SPAIN

Crossing into Spain to continue my travels, I have completed the legendary Camino de Santiago pilgrimage while each turn of the wheel will bring new sights, stories, and the occasional misadventure…

Border Crossed

The next day, I woke up at the crack of dawn, fueled by the misguided hope that I could pedal nearly 90km to a card tournament (Indeed I try to squeeze a bit of nerdy time into my schedule). With only a small breakfast and the sheer stubbornness of skipping lunch, I crossed the border between Portugal and Spain. I felt like a champion until the elevation gain started to climb like my future loan interest.

Border Between Portugal – Spain

Low Energy…

My energy drained faster than my phone battery at 1%, and it became painfully clear that making it to the tournament on time was as likely as finding a unicorn in my backyard. So, I surrendered to the inevitable and decided to focus on reaching the final destination of pilgrimage – Santiago de Compostela. By the end of the day, I had pushed myself over 140km and climbed 2.2km in elevation. If my legs could talk, they would’ve been cursing my name.

Cathedral de Santiago de Compostela

Camino de Santiago

The next morning, I awoke from a long-deserved sleep, feeling remarkably refreshed. To my surprise, it rained all day, almost as if I had ordered the weather myself. Even the skies seemed to be taking a break after my journey. Despite the downpour, I ventured out to receive my certificate for completing the legendary Camino de Santiago pilgrimage – a ride I dedicated to my beloved cousin, who is currently facing one of life’s toughest tests and I wanted to intercede with “whomever is up there” on her behalf 🧿.

As I cycled further north into Spain, the road became relentless series of hills – well, it is the Pyrenees Mountains, but nothing to scare me as I am kid from mountains after all. I initially tried to camp at the beach, but when I noticed that the sand was wet all the way up, so I decided pitch my tent in the forest instead. Little did I know that every insect in Spain had gathered to hold their annual rave right on my campsite.

Forest Camping

One particularly interesting thing happened as I was hurtling down a hill. I encountered two baby deer. Shocked by my sight, they started to run but hilariously bumped into each other and fell. It was like a live – action Bambi blooper reel. I couldn’t help but laugh, thinking that even in the wild, life can be just as clumsy and chaotic as my own cycling misadventures. If only someone had captured it on video. I almost crushed into passing car while watching this spectacle. It would’ve gone viral faster than my heart rate on those Pyrenean climbs.

Highway Bridge in Misty Forest

Cycling along the northern coast of Spain has been an incredible journey, taking me through the rolling hills of the Pyrenees. The route is adorned with lush forests, expansive fields, and charming countryside dotted with beautiful bridges. These bridges are especially enchanting, their beauty magnified when shrouded in morning fog, creating an atmosphere straight out of a fairy tale.

The downside of this adventure? Waking up from wild camping in the middle of a wet forest, where everything is drenched. The damp seeps into my gear and bones, with my shoes soaking up the moisture like sponges. It’s as if nature is having a laugh, reminding me who’s really in charge.

Xixón Camping

But all the discomfort fades upon arriving in Xixón. The campsite perched on the cliff’s edge offers a breathtaking view of the city, a reward that feels almost otherworldly after the foggy, damp, yet beautiful trails. The sight of the city sprawling out below, beaches full of beautiful people, and the sun breaking through the clouds make every soaked step worthwhile. It’s moments like these that remind me why I embarked on this journey in the first place.

Air Show in Xixón

Just as I settled into my quiet pier spot for a work meeting, Murphy would have it: a fighter jet roared overhead, its engines at full throttle. The deafening noise shattered my peace, derailed my call. It wasn’t until later that I learned an Air Force show was in full swing, turning my quiet escape into a high-octane air show.

I kicked off the following day with a leisurely breakfast at a cozy coffee shop. As I enjoyed my meal, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of an elderly man, well into his 70s, with fellow friends in their 80s, swiping away on Tinder. Damn those Spaniards certainly know how to keep the spark alive. Every day on this journey seems to present a new surprise – and not always the pleasant kind. I’ve found more ticks on me in a single week here than in my entire life combined. Spanish ticks seem to have developed a taste for my blood, turning me into a walking buffet…

Xixón Beach

San Vicente de la Barquera

Back on the road, I was constantly reminded of the rugged Spanish terrain. The towering mountains loomed on the horizon, but thankfully my path didn’t force me to climb them. Still, some of the hills were brutal, with gradients as steep as 23%. There were moments when I had no choice but to dismount and push my bike, feeling ashamed, but what can one do with bike weighting over 30kg, with heat of the sun at the back?

At the end of a long day, I opted for some wild camping by a beautiful wild beach. The setting was perfect, or so I thought. Morning light revealed that I had unknowingly camped on a designated dog beach and morning inspections confirmed my worst fears – poop everywhere!

Camping at Dogs Beach

Santander Storm

As I slowly cycled eastwards along the rugged northern Spanish coast, I finally rolled into Santander, eager for a new chapter of my journey. However, my arrival was met with a dramatic twist—quite literally. A fierce storm descended upon the city. The storm delivered a breathtaking yet intimidating spectacle, with thunder crashing and lightning bolts slicing through the sky, casting an eerie glow on the cliffs.The following morning, hoping to escape the storm’s aftermath, I decided to pack up my tent and let it dry out. However, fate had other plans. Just as I began to roll up my gear, the rain returned with impeccable timing, drenching my tent all over again. It was as if the weather had a malicious sense of humour. My attempts to dry out my gear were thwarted by nature’s relentless taunts, ensuring that my equipment remained perpetually soaked and my spirits somewhat dampened.

Little did I know, the real challenge was yet to come. The following days brought an inferno of heat and relentlessly hilly terrain. Each climb felt like a cruel joke, as if the hills were mocking my every pedal stroke. What started with a storm turned into a grueling test of endurance, making me question my life choices with every agonizing mile. To combat the sweltering sun, I opted to cycle shirtless and applied sunscreen to my vampire-white skin. However, as I missed nearly half of my back, the sun left it looking like it was basted for a lobster bake, ouch!

Laredo

As I was cycling from Bilbao to Alegia, the charming Basque village, was an adventure that veered into the absurd. On my way to meet my Erasmus friend Xabier, I saw a tiny critter in the middle of the road. First, I thought it was dead, although something told me to return back and check it out. And it was a mouse, shaking and unable to move. Playing the unlikely savior, I rescued it from imminent doom. The day didn’t get any less strange from there.

Saving a Mouse

As dusk approached, I began the grim task of finding a camping spot. Flat ground was non-existent, making me question if the landscape had a grudge against me. Every potential site seemed to laugh at my efforts. The peak of my ordeal? Climbing for half an hour, thinking it was just a hill, only to discover I have chosen the highest mountain in the area with end in sight…

Descending from the unexpected mountain, I was desperate to find a flat spot to pitch my tent. I scoured everywhere, even considering the area under a bridge, but the belongings of homeless people made me think twice. After two grueling hours of searching, I finally stumbled upon an abandoned farm. It wasn’t perfect, but compared to the alternatives, it was a haven. Relieved, I set up camp and settled in for the night, grateful the struggle was over.

Mountains Everywhere

San Sebastian with Xabi

Crossing from Spain into France felt like escaping a vertical prison. Finally, flat ground! It’s like the earth decided to cut me some slack. The most surreal part? A few steps over the border and suddenly everyone’s speaking in what sounded like a symphony of nasal tones. It’s incredible how a few meters can change your world from tapas bars to patisseries.