Day 49: Gijon to Otur | 110km
20 July 2026
Given the World Cup final last night, it was a bit difficult to sleep as fireworks and honking cars went off in the nearby streets. I grabbed breakfast at a café next to my little hotel, which consisted of three empanadas and a coffee, and then hit the road around 9:15. It felt as though the city was slow to wake up today after the big win last night, which was good for me as I had the streets leading out of the city almost entirely to myself.
I knew I had a big day in store, about 110km and 1,500m of elevation, but I’ve actually stopped worrying or caring too much about the elevation. My body and mind manage it well, and I’m having so much fun on the descents that it’s absolutely worth it. It’s like a childlike joy, and like I’ve said before, the scenery here makes the effort so worth it.
Despite riding through some incredibly beautiful landscapes on the Camino del Norte, I haven’t taken many photos or videos. Documenting the journey was initially a big driver for going on the trip. I wanted to capture the places I went through and how I experienced them. The further I go, though, even if I perhaps should be motivated to keep up the creative flow as I’m getting closer to the end, I feel more and more that I just don’t care. I still take some photos, of course, but the journey now feels more about just being on a big adventure rather than sharing it with anyone. I feel like I’m capturing things more for myself to have after the journey, but I care very little about other people seeing them.
Part of it, I believe, comes from the fact that it’s just very difficult to capture what this is actually like. When people ask me about the journey, I give short answers as I don’t have the vocabulary yet to describe it. Maybe it will be easier after the trip when I have some distance and perspective on what I’m currently doing. Although, not caring about sharing the journey online weirdly proves to myself that I’m doing this for the right reasons, for myself.
Riding with the coast on my right all day, I eventually reached Otur, which would be my final town on the northern coast of Spain before turning inland. The campsite was a long stone’s throw from the beach and by far the best €10 campsite I’ve ever stayed in. I’ve definitely come to appreciate a well-maintained campsite, as the quality and care differ hugely from one to another. This one was lush and nicely divided across various levels, which made it feel much more homey and private. The receptionist told me many Spanish people come back here year after year, since they’ve made friends here from previous years, and it definitely had that friendly feeling in the air. That’s probably the best review a campsite can get.
After setting up my tent, a tall blonde guy stumbled out of the large tent next to mine. My assumption that he was Dutch, based on the car parked in front, turned out to be correct as we started a conversation. Martijn was a very friendly character, and we hit it off immediately. I quickly learned that he was driving around northern Spain for a few days by himself, looking for places to surf and hike before meeting up with friends for a holiday together. He brought out a cheeseboard and beers, and I responded by cutting up my massive watermelon to split between the two of us.
When you’re not carrying a lot, any small gesture of generosity or sharing your food means a lot, and it feels like it becomes even more important to share the little you have. Perhaps a lesson for life in general. We chatted for about two hours about everything from the landscape in the surrounding area to why each of us were travelling solo and our philosophies on life. He was one of those strangers you immediately open up to because he seemed to have his guard completely down. As the daylight faded, I felt a growing need to hit the hay. These days, around 9 or 10pm, my body and mind completely shut down and are unable to do anything but lie down and drift into well-deserved sleep.