Having finally arrived at the GR 1 hiking trail, we set off through the beautiful Picos de Europa—fantastic views mixed with freezing cold nights and almost constant rain.

Rarely have I had such shitty weather for so long. Warm rain, like in Africa, is tolerable, albeit annoying, but constant rain at 5 degrees during the day and below zero at night sucks.

I use a quilt designed for temperatures down to around 0 degrees Celsius, which means that it reaches its absolute limits in these temperatures.

However, I carry a perfect heater with me – my dog! Butch is just as cold at night as I am, and so every night, we cuddle up on my 50 cm wide sleeping mat and share the down-filled quilt. Unfortunately, the quilt has now suffered some damage from the constant dampness.

So we don’t have much space, but the 80 cm long living heater is priceless and wonderfully soft and cuddly.

The GR1 took us up and down on small trails, and wide tracks through deserted villages, immersing us among boundless peaks. I was so enthusiastic that my mood rarely sank. All in all, we had a great time.

It was lonely out there. No other hikers. Hardly anyone in the villages. A deserted piece of the planet.

When I did meet people, they weren’t particularly open-minded towards us. On the other hand, we met dogs in every village; most being pleasant encounters.

On our way out of one of the many small villages, five massive Spanish Mastiffs surrounded us. They looked after their flock of sheep on the other side of a fence, but three stood before us in a flash, and the other two blocked our retreat—a heart-pounding situation.

These monsters can weigh up to 100 kg, and I have to say I was scared shitless as they came closer and closer. Luckily, I had my walking poles to keep them at a distance, and at that moment, a car came along, and I asked the driver to help us, which he did.

Long story short – we survived that encounter unscathed.

We weren’t as lucky while sitting in a bar when a small dog suddenly appeared under our table, startling Butch, and the fight was on.

Two fighting dogs between my feet, I got the worst of it as the intruder bit my thigh.

Luckily, nothing serious, and luckily, there was a small clinic in the village where I could get a tetanus vaccination to be safe.

To my surprise, the vaccination was for free. It was also good that no inflammation developed, so we could continue walking.

The longer we walked, the more my back pain disappeared. I’ve almost always had back pain since I was a child, and it’s great for me to experience how much hiking helps to improve the pain.

Sad to say, however, I developed soreness in my Achilles tendon, something I’ve never had before.

Let’s see what happens next.

Butch hated his backpack, in which he carries his food, his favorite toy, and his bowl, and at some point, I had enough of the daily Butch drama, so I gave in and tossed the backpack in the garbage.

The pack was already damaged anyway because it often got stuck somewhere as Butch ran around. I was also unsure whether he was in pain, as Butch is very particular and doesn’t like harnesses.

So I had to carry up to two kilos more in my rucksack.

Nature was still in hibernation in the Picos, but the deeper we got, the more the landscape blossomed.

At first, we found shelters in the Picos, where we even had firewood once, but the wood was so wet that it smoked so much, forcing me to keep the door open all the time, so the little hut never quite got warm.

Nevertheless, it was raining cats and dogs outside, and I was happy that we had found the huts via the OSM app.

We had ice on the tent a few times in the morning, and it usually took ages for the tent to dry, if it ever did.

Spain is in the same time zone as Germany but, as you know, it is much further west, which means it gets light late in the morning but doesn’t get dark until around 9 pm. That suits my biorhythm perfectly and makes things a lot easier!

There is water in every village. There was at least one well or old fountain with drinking water everywhere. Luckily, I didn’t have to lug around so much water.

It is much more difficult with bars, stores, and supermarkets than it has been on the Caminos because we didn’t find many along the way, and if we did, 90% of them were closed when we passed by.

I have to say, it’s annoying!

Therefore, we survived on nuts, tinned fish, and baguettes. Butch got kibble and sardines. If there is an open bar, then a piece of Spanish tortilla.

