Everyone had been warning me that today is hard. Gronze gave it a 4 out of 5 on the difficulty level, but I found yesterday worse.
Despite being above the train station my sleep wasn’t disturbed. In fact as soon as my head hit the pillow, the next time I opened my eyes it was 0600h.
I packed up but I seemed to have lost a pair of underpants – the pair that escaped the wash! I asked the pilgrim in the bottom bunk if had packed it by mistake, but he hadn’t. Someone somewhere now has a stinky pilgrim pants in their bag – there was definitely nothing left next to my bunk when I left.
I had been warned that today there would be no stops between Deba and Markina. I fuelled up at a cafe and bought a handful of fruit before leaving.
It was a steep incline, a common theme for the Norte. The route was mostly forest tracks in an inland direction. Before long I was surrounded by mountains and trees. Beautiful landscape.
It wound through the peaks before descending to a “forgotten valley”, a small hamlet of about 5 houses with grazing cattle within a bowl of mountains, it resembled more of the shire than Spain. I was stunned with the beauty and tranquility of the place.
The route followed a single track road up, and up, and up, a long drawn out incline before levelling out, with views out across the mountain range.
I had to take a moment and admire the scenery. The path is pretty much level from this point until the brutal decline into Markina. It was very muddy and wet. I was glad for once to reach the tarmac of the road going into the town.
It goes past a church that had been built around a rock formation, I don’t know the significance of this unexpected find, but it was a surprise. From there it follows the river into the centre of town. I had a bite to eat and a drink with a pilgrim who had the bottom bunk in Deba – Alex from Berlin.
One kilometre walk took me to the albergue, a brilliant spot. We all had the communal meal, good food and wine with shared stories between pilgrims. A great ending to the day – I also found my missing underwear at the bottom of my rucksack.
Today it was forecast to rain but not one drop appeared, although there was another downpour in the night. The air perfect for walking, Neill, John and I set off through the town.
The route again had a variant, the easier path via the coast and the harder route. I chose the difficult one leaving my campions to follow the coast.
It was a brutal accent, made worse by the lift that taunted me two thirds of the way – I didn’t cheat and persevered. The urban outskirts quickly gave way to vineyards and a rural setting, that presented lofty views of Getaria.
Before I knew it I was on the descent to the village. As you enter there is a statue of Juan Sebastian Elkano, who is from this small port town. He was the first person to circumnavigate the world.
I stopped at a cafe for some zumo de naranja and pan chocolate, just as John and Neill passed. I beckoned them in to join me for breakfast.
From here it was a steep ascent and an equally steep descent into Zumaia. This small seaside port is dominated by the church, standing tall above the buildings. Too early for lunch I didn’t stop.
Zumaia
A two hour undulating route with muddy and steep paths lay ahead of me. However the views didn’t disappoint. By the time I reached Itziar I was flagging.
Dumping my pack at the first bar, I got myself a tortilla y patata and a Kas Limon. It hit the spot for the horrendous down hill stage to Deba – I ran more than walked to save my knees.
I booked into the municipal albergue that is situated above the Deba train station. €8 a bed, can’t argue with that. A lot of familiar faces arrived and eventually John, Neill and Eugene.
We found a restaurant in the main square for food, not many places were open on account it’s Sunday. The 100km mark today has been broken, having walked 115km in total.
There was a heavy rain during the night but luckily it had stopped when we left the hostel just after 0800h. It was straight into a climb but the air was cool and refreshed.
The route consists of forest paths and country roads for roughly 13km with no places to stop – it was a good job I had breakfast before leaving San Sebastián.
Underfoot it was slightly muddy at times and there were stretches of large rocks that I had to be wary of not to slip. Other than that it was easy going. I was ticking off the kilometres enjoying the views and the tranquility.
I caught up with Neil from Belfast, a fellow peregrino I had a meal with last night. We walked together for a short period chatting about our hobbies and travels.
I pulled on ahead and just at the start of the descent into Orio there is a donativo offering refreshments – perfect timing.
There was an organised group of Brits undertaking the Norte. I’ve never seen so many of us in one place on a Camino! One chap was suffering with his right heel rubbing. I offered some of my kinesiology tape to cushion it, but he never heard of it and wasn’t keen.
I moved on briefly walking with an Australian who is only going as far as Bilbao before embarking on a driving tour around Portugal. A little bit further on I finally entered Orio, another quaint port town.
