When I said goodbye to Tim yesterday, I asked him to let me know what he thought of Hitler’s stairs. See, when you leave the town of Pasaia, you first take a boat across the river, and then it’s straight up a hill on stairs that aren’t even – some are shorter, some longer, some lower, some higher. Perfect for destroying your knees.
Back in 2018, when I walked here with Urška, we hit those stairs right when the sun was at full blast and called them Hitler’s stairs, because »Brko«[1] had the same kind leading to his bunker – so enemies would break their legs before they ever reached him. That year I was gasping for air walking up those damn things, and honestly wanted to shove my finger down my throat, because Urška and I had just eaten a huge lunch and I felt like puking. But the stingy »Gorenjka«[2] in me wouldn’t allow that. You don’t waste food. So it was double the suffering – from the food inside me and the hell those stairs and heat put me through.
Tim messaged me and said that if he’d known it would be such torture, he would’ve stayed with me in the hostel in Pasaia. Brutal climb made worse by the backpack. I warned everyone who’d stayed in the same albergue as me that the next day’s “breakfast” would be served right there on the trail, and the path wouldn’t let up until San Sebastián. It’s one of the hardest stages on this Camino. But in classic British, German, and Slovenian fashion, we decided to merge two stages into one – we’d only walked 17 km the day before anyway.
I woke up with pain again, and my brain kicked into worry mode. When the crew I decided to walk with asked how my leg was, I told them everything was fine – didn’t want to burden them. But I took it a bit easier; I didn’t want to push my luck. The pain only got worse with each kilometre, and I spent half the day just thinking about how to fix the damage. I started questioning whether my backpack was too heavy for my body weight – 57 kg carrying 8 kg. Maybe I should ditch something? But what do I get rid of? I need everything. Okay, maybe not need, but I want it all with me. My worry went so far I began wondering how much pain I could take. If the pain’s at level 3 now, I could push to level 8 if it’s only one leg. But if it’s both – shoot me. This Camino is seriously demanding, and you don’t want busted legs, or you’ll be in living hell. Blisters don’t hurt – torn ligaments and messed-up bones do. Around kilometre 20, I finally grew a brain and took charge. I figured if it’s a bone issue, maybe I just need to tighten my laces more so my foot’s properly supported. Did that, and boom – pain gone. Worry over. I felt like a rookie hiker again. I got mad at myself – I know these tricks, but it didn’t even occur to me that this might be the problem. I thought loose laces = better blood circulation. Clearly, I was wrong.
So I continued with arms dancing in the air – no jumping though – that was the compromise between Tina (the sensible one) and Pobalina (the crazy one). The whole trail today was hell in terms of difficulty. When I hit stair number 5,000 I just stopped counting – there were that many. And nearly 900 meters of elevation. With a backpack on, it felt like 2,000.
Part of the route went up an asphalt road, and I had a choice – go up the rocky trail (original path) or take the longer asphalt way, which adds 3 km but is way easier on my aching foot. Easier to heal on the go. I picked the longer path and enjoyed every turn the road threw at me – that feeling when you can’t wait to see what’s around the next corner. We finished hiking around 5 p.m. In the morning, we’d joked about going to the beach when we arrived – by the time we got there, that idea was dead. We had zero energy left for hanging out. We ironed the sheets with our bodies by the time the evening news would’ve ended.
Brutal walk, hot shower, meal, and a cold beer – that’s how you shut a woman up, I joked out loud as we lay there. Before I closed my eyes for dreamland, I glanced at my feet and saw the left one was still swollen. I decided I wouldn’t overdo it the next few days – the ankle needs to go back to normal.
That’s the hardest thing for me because I’d planned to do daily stages of 40+ km. But Camino never fails – it always fucks up your plans and makes the journey even more interesting than it already is.
[1] Brko - refers to Hitler’s moustache
[2] Gorenjka - a woman who lives in the Gorenjska region of Slovenia and is known for her stinginess.