A lot of food in Spain is deep-fried and not to my taste, and menus are loaded with meat, which is sadly not my style. Unfortunately, the delicious food in the restaurants is far too expensive.

Our daily kilometers depend heavily on the weather and the terrain. Whether we manage 15 ks or 35, it doesn’t much matter. We have the time.

In a larger town, we were both sitting outside a supermarket, hungrily eating the things we had bought when a man leaned over to me and wanted to give me some money.

I looked up at him and probably looked so irritated that he immediately withdrew the money and apologized.

So, we were bums in the eyes of some Spaniards, and I have to admit, that’s how it felt because we got strange looks from time to time.

On the one hand, I was pleased that people are willing to support the homeless; on the other hand, I couldn’t help but wonder how I supposedly appear to others.

Have you ever seen homeless people with hiking poles? With a UL backpack and a dog with a hiking rucksack?

It almost seemed that Spaniards only had the Caminos as hiking trails on their radar. Although countless hiking trails are everywhere, people seem to have little interest in them.

I missed spending our nights in inexpensive accommodations, like on some of the Caminos. Overnight stays along our route cost from 35 euros upwards. Usually much more. In other words, I pitched the tent every night.

At some point, the GR1 became too dull for me. However, this was not the fault of the GR1; the issue was with me, because simply following the same path is not my thing. I prefer to make up my own routes, which may sound silly, but it’s true.

So, I discovered the GR99, which runs along the Ebro River towards the Mediterranean. One of my blog readers walked this trail in winter and was enthusiastic about it. So, when I saw the signs for the 99, I decided to change direction on short notice and did not regret it.

Surprisingly, the hiking trails are all very different. The character of the signposting, the paths chosen, and the variety of scenery make the changing of trails worthwhile.

On the Ebro Trail, it was often steep single trails. It was simply more exciting than mostly walking on wider dirt tracks as before.

The villages we passed through were almost medieval in character. We arrived in a village late one evening, still not sure where we might find a camp spot. As we made our way through the village, I saw a forest fire on the hillsides beyond the outskirts.

Walking on, I met a woman in the street and pointed out the fire; she was non-pulsed and said, “Oh, that’s nothing,” and waved me away.

I wasn’t convinced and made sure we kept going until we were well out of the danger zone despite it being past midnight.

Most of the time, I only set up the tent once it’s already dark—I’ve been doing it that way for years. So, nothing new there.

Our campsites were now becoming more and more primitive. The main priority was to stay dry! So, under no circumstances should we camp in a meadow where the moisture in the grass condenses inside and outside the tent as the temps drop, ensuring we would wake up in a stalactite cave in the morning.

Preferably with a roof or, if without a roof, then on gravel. Most of the time, we succeeded. I also made little effort to hide our camps as there were only older people here, if anyone at all. Cows and dogs were certainly much more numerous than people.

My Achilles tendon forced us to take a break, which was good for me.

Ingrid from Barcelona sponsored us with a small hut on a campsite, and I enjoyed my first shower and heating after 15 days. After that, we continued with power.

We made good daily progress with a few ABCs (another bloody castle – another bloody church – it’s an Aussie joke) and many ups and downs.

The landscapes were constantly changing, and we continued to have a lot of fun.

On the border with the Basque Country, I was very curious to see how things would continue in this province, which has been fighting for independence for decades.

I spontaneously had the impression that the people were more open. Friendlier, and unfortunately the prices were even higher.

Back on the GR1, I didn’t really know which way to go? Towards the Mediterranean or over the Pyrenees directly to France? But there is certainly still a lot of snow in the Pyrenees.

And when will it finally feel like spring here? Late April, and it’s still winter temperatures—I was really fed up by now.

Given the fact that everything was very expensive now, it seemed like it was time to change countries, although I didn’t believe France would be any cheaper.

We had walked about 800 kilometers by then—I don’t know the exact number, but it’s not really important to me.

See you soon 😁

Best greetings, Heike and Butch