I had to call into the Farmacia to get some nail clippers, as mine broke last night; also I needed to get something for an insect bite on my left leg that is getting redder and larger.
It was too early for lunch, and with only 6km to go, I pressed on. The route out follows the opposite shore of the port, then up a bit of a headland.
Vineyards became my surrounds as I made my way to the top, where I was treated to a fantastic view of Zarautz beach. I spent a while sitting on a bench admiring the vantage point. A French man I had been leap frogging from Orio, joined me.
He had just done the Camino Frances and is now walking to Bilbao. After swapping stories he moved on. My hostel didn’t open until 1500h so I remained on the spot a little longer.
A short walk down following the road led me straight to my accommodation. Once booked in I went to the beach to wait for my Camino pals to join. Once they did we had the pilgrims menu at bar on the sea front, drawing the end to day 4.
0600h on the dot classical music blared through the albergue, lights flickered on, signalling wake up time.
Dawn wasn’t until 0750h so I milled around the kitchen area chatting to my fellow peregrinos before setting off around 0730h.
As usual with leaving cities, it’s difficult to find the way; despite taking an unintentional variant we got back on track.
It was a steep climb up the mountain, the clouds threatened rain but it remained dry. Eventually the path splits into two at small church overlooking Irún. John and Eugene had earlier said they’d be taking the low road
Here I met Lyn from the Netherlands and we tackled the higher and more difficult path. The ascent was devilish, but it was worth it for the views. Once on top the route follows the ridge of the mountain, past old dilapidated watch towers.
A light drizzle of rain caught us at the start of the descent, but it didn’t last long enough to pull out the ponchos. Feeling peckish we stopped for a snack where a pilgrim from breakfast joined us.
Di from England. The three of us began the long descent to Pasaia, a small natural harbour that had cute Basque style building lining the water edges. The Sun had chased away the rain at this point. It had gone 1300h and our stomachs were rumbling.
I had my first tortilla y patata of the Camino and a refreshing beer. From the terrace we had views of the harbour and the little green ferry shuttling foot passengers from one side to the other, one we would have to catch to continue the journey.
For a €1.85 we made the crossing where Lyn’s walking day ended. Di and I continued on, heading towards the coast then up a very steep flight of steps to reach the top of a hill that guards the harbour – almost like a mini fjord.
From there it was a woodland trail keeping the heat from the Sun off us as we reached San Sebastián. Di’s accommodation was at the first of the three beaches that make up the city; mine was at the third, another 3km or so.
San Sebastián is an affluent city and currently hosting an international film festival – that the Camino grapevine informs me Johnny Depp is attending.
I passed red carpets and people dolled up in their best designer threads. I seemed to have gained the power of Moses, as they all parted ways like the Red Sea – either that or it’s my smelly pilgrim look.
Eventually I reached the hostel that had a washing machine and dryer, I took full advantage of them. It had been a really enjoyable day and machine washed clothes was the icing on the cake – although, I now may have lost my Moses powers.
At 0800h I was back on the Camino which followed the coastline. Surfers were catching the morning waves with onlookers from the cliffs above. The route was quiet except for the runners and cyclists doing their morning exercises.
The views out to sea in the early morning light was magical. It made up for the undulating terrain synonymous of the Northern Way. About 3km in I grabbed a banana and an orange juice from a small market overlooking a beach.
Breakfast sorted it wasn’t long before the route descended into St. Jean de Luz. A seaside town with a lovely vibe. The locals strolled along the promenade with their dogs, while paddle boarders went around the bay.
From here the route splits for a coastal path and an interior way, following advice from the Jean-Luc, the albergue owner last night, the coastal route is closed.
The way passes through narrow streets between the typical Basque style houses into rural surrounds.
Just after midday I reached Urrugne. This village would be the last chance for food until Hendaye and there are two hills to climb before then.
Choices were limited to one restaurant and it was a bit posh for pilgrims. Netherless they were still accepting. Only wanting a light lunch I went for an avocado and salmon salad. But that seemed a bit boring for the establishment – i was wrong, it had caviar and all sorts of nonsense in the dressing. Very nice though and sated my hunger.
The temperature had risen to an uncomfortable level now and the two hills were slow going. I kept leaping frogging two pilgrims from Spain whom shared the albergue last night, on the way into Hendaye.
