The month of July I worked at summer camps, the first one in San Lorenzo de El Escorial (I now know a fuck lot about the city and legend behind the monastery and the saint whose namesake it bears) and later another in San Mamés, on the outskirts. Both camps had their marvelous moments and their struggles though I always knew the light at the end of the tunnel was the month of August, my vacation month.
August in Spain is equivalent with vacation, the majority of folks get a month vacation (yes, that's a month of vacation that you can take in ONE SHOT, consecutively, something the folks back home I know will appreciate) and people in Madrid typically all take it in August, heading to their family's villages or to coastal areas like Valencia or Alicante. That means that even though I wouldn't have minded working this month it's near impossible to get work because everyone is gone and it's a ghost town (I went out to buy something from the corner store the day before I left and on the walk I didn't cross a single person, super rare where I live).
Once I'd come to the realization I wouldn't be able to work I had to figure out what I'd do, so much time but I had to stretch my purse strings. I knew I could visit my friend Eleisia in Castellon. I wanted to also meet Armelle somewhere soon after and when I got back I wanted to do the Camino de Santiago. Everything came together in less than a week, I finally was able to skype with Armelle (because the second camp was a black hole of communication) and we decided that logistically and economically the best choice for meeting between the south of France and Castellon was San Sebastián in Basque Country. The Camino de Santiago would have to be delayed a bit.
Castellon was what I was looking for, a respite from city life, a pool for swimming, beach chairs for sunbathing and countryside for miles. The first day we were ambitious, we hiked some local paths for three hours before heading back under the darkening skies. The next and following days consisted of sleeping in, beers or tinto de verano's and just laying about. Eleisia prepared some good meals, Juan's mom Tere did as well and time just whiled away like the falling leaves of autumn.
My last night in Castellon I went to stay with David, my friend and French teacher, in Benicassim. It's a beach town with a pretty lively nightlife due to all the giris (light-skinned anglophone foreigners) and Madrileños that flood the shore during the summer months. It started out with some basketball (I was out of my depth but still had a good time) and then we were off to the races, dinner and drinks. After pintxos, dobles and dancing, Benicassim ate my cellphone. Some asshole picked my pocket and jacked my phone, so the next day meant getting in contact with my blablacar driver and Armelle was gonna be hell.
Castellon to Valencia by Renfe is less than €6 and takes about 45 minutes, within an hour I was there near the Plaza de Toros, having McDonalds, I know it's not my brightest moment but there's nothing better when you're hungover. My blablacar ride consisted of long intervals of sleep and the routine convo, my driver was really nice and gave me some great advice for San Sebastián.
The climactic change was drastic, I left Valencia in a tee and shorts, drenched in sweat. I arrived in Basque Country in a fog, into a fog, Bilbao was a cold precursor to the torrential rain that greeted me in San Sebastián. By the time I got dropped off so I could wait for the 16 bus to Igelda I had to change into boots and my waterproof jacket, Basque Country is no joke.
She waited for me at the bus stop, how she knew the time I'd arrive or how long she'd been waiting I'm not sure but after all the travails in getting there she was the remedy for it all. I was ready and complete for the adventures that awaited us there.
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