Muskiz (Musques)

The tide was out when the bus wheezed to a halt at Pobeña, exposing a rust-red streak of industrial waste that looked almost artistic against the wet sand. A man in a hi-vis jacket stepped off first, lunchbox in hand, and headed straight for the clifftop path. No camera, no hesitation—just another Tuesday morning commute in Muskiz, the last village in Biscay before Cantabria begins.

Most British travellers whizz past on the A-8, bound for Santander’s ferry or Bilbao’s Guggenheim. Those who do peel off discover a place where Atlantic rollers slam against blast-furnace chimneys, and where the Camino del Norte squeezes between a working port and a cow pasture. It’s odd, and oddly compelling.

Coast and chimneys

La Arena beach is the obvious first stop. You share it with Zierbena, though nobody can tell where one municipality ends and the other begins. The sand is clean, dark and peppered with magnetite that sticks to a damp towel. Lifeguards appear mid-June; before that you swim at your own risk in water that never climbs above 19 °C even in August. Bring rubber shoes—the first five metres are shingle, and the undertow can be brisk.

Behind the dunes, the horizon is pricked by the outline of the Añana steel plant. Night-shift lights glow pink after sunset, giving the scene a Blade Runner tinge. Locals are proud of the factory—it paid for the seafront car park and keeps cafés busy at 07:00—but they also admit weekends are better when the wind blows the smoke inland.

Pobeña, the coastal barrio, feels more like a Cornish cove that took a wrong turn. Houses are painted ox-blood and emerald, laundry strung between balconies, and the so-called harbour is really a stone breakwater sheltering three rowing boats and a rusting crane. Walk up to the tiny church of San Julián and Santa Basilisa; the door is usually open, the interior smells of candle wax and salt, and the priest posts tide times on the noticeboard beside the hymn numbers.

Paths and pipelines

The Camino del Norte enters Muskiz on the clifftop, follows the access road past a Repsol depot, then drops to the beach. Even if you’re not hiking to Santiago, the hour-long loop to Punta del Castillo is worthwhile. The track is tarmacked, shared by dog-walkers and plant workers on cigarette breaks, and the views open west towards Cantabria’s emerald coast. Interpretation boards explain how 19th-century iron ore was loaded onto barges here; the stone ramps are still visible at low tide.

Inland, the valley hides a different soundtrack. Turn off the BI-2704 at San Juan de Muskiz and you’re suddenly among apple orchards and slate-roofed farmhouses. The road narrows, hedges grow higher, and every other gateway advertises sagardoa—dry Basque cider—sold in two-litre plastic bottles for €3. There are no signed footpaths, but farmers tolerate walkers as long as gates are closed. The GR-121 long-distance route skirts the southern edge if you prefer waymarks.

What to eat, when to eat

Spanish clocks apply: lunch 14:00–15:30, dinner 20:30 earliest. Sidrería Asador Arriaga will grill a chuletón (T-bone) big enough for two at €15 a head if you ask for it al punto—medium. Otherwise Casa Juan does a salt-cod tortilla that even fish-dodgers manage; it tastes more like potato with a faint ocean breeze. Breakfast is easier: Cafetería Kaskagorri opens at 07:00 and napolitanas (pain-au-choc) travel well for the bus back.

Vegetarians survive on tortilla and pimientos de Gernika; vegans should stock up in Bilbao first. The Eroski supermarket has the only ATM—when it’s working. If the screen is dark, the nearest alternative is a Santander branch in Zierbena, 15 minutes away by car or the next bus.

Turning up without a car

Bizkaibus A3243 leaves Bilbao’s Termibus hourly on weekdays, less often on Saturdays, none on Sunday evening. The journey takes 50 minutes and costs €1.70 with Barik card (buy at the airport for 50c). Sit on the right for sea glimpses after Castro Urdiales. Last return is 21:30; miss it and a taxi is €45—more than most hotel rooms.

Drivers should note the free car park at La Arena fills by 11:00 on summer Sundays. Overflow traffic lines the lane to Pobeña, where spaces are tighter and the turning circle for motorhomes is zero. Height barriers block the seafront overnight, so camper vans retreat to a lay-by above the steel works—earplugs recommended when the night shift blows slag.

Weather honesty

The Cantabrian climate is a lottery in any season. July can deliver four days of fog followed by a scorcher that brings jellyfish. October is often glorious—22 °C, cobalt skies—then Atlantic lows arrive overnight and the same footpath becomes a wind-tunnel of horizontal rain. Pack a fleece even in August; locals wear quilted coats on the beach. If it really tips down, head to the valley: cider houses have indoor tables and the smell of wet grass replaces ozone and diesel.

Stay, or day-trip?

Accommodation is thin. The municipal albergue (donation, opens at 18:00) gives pilgrims a dorm and kitchen, but you must be on foot with a credencial. The only hotel, Sercotel Portico, caters to engineers servicing the plant; rooms are comfortable, weekends cheaper, yet you’re paying business rates for a coastal walk. Most Brits base themselves in Bilbao and treat Muskiz as a €3.40 return excursion—perfectly feasible if you catch the 09:30 bus and head back after an early dinner.

The bottom line

Muskiz won’t deliver souvenir tea-towels or a medieval centre to photograph. It offers instead a slice of living coastline where weekend surfers share waves with container ships, and where the post-industrial hangover is still being negotiated one cider pour at a time. Come for the salt air, the steak and the satisfaction of having gone somewhere the guidebooks forgot. Leave before the weather turns, or stay and let it turn around you—either way, the steel works will still be humming when you go.