The last French town on the route is only separated from Irún by a river. The bridge named ‘Puente de Santiago’, the start point in Irún, marked the crossing into Spain.
Halfway a yellow arrow is painted on a lamppost. The route is finally clear, I now felt at home. About 1.5km more, passing through the centre of the city I reached the only albergue, sharing a 10 bunk dorm, with 4 from Guéthary.
Once chores were done I went to a local bar for the pilgrims meal with two fellow peregrinos John and Eugene. It was a nice warm evening, however the weather is meant to change tomorrow – might need my poncho.
The journey to Bayonne was painless, the trains were on time and the flight on schedule. I had booked an albergue in Bayonne, and with directions from the owner, it was a €3.90 bus ride – a lot cheaper than a taxi.
It was 2100h by the time I was all booked in and straight off the bat I had some Camino magic. The owner was very friendly and accommodating, cooking up an omelette since it was so late. She also sold the credentials! Saves me having to sort it in the morning.
Out the door by 0800h having had breakfast at the albergue, I followed google maps to the cathedral, only to find it closed for renovations – good job I got the credential last night!
Bayonne Cathedral
Everything was going to plan until that point. Could I find a way maker? In France they are red and white stripes, similar to the Polish flag, but none could be seen.
Having spent twenty minutes trying to find one, I had to resort to Google maps. This meant the urban sprawl of Bayonne and Biarritz, past the airport and down into Bidart.
It was here I found the first Polish flag painted on a lamppost, that I had to high five! An immediate relief and comfort ensued knowing I’m back on the Camino.
The route dipped down to a bay just outside Bidart, the midday sun had arrived. The sea was full of surfers riding the waves, a great back drop for the bar where I had to have a beer.
A quick ascent up some devilish steps brought me out into the village, where I had dinner at the albergue. Quite an expensive albergue with €40 per person for the night! Being a Camino veteran I planned ahead and booked an albergue for €20.
Between Bayonne and Irún there are very few Albergues according to Gronze.com. After fuelling up, the way markers vanished, resulting in google maps again.
By 1500h the first day of walking came to an end, 7km shorter than it should have been. Google had directed the quickest route giving it a short 18.72km day.
After showering and clothes washing there were 2 hours to kill before the owner would be ready to book me in – time for a swift half! A 10 minute walk into the village led me to a bar overlooking the sea. A great ending for the first day.
After speaking with the Albergue owner, he gave great advice around the route and where to stay over the next two days. Pointed out where to rejoin the Camino, but most of all, gave me an app with all the routes. I’ve relied on CaminoNinja, one I’ve used on my previous adventures. Only draw back to it, is it only covers the main routes in Spain and Portugal, not those in France.
The app is Gronzemaps. The other source I rely on has made their own GPS version! After paying up I grabbed a pizza from a local restaurant calling it an end to the day.
A common experience pilgrims talk about is ‘Camino Magic’. This is where something unexpectedly good happens to you. This could be a cold drinks seller appearing at a point you really need to quench your thirst, or the Albergue you have chosen provides fresh towels.
Camino Magic isn’t restricted to the pilgrimage, it can manifest elsewhere if you look out for it, and it has been bestowed upon me recently. I am soon to be changing jobs, and working out my leave that is owed and my ‘time of in lieu’, I am able to take an extended period off.
This opens the option for a longer Camino! Seizing this rare opportunity, I’ve changed my plan of walking the Primitivo, and instead walk the Camino del Norte. I will still be starting mid September, however I’ll have until the end of October to complete it. Being late in the year, hopefully it will be less crowded alleviating the bed rush, allowing me to enjoy the true freedom of the pilgrimage.
This also means that the weather is going to be more changeable and I’ll likely have to pack some warmer gear, adding weight to my pack! I’ll definitely being putting my poncho to good use.
The Norte is slightly longer than the Camino Frances at 825 km or 512 miles, starting in Irun on the boarder of Spain and France. However the main difference is, its a coastal route with renowned views of the Northern Spanish Coastline as it follows the ‘Bay of Biscay’.
In its history, the Norte was more popular than the Frances, with pilgrims opting for the safety that the Kingdom of Asturias provided against the Moors, who occupied Southern Spain. There are many historic and culturally rich cities and towns on this pilgrimage; San Sabastian, Bilbao, Santander and Gijon to name a few.
