Mid-August 2025
Day 1 – Bilbao, Zarautz & San Sebastián → Night in Dax (France)
Morning – Bilbao to Zarautz
I landed in Bilbao early Friday morning, ready for a three-day road trip through the Basque Country. I rented a car, but before setting off, I desperately needed coffee. To make matters worse, my mobile data wasn’t working, which annoyed me even more since I had to navigate without GPS.
I managed to get into the city, parked near the Guggenheim Museum, and finally found some coffee. It was already 31°C at 10 AM, and I had no energy to explore Bilbao properly. I gave it an hour, but the heat was unbearable.
With my phone still unreliable, I decided to drive toward San Sebastián and improvise along the way. About an hour later, I stopped in Zarautz, a seaside village. The streets were alive with music, the houses colourful, with laundry lines and flowerpots giving them a lively charm. I loved the vibe, though the heat pressed down heavily.
I finally managed to buy a Spanish SIM card and get my phone working again—what a relief. My plan was to check out surfing conditions in Zarautz. But when I got to the beach, I froze in horror: it was absolutely packed. A never-ending stream of people covered the sand. The waves looked too small anyway, and the surfers seemed to just be waiting endlessly. Definitely not my ideal surf spot.
So I called a surf school in San Sebastián, half an hour away, and booked an afternoon lesson.
Afternoon – San Sebastián
By now, the temperature kept climbing—it turned out to be the hottest day of the week. San Sebastián was buzzing with Semana Grande festivities, which meant even more crowds. I wandered a little but couldn’t really enjoy it in the heat. I settled for a coffee and something to eat before heading to the beach.
At 4:30 PM, I joined my surf group: six girls—one German, two Belgians, two Italians, and me. The sun was blazing. We carried our boards to the beach, but unlike in Peru last year, there was no warm-up or technique practice. The instructor gave us a quick explanation about the current and the beach, and then we headed straight into the water.
The waves were small, perfect for beginners, though the beach was so crowded it felt like “traffic surfing”—lining up and hoping not to crash into someone. The instructor didn’t give much feedback, which I missed. Still, I caught plenty of waves and felt the joy of surfing return. By the end, I was exhausted but happy.
Afterward, I stayed with the Italian and German girls for a drink. We chatted and laughed, a small highlight after a chaotic, hot day.
Evening – From San Sebastián to Dax
By 8 PM, I left San Sebastián. Staying there was out of the question—hostel beds were a crazy €70. Coincidentally or not, La Ganga Calé (a band I know personally) were playing that night in Dax, France, just an hour’s drive away. I had already booked a hotel nearby in Saint-Geours-de-Maremne, partly with the idea of surfing in Biarritz the next day.
I arrived at the hotel at 9 PM with a splitting headache. I lay down, unsure if I’d even go out. Maybe it was intuition telling me to stay put, or maybe just the heatwave. But the pain passed, and I told myself: I’ve come all this way, I can still go.
Night – Feria of Dax
I left around 11 PM, expecting a normal festival atmosphere and a good concert. I had been to festivals alone before, so I was not worried. What I found shocked me. Parking was a nightmare. The streets were packed with people in red and white—the dress code of the Feria. I immediately felt out of place in my blue dress.
The town was overflowing with drunk crowds, loud music blasting from every corner, chaos everywhere. I just wanted to get to the concert, but no one could give me coherent directions, not even the police. Midnight passed, and I was still trying. At times, I thought I heard the band, only to be drowned out by other music.
I started feeling unsafe. And then it escalated: as I tried to defend myself against insults thrown at me for not wearing the dress code, a group of men turned aggressive. One of them hit me. I fell, already weakened from a small surf injury earlier. I stayed down, hoping they would leave me alone. Maybe they spat on me or threw alcohol—I don’t even know. Nobody helped me. People just kept partying around me.
Eventually, the group moved on. I pulled myself up, limped back to my car in tears, and sat there in shock. My right leg throbbed with pain—it was already sore from surfing, but now every movement felt sharp and heavy. At 1 AM, I tried to drive back but had to stop mid-way—I was too shaken to focus. I attempted to meditate, to slow my breathing, but the pain kept pulling me back. Finally, I rubbed some cream into my leg and swallowed a painkiller. Slowly, the sharp pain dulled. At least physically, I felt some relief.
At 2 AM, a friend from the band called, and I admitted I wasn’t okay. I pulled myself together and drove carefully back into town to join them around 3 AM. The atmosphere was completely different—calm, quiet, just a group of friends hanging out after the concert. Being with them saved me. I was shaken and messed up—but not alone anymore. I didn’t tell them what had happened but simply being in their company gave me a sense of safety and comfort, and one of them stayed close. In the end, it turned into a great night thanks to that person. After living through some of the scariest hours of my life, I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of joy, freedom, and pleasure.
Reflection
This blog is about motivating young people, especially women, to travel alone. But this experience reminded me of something important: be careful. Solo travel is empowering, but at crowded events like these, prepare well—or don’t go. Safety first.
That night ended better thanks to friends, and I am forever grateful especially to these two friends, but the scar of that moment stayed with me. My leg hurt badly and was bruised purple by the next morning. Still, I wasn’t going to let it ruin my trip. I had two more days in the Basque Country ahead of me—and I was determined to make the most of them.
Day 2 – France to Spain: Hondarribia, Jaizkibel, Zumaia → Night in Ermua
Morning – Leaving France
The morning began with pain—my right leg was swollen and turning purple from the night before. It was a sharp reminder of what had happened, but I refused to let it keep me from enjoying the time I had left. I crossed the border quickly, eager to put France behind me.
