# Day -1 (It is not yet the start) - Bilbao to Irun
So the journey begins with a little loop back on myself. To reach the start I must get to Irun, on the border with France. Initially I planned to get the train, I like trains they are roomy and usually get some great views of the countryside, however 4.5 hours vs 1.5 on the bus is a little too much. So the bus it was.
Bilbao bus station is a cavernous subterranean hall - good way to save space I suppose. I had some lunch at the station - a cheesy, sweet peppery and bacony affair; very nice! They call them bracadillos I think!?
Google search: "spain bracadillo sandwich thing"
Its called a Bocadillo actually: "a sandwich made with Spanish bread, usually a baguette or similar type of bread, cut lengthwise"
The bus was 40 minutes late...the driver seemingly trying to make up time drove extremely dangerously. Just stay in a single lane please! You don't need to overtake every single bleeding car...
The bus afforded some nice views of the countryside so I didn't miss out on that. Just as you leave bilbao you pass some quite impressive mountain/hill things - particularly broody looking with todays low clouds.
We pass by the home of the Basque goddess Mari - she lives and loves (precipitating storms...) in a cave within a mountain called Anboto - the story goes that she meets up, some say every Friday, with her consort god Sugaar - they get it on and beget a good storm! Apparently Sugaar has gone out of fashion these days but Mari stays around due to the virgin mary attractor...
Pass through San Sebastian - I should reach there on my feet by end of day 0...looks like a very pretty little city looking forward to that.
The following with the help of chatGPT haha;
I alight in Irun, meandering towards the hostel with a palpable sense of foreboding. It exudes an austere, almost monastic aura; the spartan bunk beds, the regimented curfews - echoes of an ascetic existence. By 10pm, lights extinguish, doors bolt - a rigid, almost draconian adherence to rules that feels almost... penitential.
I ponder, caught in the tumult of indignation and bemusement, the logic behind such policies. They are adult pilgrims, not wayward adolescents in need of stern governance. A mere room, a sanctuary for nocturnal communion, would hardly be a ruinous expense.
Yet, perhaps there's method in this madness - a deliberate echo of the monastic discipline, an attempt to infuse the pilgrim's journey with an essence of ascetic piety. But the soul, wild and untethered, bristles at such constraints; yearning, always, for the freedom to simply be.
Normal service resumes...
The person on the reception suggests I walk down to a place called Hondarriba to get some food - its a pretty little seaside town - there is no food...well there are pintxo but I want a meal - this isn't possible until 8pm!! I have a curfew at 10pm and its a 40 min fucking walk....soo pinxto it is...I fear finding food on this journey isn't gonna be the easiest of endeavors...
The architecture around here is interesting...its all very swiss chalet vibes not quite what i imagine spain to be...perhaps its a basque thing!?
On the walk to Hondarriba I pass what appears to be a Napoleonic fort of some kind (might be older should research it) - except they have literally built a load of flats inside it! Giant stone ramparts surrounding like 80s flats...very strange.
I am now sat outside a bar type thing drinking a beer and writing this - its getting cold I didn't bring a hoody...silly me!
I think Mari and Sugaar might be getting it on...