Unlike my previous pilgrimages, I’m haven’t read up on this one nor watched any YouTube videos. I want to go into this one blind, I don’t know the stage ends nor particular points of interest. I want it to be an adventure of discovery and see where it takes me. I’m aiming for more freedom and not be influenced by those who have gone before me.
It was great on my first Camino, as I traversed Spain to recognise places from the books I had read and the programs I had watched. For this one I want to add an extra layer of wander to my journey; also it is meant to be more strenuous, thus I don’t want know what I have let myself in for!
Thankfully I’ve broken in my new trainers while on my Keswick adventure in June; fingers crossed, blisters will be at a minimum and no recurrence of the pain I experienced in my achilles in the early days of the Camino Frances.
I’m looking forward to the peregrinos I’ll meet, the Spanish food, the coastal scenery and the challenge! The only thing left for me to do is sort out the flights.
I had three days off work and eager to get another stamp from a Cathedral for my book, I took the opportunity to visit the Isle of Man, a place I’ve never been.
A couple of weeks ago the catamaran and hotel were booked for Douglas, the Capitol of the island. However, turns out the cathedral is on the other side of the island in Peel. DOH!
At 1030 we followed the procession of foot passengers aboard while loads of motor cyclists filled the vehicle deck. I thought the TT was over months ago? Turns out there is another race called the ‘Manx Grand Prix’. And this week is the practice trials before it begins at the weekend.
Shortly after 1115 the boat begin its voyage to the little island in the Irish Sea, and once out in the open water, this thing shifted. Standing at the stern, it was impressive seeing the water jets streaming out; effectively it’s a giant jet ski.
Three hours later we were off the boat and queuing for the bus to Peel. The idea being, get to the cathedral, get the stamp have a look around and return to Douglas. This way the next day can be spent seeing the sights.
Passing the small villages and the countryside reminded me much of the Lake District and Cumbria. We arrived at the cathedral just before evensong.
A very small congregation had assembled and feeling they needed a boost in numbers, I took a hymn book and joined in. After the 30 min sing song, we were invited for a cup of tea with the Dean; hadn’t foreseen I’ll be having tea the upper echelons of the Isle of Man clergy!
The cathedral had only recently just opened after spending a year under renovation. All the pews had been removed in favour of chairs that can be stored away, so the building can hold concerts, Pilates and exhibitions. A financial decision to keep the building open.
After obtaining my stamp, it was the bus ride back to Douglas, to book into the hotel and find somewhere to eat. Most of places were closed, however the ‘1886 bar and grill’ was open, where the food arrived by a robot!
Hunger sated, a walk along the promenade was in order. Very little activity in the town, not what I expected. The place had a feeling it was 30 years behind, when everything used to be closed on Sundays.
After a couple of pints in an Irish pub, enjoying a local IPA, it was time for bed.
The rain had settled in for the day, apparently it’s the tail end of a hurricane from the Caribbean that had moved across the Atlantic. I hadn’t brought a rain coat, thinking my umbrella would suffice. A quick call into Mountain Warehouse and I picked up a coat in the sale.
With the weather not playing, a trip to Port Erin was on the cards. It is by steam train, the line operating from old network; it connects the villages between Douglas and Port Erin. I shared a cabin with a local who lives in Santon; A small hamlet with little amenities.
She had come into Douglas to do a food shop, and was on her way back home. There is something magical with the steam train still being the public mode of transport and not just a tourist attraction; it’s an island locked in time.
With only an hour before the next train, there was time for a walk to the harbour and a pint in a pub on the waterfront. The weather took a turn for the worse on the return trip to Douglas.
When the train rolled in, it was very wet and dashing to the nearest pub was our only refuge from the drizzle. Trying to get an authentic Manx Kipper bap, we headed to a chippy along the promenade, recommended by a Google search.
The wind had picked up and the drizzle was driving in horizontally. The sea was grey and clouds angry. Just hoped it would subside in morning for the ferry back to Liverpool; it would be a turn of events if it got cancelled!
When I’m cleaning windows
We huddled in the small chippy, only to find, despite Google promising, they didn’t do the infamous kipper bap. It seems this Manx delicacy is more popular on the west coast.
The skies brightened up allowing a window to walk back to the town centre for pint in a warm cozy pub.
