The Beginning or the End (you decide)
Our Arrival to the start of GR-11 has been somewhat compromised by the Spanish transport system and it's associated ticket-buying laws. After a comfortable yet noise-filled night on Ali's sofa (my monster rucksack propping up my feet as the rest of me squished onto an ikea 2-seater), the balcony door open to all of Barcelona's wildness and some very angry mosquitos, and the screaming, and the recycling-smashy-smashy-men...Anyway, I snatched a few hours and my eyes suffered on the the metro to Sants train station where we arrived at 6:15am, 15min early. The man behind the glass, and the mustache, told us promptly of a "full train to Irun" situation - this was largely un-planned for on our part. However, all was not lost, much rubbing of foreheads and as we raised our heads and hopes for the same train, but in a different carriage that would disconnect in Bilbao, 125 km west of Irun, but close enough! 6hrs and 1 bag pistachios later (we discussed changing carriages but arrest and jail seemed too crushing so early on in the trip). Bilbao seemed well laid out but wasn't working for us, the Circenia didn't go to Irun or even close, so off by a silent taxi (the man said not a word to us) to the Bus station, where a machine told us nothing (bad interface), then a Guardia Civil (with mustache) told us about a bus at 17:30pm...YES!!! 2 cheese + ham (+ beer) toasties from a Spanish Greg's later, we were sleep riding toward the seaside resort of Irun, toward Cabo Higuer, the true and spiritual start of the GR-11 at the Atlantic sea (I've got a golden ticket)! Not even bad Opera singing bus drivers, hippy spanish pop-up tent swathing youngsters, nor a badly dubbed Bruce Willis 'Hole nine yards' film on a 9" screen could dampen my spirits. Tom slept, he seemed content in the knowledge of our finding the right bus and securing passage to the starting line, dreaming of vast meadows and dewy ambles in un-trodden forests. We finally pulled into Irun station and threw bags over shoulders at 19:30pm - having now traveled across Spain and to the side a little. 8km later we found the unassuming and heavily guarded campsite, slogging through the sprawling touristic nightmare that is coastal Irun (first sighting of a kebab shop), perched atop the baron rocky outcrop of Faro Higuer (nice lighthouse and abandoned villa which I may return to when I retire). The nice pregnant camping lady told us E5.20 for human and tent. A strange system which we nodded and bleated 'Si Bali' too with unrepentant regularity at most campsites from now on. No problemo, loads of room on the terraces down by the crashing shoreline, once in my new shiny tent I felt like I was pitched underwater, rolling around in a nylon galley. We snuggled in next to well equipped Germans and some other Spanish holidaymakers. I blew up the mattress, made a brew then closed my eyes..."I won, I won..."
