From Zumaia, it was another steep climb through the suburbs to the high farms and vineyards. Without exception, everywhere you looked was so beautiful that it gave you a lightened feeling. Here a beautiful white farm with its giant caserio, a communal farmhouse cum storehouse cum stable; there an ermita on the top of a bluff overlooking the sea. I was continually amazed by the remote locations of the houses; how did they haul the materials up there? Ana emphasized what I was thinking when she explained that when the Basque language came to be written down in the nineteen twenties, there were nearly as many dialects as there were caserios.
It was a great walk, mostly on unpaved tracks. We had to cross the N-634, a national highway a couple of times, which was terrifying, but the rest of the day was spent in farmland, with the occasional hamlet. We had a rest stop in a park just outside Elorriaga, where a public works truck was also parked. One of its two occupants was taciturn and grumpy, but the other was more than happy to converse about the area. He told us the good places to eat in Deba, the next big town. We knew that we’d have to stay there that night, even though it was only thirteen km from Zumaia, because the next stage was 22km, and the hills were terrifically hard work, and not just for me.
There was something quite magical about the little country roads which turned into footpaths. I remember one segment on the outskirts of the village of Itziar which began in a little river valley with sheep grazing on either side of what was a very old road. From here we travelled into a damp little dell, very green with ferns and flowers underneath huge old trees, then up a steep incline, past a magically friendly horse, who didn’t even get up while we passed, but who sniffed our hands and let us pet his velvet nose.
We had thought about lunch in Itziar, but the one choice was a hotel by the main road, which didn’t appeal. At my insistence we went up and up into the village proper because I wanted to see the thirteenth century statue of the Virgin, associated with yet another of the tales of miraculous discovery which have been a theme along both my Caminos. It was worth the climb. The sixteenth century church was huge. Since the Virgen de Iciar is the protector of sailors, there was a model of a full-rigged sailing ship hanging from the ceiling. I wondered how old that was! The back wall of the nave was decorated in geometric wall paintings in dark blue and red and white, on either side of massive wooden retablo, so dark as to be almost black. In the centre of this, backlit, was the golden statue. The story goes that a boy met with an apparition of a woman and child, who told him to build a church on the height of Itziar. Somewhere along the line, he received a gilded statue. The people of the village, seeing the miraculous statue, did as they were told, but decided to put the church in a place less awkward to reach, lower down, and not covered in scrub and thorns. They made a start, but in the night angels descended and moved the stones to the place the apparition had mandated. The people realized that they’d better follow the instructions and a church was built on the site where the current church stands today.
When we came out of the church, it was right into a spirited game of soccer in the courtyard. Children from the ikastole, the Basque-language school were having recess.
We threaded our way through them and headed further upwards. One of the things I liked best about these walks was watching the towns and villages recede as we climbed. I took lots of pictures, but they hardly ever replicated the experience. The lens foreshortens everything and makes the distances look like nothing at all.
It wasn’t far from Itziar to Deba, only about three kilometres. Unfortunately, it was nearly straight down.descending nearly three hundred metres to the sea.
The way was lovely, with the road banks crammed with wildflowers in bloom. Ana and I feasted on wild strawberries. But the last section, on paved roads, and what was likely a 1 in 3 grade literally did me in. Gisbert and Margi went on ahead, while Ana insisted on keeping me company. I felt like such a wimp but I was in extreme pain. I was thrilled to see the town at the foot of the last hill, until I saw that to get to it I had to go down several sets of stairs. When I got to the foot of those I had to laugh because before me was an escalator, and just beyond that was a series of two elevators which led to the town proper. Somehow, seeing those made me feel better. Even the people of Deba recognized how ridiculous it was to be climbing down a cliff.
Elevators. Best. Invention. Ever.
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