An early start in the morning as the ferry left 0730h. The skies were clear and no hint of wind, however the horizon it looked brooding.
But it remained smooth sailing all the way into Liverpool, concluding my Isle of Man adventure.
After a two year hiatus my friend Hannah and I picked up the Jurassic Way after our Welford to Wilbarston stage, October 2022. There was a break in the wet weather that has been synonymous of the UK this year, and it coincided with our rest days. As it’s been awhile, mega busy at work the day before, making it a late finish, we opted on a shorter stage.
This also meant we could cover it in the afternoon allowing the morning to rest. Just after 1200h we were at Wilbarston, ready to begin the 16km walk to Gretton. Light cloud cover filled the sky and a gentle breeze made for good walking conditions.
The route was pretty much downhill for the first 6km and remained flat until the last kilometre into Gretton. The views of the rolling countryside were a treat and once Wilbarston was behind, we were totally emersed in the English Countryside. Not a soul to be seen, apart from an elderly gentleman, map in hand walking the Jurassic way southbound. Hannah joked that will be me one day! Couldn’t disagree.
It was good to see the Shell signs marking the route again, as we passed through small wooded paths, wildflowers and fields of wheat. Soon East Carlton came into view, with the church perch on top of the hill and a field of reindeer grazing in front; an unexpected surprise.
East Carlton Reindeer
It has been awhile since I had a good catch up with my friend, and we nattered away eating up the kilometres. Cottingham came and went, and soon our first little ascent of the day stood before us. At the top, nestled this small hill is the village of Bringhurst.
Climbing through the fields of wheat, following the path the farmer had dutifully maintained to keep the route clear for us ramblers, we reached the quaint church to this little hamlet. Spying a bench just outside the entrance, it was a perfect place to have lunch and take in the peacefulness of our surrounds.
The smell of Lavender drift through the air, while we munched on our packed lunches. A few drops of rain, prompted us to get moving, but that was all it was. No need to get out our waterproofs nor open a brolly.
The route led us down the other side of Bringhurst, through Great Easton, over fields of grazing sheep and cows. On the horizon, the tower to Rockingham Castle came into view, watching us as we approached this the little village on the edge of Corby. Not a sign of the industrial town could be seen.
Rockingham Castle
Hannah commented on how pleasant and well maintained the route was, and how easy this stage had been. However this wasn’t to last, and I blame her for what shortly lay before us. The path dipped under the railway line and into a jungle of nettles, brambles and all kinds snagging shrubbery. At times it was hard to see where the route went, even for my lofty height.
There was nothing for it, we just had to power through this gauntlet of needles, stinging our legs raw. But what is an adventure without adversity? We came out the other side laughing with smiles on our faces; but for Hannah this was only brief, as we now had to ascend the biggest hill for the day into Gretton.
Needle Gauntlet
Once conquered it was a flat walk through barley fields into Gretton. Watching the crop sway in the gentle breeze was a pleasure to be seen and a peaceful end to a lovely day on the Jurassic Way. After a quick pint in the Hatton Arms, we made our way back home.
Technically we only have two more stages until Stamford, the end point of the journey, hopefully we can get this done by the end of the year!
At the beginning of the year I thought I’d be missing out on my annual trip to the lakes because of a clash of leave, however a there was a cancellation, freeing up the rota for me to go. Usually I head to Keswick for the beer festival signalling the start of my adventures around the Lake District, however when the accommodation was reserved, we got the dates mixed up and booked the week before the festival. Doh!
So for the first time since 2013 (excluding the COVID years) I’ll miss the beer tent and the multiple renditions of ‘Mr Brightside’ by the numerous bands playing over the weekend.
We arrived Friday evening and had a couple of pints at the Pheasant Inn then chilled out in the lodge.
We kicked off the Saturday doing the ‘Park Run’. This is a national event, held every Saturday throughout the UK, where you run a 5k route, with the aim to keep fit and improve your personal best.
The Keswick route follows the disused railway track between the town and the village of Threlkeld. Once completed we went for breakfast at a local cafe.
After returning to our accommodation for showers, we did a food shop then met some friends for a drink before our evening meal in ‘The Round’.
Over the last few visits to The Lakes, Joe has been wanting to bag ‘Blencathra’. Sunday morning the weather was on our side, so we seized the day and set out on the 868m Wainwright.
