Bob and I arrived in Zubiri and grabbed two bunks in the “muni.”
The Zubiri Municipal was formerly a schoolhouse. Image from here (accessed 9/11/2021).
What is a Municipal Albergue?
On the Camino Francés, a “municipal” (or “muni”) is the budget-friendly backbone of the trail, it’s a cheap sleep. When I say “cheap,” think six or seven dollars. When I say "sleep," interpret that word broadly—it ranges from pure slumber to lying in the fetal position praying for sunrise.
“Municipals” are public hostels owned and operated by a community. Municipals vary greatly in size, cleanliness, and services offered, but typically consist of a common room, some kind of shared kitchen, bathroom stalls, shower stalls, and a sleeping area. Sometimes the sleeping area is smallish with ten or twelve beds. Others can be huge spaces with sixty beds or more. Beds consist of a single mattress in a plastic cover on a frame without blankets or sheets. For this reason, Spain walkers need to carry their own sleeping gear (sleep sack or bag).
Tips for Finding Albergues on the Camino
Most munis are first-come, first-served. Since summertime peregrinos do their best to avoid walking in the July heat, the goal is to grab a bunk by early afternoon. Wait too long, and you’ll find yourself walking with el sol caliente as your blistering companion.
If the muni isn't for you, other options include private albergues, pensiones, luxury hotels, or church floors. Of course, the “hard ground” is always available for those with a truly empty pocketbook. Obviously, bigger cities offer more options than country villages.
Our sleeping area in Zubiri’s muni. That’s my backpack on the floor. Did I remember my earplugs?
Meeting the Tribe: Greg and "Harpo-Honi"
Because the Camino moves at a footpace along a restricted channel, you encounter the same faces in every café and church. Teams and tribes form naturally. Bob and I fell into an odd coterie with Greg and Honi.
It was Greg’s second time to walk the Camino. He wanted to walk solo on this do-over since he partied most of the way across on his first attempt and didn’t remember much. Stamped with an extroverted nature, he was doomed to repeat his excesses. Greg was an invaluable source of intel on many things we wanted to know and a few things that we didn’t.
Approaching the village of Maneru, Spain. Teams form on the basis of language, interest, speed of travel, and snoring habits.
Honi, from France, was struggling with a knee injury from coming over the Pyrenees. He didn’t speak a lick of English, yet he was a perfect trail-mate. He communicated through hand signals, facial expressions, and a variety of odd noises that would have made Harpo Marx envious.
Greg, Harpo-Honi, Bob, and myself connected for the first time in Zubiri. Together, we learned three lessons on the muni scene.
A grizzly trio: Bob, Harpo-Honi, and yours truly on the trail.
3 Hard Lessons from the Zubiri Albergue
Zubiri taught us three essential lessons for surviving the Camino hostel scene:
First, Zubiri taught us to hoard toilet paper. It would not be guaranteed at every stop. In retrospect, the same might be said of toilets generally in all of Spain. Their rarity suggests that the locals have been gifted with enormous bowel capacities.
Second, Zubiri taught us about the threat of fresh air (a phobia that extends across the Mediterranean world). What this means in practice is that even if it is a thousand degrees inside a room, one should never open a window, lest the outside air rush in and grip everyone with fever. Given what I’ve witnessed in hostels, fresh air seems to be most lethal at night.
And third, Zubiri taught us to fear the chinches.*
Actually, it was Greg, the Camino-veteran, who taught us this lesson. He chose his bunk and inspected it carefully. He calculated the angle of the sun and paced the distance to the outside door and the bathroom. With a flashlight he inspected all his bed frame crevices. He stared at his mattress as if he had never seen such a thing before, then suddenly flipped it with great enthusiasm. We all fell back, surprised, but he leaned forward to watch for tiny movements. Finally, he pulled out a can of aerosol bug spray and fumigated the entire district. Satisfied, he threw himself facefirst into the cloud and stretched out his long frame. It was an impressive display.
Closeup of a bedbug licking his chops. Image from here (accessed 9/17.2021).
At 10:00 PM, an invisible hand flipped the lights. The windows were sealed tight against the “dangerous” night air. I lay there in the dark, listening to Harpo-Honi’s rhythmic breathing. The air was thick like wet socks. I slapped my leg, certain I felt a crawling sensation.
¡Buen Camino!
*Chinches is Spanish for “bedbugs.” These tiny vampires (Cimex lectularius) hide by day but come out in the night. They are particularly fond of the taste of peregrino blood.
Join Mark and Vicki for a Mediterranean experience May 25-June 5, 2022. We'll be cruising aboard the luxurious Celebrity Infinity. See the link here for details. Onboard lectures will provide focus for the group as we visit the ports of Olympia, Santorini, Ephesus, and Athens among others. Optional add-on visits to Venice or Rome are possible on either end of the trip. Contact me at markziese@gmail.com.