Buy the guidebook! Camino Ignaciano: Walking the Ignatian Way in Northern Spain

The Camino Ignaciano, or Ignatian Way, runs for 675km across northern Spain. Murray Stewart’s guidebook will take you across all 27 stages, with accommodations, restaurants, walking directions and interesting insights to the culture to enrich your experience. On his own journey, he was at times accompanied by some interesting creatures…

The idea of wet hooves clearly does not appeal to everyone.

Roque watches on as Tati hauls on a rope from the front, while my two hands placed on Gaspar’s ample buttocks try to propel the stubborn animal through the shallow stream. Mission eventually accomplished, I turn to observe as Roque trots 50m upstream to a wooden bridge, turns 90 degrees to cross it, then pivots 90 degrees again to re-join the three of us. Yes, he has walked three sides of an imaginary square instead of just one. But his hooves are dry, and his strategy triumphant. And I swear that, if a donkey is ever capable of looking smug, then Roque mastered it in that very moment.

We are high in the rugged Basque Mountains, and it’s the fourth day of my trek along the Camino Ignaciano – a pilgrimage following in the footsteps of Ignatius of Loyola. In 1522, this soldier-turned-Christian set out on foot from the Basque Country with the intent of reaching Jerusalem. But he didn’t make it to the Holy Land, and you would never believe why: he was prevented from continuing from Manresa to Barcelona and the coast by a sort of lockdown, imposed in response to an outbreak of the plague. Fast forward a few centuries and, as the route prepares to celebrate its 500th anniversary, there is a disturbing similarity as I retrace the steps of Ignatius. 

During the four-week walk, carried out in between Covid-19 lockdowns, there was plenty of time to ponder the sheer irony of all this. Spain is nowadays divided into 17 Autonomous Communities and the Camino Ignaciano crosses five of them – the Basque Country, La Rioja, Navarre, Aragón and Catalonia. During my walk, each of them imposed different restrictions and these changed weekly. Every Thursday, I had to update myself with these moving goalposts, trying to make sure I stayed on the right side of the law. 

Ignatius did eventually reach Barcelona and then sail to the Holy Land, but only after spending 11 months in a cave in Manresa, soul-searching and writing the seminal Spiritual Exercises, a sort of handbook for prayer and contemplation. Later, he would study in Paris and found the Society of Jesus, now known as the Jesuits. Across the centuries, across the globe, this Catholic Order would become hugely influential and still retains importance today. Indeed, the current Pope is a Jesuit. 

Ignatius set out in 1522 accompanied by a mule, and 500 years later I began my trek with those two donkeys – Roque and Gaspar – their owner Tati and our dog, or ‘Head of Security’, Zoilo. Of the powerful mastín (Spanish mastiff) breed, if Zoilo was a pugilist then he would definitely be in the heavyweight class and woe betide anyone – canine, bovine or human – who displays any perceived threat to his donkey companions. 

The first six of the camino’s 28 stages lead through the Basque Mountains and, bathed in greenery, this section is undoubtedly the most beautiful part of the walk, taking you to high pastures grazed by horses, cows and the native latxa breed of sheep. As our intrepid motley crew traverses the Urbia Valley, we reach the tiny Aizbea Ttontor quesería cheese ‘factory’, housed in not much more than a shepherds’ shelter. Those latxa sheep provide the milk for the hard, nutty Idiazabal cheese that is made here, a Basque speciality that pairs well with membrillo (quince jelly) to bring a satisfying conclusion to many a meal. 

Only a few minutes after passing the tiny factory, we have to step aside as a clattering of bells heralds the arrival of around 500 of the cheese-producing sheep. Accompanied at front and rear by six tough-looking shepherds and a few sheepdogs eyed warily by Zoilo, this flock is stopping for no-one as they crash along the forest path. Authentic experiences such as this are for me, what the Camino Ignaciano is all about. Even Tati, the owner of the two donkeys, oozes authenticity: a solid character, no airs nor graces, quiet yet a fount of information about the scenery, towns, fauna and rugged mountains that surround us. A man truly connected to the terrain that we’re crossing. For two days he drinks voraciously from his leather bottle, from morning till night. It is only on day three that I realise it’s actually full of red wine, rather than water! 

