo, they add, do not know this,
because the boat is from Santoña and hence from another municipality.
I'm so angry!
I go to the office of Joaquin's friend Robert, but he has to work.
Good thing that another old friend of Joaquin arrives, Toni, and he shows me Santoña and its environment.
Santoña is the birthplace of Luis Carrero Blanco,
a Spanish admiral and politician designated to be the successor of Franco until his assassination by ETA in Madrid,
but due to the proximity of the bombing site to the U.S. embassy rumors never have disappeared
that the CIA was also involved as well.
However, it was a key moment in the Spanish history
because as a consequence King Juan Carlos was proclaimed head of state after the death of Franco
and in the end Spain became a democracy after 37 years of dictatorship.
The forts of Santoña seem to be built for pirate movies.
Now I am at the chapel of Santa Maria de Bareyo and well, it's an unforgettable day,
I had very nice experiences with the Joaquin's friends
and just for being here, on a beautiful day...
Finally I get to Guemes, to Grandpa Peuto's hut.
Every time I come here the albergue is bigger and more comfortable.
There is also a surprise that is waiting for me: There are other pilgrims here.
Josep for example who had slept at the youth hostel in Santoña.
And also Ricardo, but he doesn't feel good.
Having trouble with his knees, he can barely move.
I thought he was going to do another marathon stage to Santander, but he couldn't.
What one has to avoid along the way is an abuse of the body.
Then there is a family of San Sebastián.
At the albergues in Cenarruza and Castro Urdiales I had already read their names.
A father and his three children.
The daughter is 18 years old, the boys are minors.
They belong to a religious community a little bit peculiar, the Twelve Tribes, so they do not go to school.
The father tries to shield them from others.
It's a shame because his children seem to be very curious and intelligent.
Don Ernesto, the priest who founded the albergue, tries to find out something
about the dogmas and the administrative structure of the Twelve Tribes,
but the answers given by the father are rather unclear and quite evasive.
One of the volunteering hospitaleros, an Andalusian, also says something about the subject,
but I don't quite understand a word.
It seems to me that he will start a flamenco song with a shout when he opens his mouth.
He notices this and asks me if I speak Spanish.
Apparently not...