SANTOÑA

I set off in the early morning to walk down the length of El Puntal. My transportation on this day was to include a boat ride! It was another gilded morning, cool and damp, but sunny. I walked along the front of the modern development, behind a low dune separating the apartment blocks from the beach proper, passing empty streets strangely named for such places as the Republic of Cuba and France.

I arrived at the end of the spit and followed a little footbridge which was signed for the boat launch. The path went up and over the dune and there it was....n’t!
A wide beach lay in front of me. I could see my destination, the town of Santoña, across the bay, and the great lump of rock which housed the ruins of forts and an infamous prison, and which protected Santoña from the sea.



To my right, fishermen with long fishing rods were casting into the rising sun at the mouth of the estuary. To my left I could see the yacht club. But of a boat launch there was no sign.

Over at the yacht club, I could see someone gesticulating at me. Obviously, even at a distance, I looked lost. He pointed, and I moved to where it looked as if he meant. Right? His hands told the story...No, not quite....I shuffled closer to the water’s edge...Here?. He made pushing motions. Eventually, by increments, I finally ended up in the right place, an entirely non-descript piece of sand in an indeterminate location. I waved my thanks, and got the thumbs up.

I still had my doubts since it was now 9.15, and the first boat of the day was supposed to leave at 9.00. Eventually, I could see a red boat detach itself from the vista of the harbour of Santona, and head towards me. As it came to shore, the pilot executed a neat turn, and came alongside the beach. I still couldn’t see how I was to get aboard, until the deck hand pulled out a long ramp and swivelled it to the shore. He came onto the beach and motioned me aboard. Then he proceeded to fill a bucket with sand from the beach. Digging for clams, I wondered?

Once he was back on board, he collected my pittance, and I had a private taxi across the bay. Just as we pulled away, I saw the little tramp of yesterday cresting the dune. He’d have to wait for the next passage, I guess.

Once on the other side, I discovered what the pail of sand was for. The wharf on the far side was covered in green algae, making it wildly slippery! The deckhand set out the ramp, and jumped onto the wharf, covering it liberally with the sand, and then handed me down, most gallantly!


Santoña was completely charming. While Laredo felt down at heel and a little desperate, Santoña was a little gem. I stopped in a café for some breakfast and admired the tidy brightly painted houses,

and yet more fin de siècle seaside mansions. Then it was on past the prison. And on, and on. The stone wall, with its wrought iron gates festooned with razor wire, was over a kilometre long.

In the hills above I could see traces of fortifications from Napoleonic times. It reminded me of Kingston, and I had a major twinge of homesickness. One just never knows what will set one off.

The day was hot, and even after a relatively short walk, my feet were uncharacteristically uncomfortable. I sat on a bench by the road for a sock change and a snack before taking on...El Brusco!