There’s nothing better than when your brain lets you sleep for 6 hours straight. Those who know me well are aware I have serious sleep issues. For those who don’t: it means I’ve spent the past 5 years waking up every hour, walking to the fridge, eating something, and falling asleep for another hour. This torture continues until 4 a.m., after which I have to get up for work, which starts at 5:30 and goes until 20:30. So today, for the first time in ages, I woke up rested and refreshed—without an alarm—at 6:15. When I got to my accommodation in Biarritz yesterday, I prepared my clothes for the next day and packed my backpack so that the essentials were at the top and the least important stuff at the bottom. This year’s backpack weighs 8 kg—last year it was only 4 kg, but that trip was just a one-month holiday. This year, I plan to visit a few electronic festivals along the way, so I needed to pack a few party outfits too… assuming I even manage to get there on time.
Before switching my phone to silent, I checked Google Maps to see how far Irun was—28 km, it said. The app always picks the shortest route, but it doesn’t necessarily take you through scenic landscapes. Since Biarritz is known for its gorgeous beaches and cliffs, I decided to take my own route to Irun—I came here for the views, after all. After breakfast and coffee at the hotel, I set off around 7:00. The first beach was about 4 km away. The closer I got, the more excited I became, curious about what this place had to offer beyond the beautiful stone houses and charming gardens. When the sea finally appeared, it basically made my brain worse—in the best way. I had Biarritz almost entirely to myself—the city was still asleep, and that’s better than winning the lottery. The only downside? None of the cafés were open yet. The morning was filled with activity: joggers enjoying the sunrise, people doing group workouts in the park, and even a few meditating in peace. But that morning silence was priceless. I was probably the only one hopping around, dancing and squealing with joy like a madwoman. This town is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever visited—I’ll return for a longer stay.
Once a small fishing village, Biarritz became fashionable after 1854. The British were largely responsible for its rise as a winter retreat, earning Biarritz the title “queen of resorts and resort of kings.” It’s located in the southwestern French region of Labourd, on the Bay of Biscay, west of Bayonne. Along with Bayonne and Anglet, it forms the Bayonne-Anglet-Biarritz metropolitan area with a population of 123,619. The Saint-Martin cape with its lighthouse marks the boundary between the northern sandy beach that stretches 200 km to the Gironde estuary and the southern rocky Côte Basque.
The mild climate, variety of beaches and landscapes, and luxurious accommodations continue to attract an international crowd, though the exclusive image of Biarritz has evolved. Tourism is more diverse now, with festivals, conference venues, and a thalassotherapy centre (using seawater, algae, mud, etc., as therapy). A promenade runs between Grand Plage and Côte des Basques, separated by a rocky cape. The city is also a surf hotspot, especially in July when it hosts a surf festival and the European longboard championship.
A few days before leaving, I had serious health concerns—I’d caught some infection, was on antibiotics, had zero energy, was dizzy, and felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. But that worry disappeared this morning. Sea air once again proved to be the best doctor, and the stunning scenery was food for the soul. As the cherry on top, I had my retro playlist going. My health returned, and so did my ear-to-ear grin. That beautiful landscape kept giving me what I call mini-orgasms of joy—there was nothing left to do but yell out loud, “MORE!”
About money—this northern route is much more expensive than the Camino Frances. In some tiny village bar, I paid 8 euros for a coffee with milk and a French-style Coca-Cola. Then the waitress came back to apologize because she’d miscalculated in her head. I felt a bit of relief… until she said the total was €9.50. I just slipped on my sunglasses so she couldn’t see how shocked I was. But once the (amazing) coffee and Coke hit my bloodstream, I got such an energy boost I didn’t want to stop in Irun—I wanted to keep walking. And so began the first showdown in my head: Tina vs. Pobalina. Tina is the smart one. Pobalina is the cheeky bitch who always overdoes everything. This time, Tina won—she reminded me that tomorrow’s stage has some serious hills, and it would be smarter to end in Irun. Since I didn’t feel like arguing on my first day of vacation, I gave in. But that coffee? Totally worth the shocking price.
As for food, I had a small sandwich and, of course, a French croissant mandatory. Washed it down with coffee and orange juice. When I reached Irun, I treated myself to watermelon—I'm losing tons of fluids and heavy food just doesn’t sit right after a long walk.
The weather was ideal for walking—cloudy skies, no sun. But humidity made sure I arrived sticky as hell at the albergue. For the last 10 km, I had an invisible enemy keeping me company—wind. At one point, it blew so hard it ripped my earbud out. So yeah, it was a fight for survival on day one.
Today’s stage ended up being a nice 38 km—10 more than I had planned.
But hey, plans are made to be screwed.