First stop: Hondarribia. The sky was grey, the sea muted, and though the town was charming, it felt overly touristy. I walked along the promenade but didn’t linger.
Next, I drove up the winding road of Jaizkibel. Almost no one was there, which was exactly what I needed. The solitude of the mountain was calming. I parked, lay down for a while, and even meditated. The peace and silence gave me space to breathe again.
Afternoon – Attempting San Sebastián
By late afternoon, I decided to give San Sebastián another chance. The idea was to go surfing again with the Italian girls. But finding a parking spot was impossible. I pulled over slightly further up the coast for a quick glimpse of the sea. The view was beautiful, but I couldn’t stay long—the police were strolling around, checking cars. What a shame.
Evening – Zumaia
Instead, I headed to Zumaia, about a 30-minute drive away. It was one of the best decisions of the trip. The landscape took my breath away—the dramatic flysch cliffs rising above the sea reminded me of Ireland’s rugged coasts.
I noticed people surfing, but my legs couldn’t carry me anymore, and the evening was already setting in. Instead, I soaked in the calm atmosphere: the friendly locals, the wind against my face, the Spanish families strolling around. Unlike San Sebastián, the vibe was much more relaxed, less international, more authentic. There were festivities going on, adding colour and life to the town without feeling overwhelming.
As the sun went down, tiredness hit me hard. I drove to my hotel in Ermua, just 20 minutes away. Finally, I let myself collapse into bed and slept for almost 10 hours straight.
Day 3 – Ermua to Sopelana Beach → Night in Mallorca
Morning – Heading to Sopelana
I woke up in Ermua full of excitement. Today I was about to fulfill one of my dreams: I was going paragliding. By noon I arrived at Sopelana beach, and the view immediately took my breath away—two golden beaches side by side, backed by dramatic flysch cliffs.
I had already booked a paragliding flight, but around noon I received a call: the wind wasn’t blowing in the right direction, and the start would be delayed by at least half an hour, maybe more. So I sat down on the cliffs, gazing at the ocean and meditating. Time slowed down. After about an hour and a half, the team gave me the go-ahead. The wind had shifted—I was going to be the first one in the air.
Paragliding over Sopelana
To my surprise, I wasn’t nervous at all. I felt ready. The moment I was pulled into the sky, I remember how light I felt. The flight lasted about 20 minutes, floating above the coastline. It was everything I had imagined and more. I felt free, as if everything I ever dreamed of was suddenly possible.
As I chatted with the instructor about the challenges of learning to fly solo, I felt inspiration hit me like lightning. Within the first few minutes, I knew: I wanted to learn paragliding for myself. Ever since, I’ve been researching how and where to get started. There are no words to capture the serenity of that moment—the cliffs, the waves, the calm. Light as a feather, free as a bird.
Those 20 minutes gave me courage, joy, and a renewed sense of freedom. I will always be grateful to Sopela Parapente Airetik for giving me my first flight.
Afternoon – Surfing again
After landing, I stayed by the beach. I debated whether to explore further up the coast for more cliffs, but from above I had already spotted surfers in the water. My leg was still not fully recovered, but I decided to take the risk. I instantly booked a class starting at 4 PM—just enough time. I had to be at the airport at 7 PM.
This time, it was a real surfing class: only four of us, proper warm-up, clear technical explanations. The waves were bigger, more physical, but that only made it more fun. Despite the pain in my leg, I managed to catch several waves and felt the thrill return. I stopped a little before the end, exhausted but glowing. Surfing and paragliding on the same day—two of my favorite things. I knew I would come back here someday.
Evening – From Bilbao to Mallorca
By the time I left the beach, I was drained. I drove 20 minutes to Bilbao airport, returned the car, and had two hours to spare before my flight. Everything went smoothly.
But my journey wasn’t over yet. I had a layover night in Mallorca before flying home. Arriving late felt surreal. All the clichés hit me at once: it didn’t feel like Spain at all. The airport signs were also in German, and I heard more German and English around me than Spanish. It was strange, even slightly annoying, but I let it go.
At 11 PM, I grabbed a pizza for dinner, then walked down to the beach. The sound of the waves calmed me as I sat there, reflecting on my whirlwind trip. It had been only three days, yet it felt like much longer—so much had happened, so many emotions. The Basque Country had given me contrasts as sharp as its cliffs: joy and fear, solitude and company, exhaustion and pure freedom.
Finally, I returned to my hostel for a short night’s sleep. The next morning, I had to leave early. And just like that, my Basque Country adventure came to an end.
From the chaos of Dax and the pain that followed, to the serenity of Jaizkibel, the awe of Zumaia, and finally the lightness of flying over Sopelana—this trip reminded me how quickly life can shift. One night you may feel unsafe and broken, the next day you’re soaring above the sea like a bird.
Paragliding in particular was transformative. For those twenty minutes in the air, I felt like everything was possible, as if the limits I so often place on myself had dissolved. Surfing reminded me of play, of resilience, of the joy in falling and trying again. And even in the most difficult moments, the journey taught me that support often comes in unexpected ways—sometimes from people who don’t even know they’re helping you.
I left the Basque Country with bruises on my leg but with courage in my heart. I came back with ideas, inspiration, and the renewed certainty that I want to keep exploring, keep testing my limits, keep dreaming bigger.