Finding the last spot in the car park, we ascended the fairly steep path and the even steeper zigzag section to ‘Knowe Crags’, the start of the easy bit to the summit. The sun was out, however there was a chilly breeze, making me wish I had brought my gloves along!
The path follows the edge of the crags to the summit, giving fantastic views over Keswick and Thirlmere in the distance. Great for the photo album!
Team Summit PhotoSummit Selfie
We continued on to ‘Atkinson Pike’ which sits at the end of ‘Mungrisdale Common’ meaning we bagged two Wainwrights, before returning the way we came, opting to forego ‘Sharp Edge’.
Once back in Threlkeld, we had a post walk pint and returned to the lodge for the evening.
Monday brought clouds and a constant threat of rain. A place I have been meaning to get to for a while is the ‘Langdale Quarry’ or better known as the ‘Cathedral Cave’. This is an old slate quarry just outside Little Langdale, that has a cavern supported by an impressive stone pillar.
We got the bus to Ambleside then a connection to Elterwater. After lunch at a little bistro, we set off towards Little Langdale.
We ascended up a rock strewn road/footpath to reach the neighbouring valley and descended into the little hamlet. From there you follow a country lane, over a ford into a wooded hillock where the quarry resides. A short walk westward you reach the disclaimer sign on a gate post, warning of falling rocks etc.
Following the path upwards you reach an information sign outside a tunnel the leads to the cavern.
Using the light from my phone, ducking, I stepped into the tunnel and proceeded through the dank gloom heading to the light at the end, to sound of splashing echoing with each of my footsteps.
At the other side I was greeted with the spectacular view of the cavern. The pictures on the internet do not do it justice nor the scale of the chamber.
Cathedral Cavern
We headed back to Elterwater, crossing an old drovers footbridge over a stream from ‘Little Langdale Tarn’; known as Slaters Bridge.
Slaters Bridge
We returned the way we came, and after having the customary post walk pint at the Britannia Inn, at Elterwater, we caught the buses back to Keswick where we had dinner at the recently open ‘Peri Fresco’ restaurant.
According to the weather forecast, Tuesday was meant to be a wash out. So we had planned to do indoor activities. Elina took us bouldering, an activity I’ve never done.
With all the grace of stick insect I tackled the red and orange routes. Some had overhangs that I reckon only Spider-Man could climb; thankfully the floor was cushioned!
With tired arms and muscles I didn’t know existed, we went for brunch. The rain still hadn’t abated, and keeping to the indoors we went around the pencil museum.
It detailed the mining of graphite and the uses through the years. At one point it was worth more than gold, and smugglers would deal in this commodity at ‘The George’ in Keswick.
Those that operated in those circles ended up have black hands from handling the stolen graphite, hence the origin of ‘The Black Market’. It also detailed the manufacture of the pencils that had maps and compasses secreted inside, for captured WW2 pilots.
We pottered around Keswick, had cocktails at the ‘Derwent Walker, then finished off the day with a meal at the ‘Pheasant’.
Cocktails
The weather hadn’t improved much on Wednesday. Continuing with the indoor theme, we headed to ‘Rydal Mount’ the home of William Wordsworth. A bus ride from Keswick puts you at the bottom of the hill which the grade one listed building sits on.
This beautiful cottage and its extensive garden, looks over Rydal Water. We went around the cottage that is still owned and resided by the descendants of Wordsworth. Painted portraits and manuscripts are displayed through out, giving the history of the famous poet.
It was a pleasure to walk around the gardens, that was the inspiration of many of his works. You could understand with the variety of colours, plants and the views of fells above.
We hopped back on the bus to Grasmere for lunch and for the famous gingerbread the area is renowned for. We returned to Keswick and after a couple of drinks at the ‘Dog and Gun’, before a chilled evening back at the lodge.
Rydal Mount
Thursday I wanted to get some wainwrights bagged, specifically around Buttermere however there were showers throughout the morning that I didn’t fancy getting caught in, on the fells.
The one activity we hadn’t partook yet was crazy golf. Off to Hope park we went for the 18 hole course; this year Joe was the victor.
After lunch we hit a few watering holes we hadn’t been to before. A nice craft beer establishment and a wine bar before returning to the lodge for food and a night of board games. A relaxed night ready for the drive home in the morning.
Thus this draws the end to my Keswick adventure for 2024.
Stu's Camino 