Onwards to Catalonia

After the early Basque stages, the route levels out through the vineyards of Rioja Alavesa and then into La Rioja itself. Logroño is the regional capital here, renowned for its legendary L-shaped party street, the Calle del Laurel. An evening of gorging on tapas and red wine will be unforgettable… unless you overindulge, of course, in which case the details may be hazy. 

Between December and August, hundreds of migratory storks decorate the rooftops of Alfaro town, creating the world’s largest urban colony of these elegant birds. Their giant nests are a sight to behold – another highlight of this diverse route.

From La Rioja, the camino follows the course of the mighty River Ebro, passing briefly through proud Navarre, once a powerful kingdom. 

Next up is Zaragoza, Spain’s fifth-largest but heavily under-visited city, with its enormous El Pilar Basilica and intriguing 11th-century Aljaferiá Palace. Here, in the autonomous community of Aragón, as elsewhere in the country, traces of the Moorish past are evident. 

As I enter Catalonia, I find myself being warmly welcomed into the quiet Catalan settlement of El Palau d’Anglesola. These days, this little town barely carries any trace of a palau – ‘palace’ in English – yet instead I find another authentic, and much more precious, treasure in the shape of the Amics del Camí – or ‘Friends of the Way. This dedicated association of townspeople have built a tiny pilgrims’ shelter in honour of their dear friend, a fireman who lost his life in an accident. The good men and women of El Palau now go out of their way to welcome those pilgrims arriving from the west on the Camino de Santiago, or from the east on the Camino Ignaciano. 

Standing in contrast to the tranquillity of El Palau, our penultimate stop – Montserrat and its monastery, set amongst jagged, saw-toothed mountains – welcomes 2 million visitors annually. For me, arriving in a thunderstorm, during a pandemic, there is not much of a welcome. With all restaurants closed, I ‘dine’ from a vending machine. The only guest in the 80-bedroom hotel, I feel like a victim-in-waiting in a horror movie amidst the thunder crashes and lightning strikes. 

Exploring the everyday

Someone once said that ‘Participation is connection,’ and, for the visitor, walking might be the closest you can get to being part of everyday Spain. Each day on the Camino Ignaciano brings a fresh encounter with the country’s myriad birdlife, with its winegrowers, its immigrant agricultural workers, its truck-drivers and their truckstops. And in the year of sharp focus on COP26, climate change and eco-friendly travel, a camino experience seems not only authentic but environmentally sound, too. 

To conclude, let us rewind to those early stages. After the experience with Roque and the stream, the route descended into the Valle de Arana, a low, flat-bottomed valley once renowned for its potato growing. Here, among the fields of current crops waving in the breeze, the tourist footprint is virtually invisible. Indeed, with a population of only 200, the human footprint is almost untraceable. The only accommodation on offer tonight is a modest guesthouse fashioned out of a former potato warehouse; there is but one choice for the evening meal, hearty but unsophisticated fare cooked by the guesthouse owner. And the life of even a ‘secular pilgrim’ such as myself should be exactly like this: simple, without luxury, a chance to unyoke yourself from your belongings and the trappings of everyday life. Walk, eat sleep, not much more, except perhaps for a glass or two of velvety Spanish wine. It’s not difficult each day to justify such modest indulgence as due reward for 25km of hard walking. 

At the end of that first week’s walk, I can’t pretend that I’m not emotional when the time comes to say goodbye to my two furry donkey friends, who spend their last night in a lush green field outside the beautiful, medieval town of Laguardia. They will now return to base, while from here I still have a further 500km to walk, alone and now without a beast to carry my backpack. As I rush excitedly towards Roque to hug him farewell, I fail to notice that he has made a fresh, overnight ‘deposit’ in the long grass. As I step in it, and look down in dismay, I swear the look on my favourite donkey ‘s face turns to a smile – or maybe even contempt?

It seems that he has now left an indelible stain on my shoes, as well as my heart.