Last night, just before falling asleep, I had a little talk with the Almighty and we somehow reached a compromise. If I bought an umbrella in town that could double as a sunshade on the trail, he'd let me walk more than 40 km. I did manage to find one, but the day turned out to be mostly cloudy with just a bit of sun, so it wasn’t really necessary.
The day started with me arguing with the Berliner. I had just grabbed my first Coke when he asked how many I was planning to drink today. That fucked me up. He ruined my peaceful morning, and I’m just not a morning person. A sermon first thing? Instant blood pressure spike. I told him he’s the last person on this planet who should be counting my Cokes and preaching about consumption, considering how many people he’s killed. I’m only killing myself. He killed others. Big difference.
To keep the peace, I grabbed an orange juice too. I apologised for it not being freshly squeezed, explaining that Spain still sleeps on such things. He said I didn’t need to go overboard and that the one from a carton was perfectly fine to start with. The first stretch of the trail was beautiful, with loads of stunning beaches. Soul food. Exactly what I need on a long walk. But the second part got a bit dull, so we decided to spice things up. Back in Deba, where I was attacked by bedbugs, I also scored some hash. That’s first aid for pain—or a nice little carousel ride in your head on such a long hike.
The bedbug issue is pretty much solved. Barely a trace left on my skin. Time for a trip to the funfair. First, I checked the app that shows me the remaining elevation so I could plan my little high—no way I’m going uphill while my brain floats off to the stratosphere. The last 15 km looked perfect. Holidays are meant for doing stuff you wouldn’t do at home. It didn’t take long before I was flying—3PM, a few puffs, and my brain checked out. My backpack felt suspiciously light again, and I’m convinced Mustache guy ruined my clothes in the laundry and tossed them, probably too scared to tell me.
But with that buzz, I could’ve carried the backpack on my pinkie. I had a grin from ear to ear. That’s my speed-mode formula. The Berliner danced and laughed through the entire 15 km, and later the two Irish lads joined our little party. I asked Mustache guy if he was happy. He nodded and gave me this weird, slightly creepy smile. We burst out laughing. That man and his rare, awkward smile are a whole thing. Then the Almighty yelled at us to turn left because cows were dancing to our bass. We turned—and holy shit, they were. Ears and tails moving in sync with the beat. Forward and back. Up and down. We laughed our asses off, watched them for ten minutes, then restarted the song. You don’t get a moment like that twice in life. Hit me one more time. Fucking brilliant.
Oh, and Bizzy—rest in peace.
We had to keep going. Our stay opened at 6PM. On the way, the Berliner and I argued again. He noticed I was eating prosciutto and said I was eating too much meat and not enough fruit and veggies. If you didn’t know, the guy’s a vegetarian. I told him no wonder he was so cranky and moody. I’d be too, living on that veggie diet. Poor lab rabbits that had to taste-test his food, because he was too much of a pussy to really live on the edge. And what did they get? Fucking salad for their almost-last supper. He needed other people to try his meals first. Come on. That’s what pussies do. Thanks to all that arguing, we went the wrong way—off by nearly a kilometre. I knew I had to cross a long-ass bridge, but it was nowhere to be found. I took my own path, ended up at a river with a beautiful view of the bridge, but my brain didn’t register that it was the bridge I was supposed to cross. Walked several more metres in the wrong direction before it hit me—I had just taken a photo of the bridge I needed. Facepalm. I told the Berliner this was his fault. If he were a meat-eater, we wouldn’t have fucked it up. I’m naturally curious, so whenever someone tells me they’re vegetarian or vegan, I always ask why. I asked the Berliner too. I swear, I haven’t laughed that hard in ages. The man said when an animal gets killed, it falls into depression and sadness, and then you eat meat full of negative emotions. Absolute shock therapy. I couldn’t believe Mustache guy has feelings for animals. So you care about animals’ emotions but not humans?
We had to stop in town for a drink just so I could process all that. Then we headed for the hostel.
The final stretch of the day came with a solid climb. The Berliner was on fire—cracking jokes till the very end. He made me laugh so hard I cried. I need to learn some of his dance moves before we say goodbye for good. The guy really knows how to dance to electronic music. I know, it’s hard to imagine.
And finally, at the hostel, I met the Irish crew. They’re an experience of their own. The night dragged on again, no shower. And in case you’re wondering what track made the cows dance, well, here you go:
https://youtu.be/4BUulm_GkrY
