As I set off from the powerless albergue the next day, the sun was just rising over the Cantabrian Sea, gilding the ugliness of the town, transforming it into something splendid. I soon met up with Dutch Patti. After no shower and no means of making coffee or brushing our teeth, we were eager to get to the next village and get some sustenance. We passed though Allendelagua, which turned out to be nothing more than a suburb of Castro Urdiales; very pretty but with no amenities. Cerdigo was no better, despite being right alongside the main road. Dutch Patti was a younger faster walker, so I suggested she go ahead.
From Cerdigo, the Camino took a turn by a small rose-bedecked cemetery and entered some lovely woods, complete with a pony. We were in another limestone area, and the trail was strewn with boulders. I could see the ocean glinting in the distance, and was thrilled to come out on some cliffs. I enjoyed the walk through pastures in the fresh sea breeze. The contrast between these wonderful sections and the scary pavement made it harder to take the bad with the good.
Pretty soon I came upon Patti, sitting at the base of a small lighthouse, having a snack. I decided that since there was obviously no coffee in the offing, I would do the same. We chatted for a while about our lives; she was a university teacher; she’d wanted her boyfriend to come with her, but he thought it was more of a thing for retirees to do, so she had come on her own. Next time, she said, she was bringing her bike! Walking was just insufficiently efficient!
We said our goodbyes, while I lingered a while, airing out my socks and enjoying the sun. Islares was only a couple more kilometers away, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to walk any more that day, since it was a choice between highway for nine kilometers after Islares, or a high mountainous route with no albergues for another 23 km. I didn’t like the sound of either one, so I decided, once again, to become a “busagrino”.
Still, I had to get to Islares. Maybe they had coffee there? So it was back to the pasture. There was a herd of goats making a terrible fuss. I soon saw why. A young male, half grown, had got his head stuck in the page wire fence, as he attempted to get at some delectable greens on the other side. I watched him for a while to see if he could figure out how to get free, and it was soon evident that he was well and truly stuck.
There was no way he could reconnoitre the fence wire, his recurved horns caught on it every time. I could either leave him alone, to the mercy of the sun and his own panic; or I could try to free him. I ditched my pack and my camera, and got down on my knees next to him. Well, didn’t he squeal as soon as I touched him? I looked around for his mother, a black goat who had been standinng guard over him, expecting that she might posssibly have a go at me, but she was standing in that awful state that ever parent has known at one time or another, that of “watchful waiting”, not knowing what the outcome would be, but knowing that one’s place is at your child’s side.
The little guy put up quite a fight, and I realized I was going to have to wrangle him. I flipped him on his side and tried to twist his neck sideways to get his head out. He was incredibly strong, just solid muscle, but eventually we got the job done. As soon as he was free, he stopped squawking, and levitated halfway cross the field to his mother’s side. I swear her devil eyes thanked me, but he wanted nothing more to do with me. I had a nice big bruise from one of his horns on my forearm for my pain, but I also had a nice warm glow. I’d done my good deed for the day. Surely Santiago Peregrino, or whoever was the patron saint of goats and goatherds would forgive me for the bus I was about to take.
Islares was also shut up tight as a drum so I headed for the bus shelter to wait for the bus that might or might not be coming to take me to Laredo. I’d forgotten it was Palm Sunday! But I had faith that sooner or later I’d be in luck, or at least find out what was what. Soon I was having a nice conversation with an older man who was also headed to Laredo for his daily constitutional, up and down the four mile beach. Gosh, it must be nice, I thought to have these kinds of opportunities at one’s doorstep. For a mere 3 euros one could have a 15 km bus ride and a day at the beach. My Euro-envy was kicking in like crazy! I told him that I was taking the bus because I was afraid of walking on the highway, and he supported my decision 100%. He told me that this section was “muy peligroso”, very dangerous, and that I shouldn’t consider it!
As the bus pulled up the first hill, we passed within inches of Dutch Patti, wedged in the tiny gap between the road surface and the cliff. There was literally NO shoulder. We proceeded along with hairpin bends, fast cars and logging trucks. I didn’t find myself moved to prayer that often, but I prayed that she would make it safely to the town. Later, I talked to several peregrinos who had found the going not too bad, but I wasn’t convinced.
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