Via la plata blog - Day 8

Following one of the Pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela

Fuente de Cantos to Zafra - Cheating on a bus ride

Day 8 - 16th April 2010

After quickly boshing the breakfast and letting Megan go for hers I pack everything up and double check the bus timetable, we head into the centre of Fuente and end up being just too late to catch the first one because it's much bigger than it seems at first glance. Finding the Bus Station we slump into seats in the Cafe and have quite a wait for the next one. I've seen images of a huge smokey cloud on television but without reading newspapers or having a t.v. to watch the full story on I've no idea what's happening. Txting the folks back home I get filled in on the Volcano in Iceland and after making sure Meg's happy to wait there while I pop back into town to try to find Internet access as I like to put my pictures online every now and then and check my emails. Arriving back in plenty of time to catch the bus into Zafra we stick our bags in the luggage compartment underneath and pay only 1 Euro something for what is a 20 plus kilometre journey, pretty sure you wouldn't be taken anywhere on a coach in the U.K. so comfortably and so cheaply. Nothing to do but sit back and relax, Megan's stomach was cramping all the way on the walk to the Station so she's still feeling pretty bad but it's a good sign that she tried to eat breakfast at least.

Arriving in Zafra the first priority is to find the Albergue and drop off our bags, after that I suggest we try to find a Red Cross Clinic as they usually have English speaking Doctors, however that was just my hope because I had a similar situation on holiday with my friends a year before in Majorca when Jess D. was suffering and I traipsed a good length of the coast trying to find a chemist open on a Sunday for some medicine and had to try to explain her symptoms to the Pharmacist. The Tourist Information is a good place to start and the rather attractive, incredibly helpful young lady behind the desk gives us all the information we need to find both somewhere to stay and The Clinic. Trying to find somewhere to stay is tough. We use the map and Megan's navigation skills soon become apparent, whereas mine are pretty much nonexistant (like the time heading to south east Wales for a camping trip we ended up two hours out of our way in Camarthen on the south west coast, I tried to bullshit and cover myself by saying there were two of them oops before we drive all the way back again). Zafra is busy, eclectic and has a large Castle in the middle but we find the Hostales listed in my limited information (a pricier option but we just wanted a room and to drop off our packs). Asking the third or fourth person as many are visitors, an older lady surprisingly turns out to be the Owner of the one we want. It's far too expensive so we opt out and after meeting Bob and Morag again only to find that Morag's been very ill and is still suffering from food poisoning it becomes clear that we've all had a case of the dodgy restaurant running grumpy bastarditis from Monasterio, cutting Bob short before he can start more stories we head off to the Albergue Turistico a middle ground in price terms.

It isn't very well signposted so it's a bit of a walk and the sign right outside points in the opposite direction helpfully. Dropping our bags off there are quite a few of our friends there already. We leave and pass Dick and Richard arriving only to bump into Judy whose been here for two days and fills us in on where the Clinic is and leave her after she explains all about how helpful they were (even though she's not a E.U. citizen and therefore doesn't have the replacement for the old E111 form, the European Health Insurance Card that I carry in case of such an emergency) and before she can give us too many details about her blood test as I'm a bit squeamish. Finding the Clinic the receptionists seem to take their time but finally we get to go upstairs and hunt for the room of the Dr Meg's got an appointment with. It's going to be a wait so I head off with Megan's blessing and go back to see my friend the Tourist Information Girl, who had complimented me on my Spanish before when trying to explain that my friend was ill and we needed to see a physician, I returned the favour with my stock phrase for such an occasion 'Usted es muy amable', 'your very kind' and probably lying lol... When you try you get a lot further than when you don't, comes under the heading if you don't ask (in Spanish) you don't get, I suppose...

Internet access has been very hard to find so far on this trip as the Tourist Information people although helpful, their 'information' is often inaccurate or out of date, however my friendly chica does give me some options on a new map as Megan's holding the other one (oh well a good excuse to see and talk to her again ha ha). So off I hunt after failing to get anything done on the free computers in the library as they all run Linux and won't give me access to my memory card or video camera (another regular occurrence on this trip, Linux linux everywhere). Giving up after yet another disappointing and rather painful walk despite the lack of a pack on my back I head back to the Clinic and find that Megan's still waiting patiently (medical non-joke) but hasn't been seen and the waiting room looks more like a free for all plus she only has an approximate appointment time. Asking if she wants me to come in with her, but not really wanting to like all medically allergic men, I'm starving hungry and she thankfully doesn't need the help. Her Lonely Planet phrasebook is brilliant and I make a plan to copy out all of the Chat-up lines ;-)

Heading back towards the Hostel and finding a bar open right opposite I settle for a beer and a huge salad that looks too big to finish but disappears and fills me right up followed by a glass of red wine, purely for the antioxidants' positive effects on my knees of course...

So, full and happy I go back AGAIN to the Clinic and arrive as Meg's coming out, my timing has always been impeccable or just lucky I guess, I think the former is part of the synchronicity that seems to be so prevalent on the Camino and at other times in my life when I take decision making out of the way and let my life flow naturally on hunches and instinct. We go back to the Albergue and have to wait for the door to be unlocked by the receptionist again, they obviously don't trust the locals not to pop in for some pilfering of Pilgrims possessions or some such behaviour. Judy is back and everyone is here, our room has been filled up by Dirk, Paco, Helmut, the other dutch pilgrim whose name has escaped me and Tomas the Polish pilgrim who never speaks but strangely enough suddenly becomes quite verbose (in that he says a whole sentence) when he sees me stitching my clothes and also my feet as is my habit of wicking blisters on a regular basis later on in the day. I give Dirk the nod about free Wee Fee (Wi-Fi) in the library and having done all my good deeds for the day I go off again to find an Internet Cafe. The bar that I eventually find is brilliant, brand new computers, webcams and headphones although the tunes they are playing are mint anyway and the atmosphere electric, plus the bar staff don't go unnoticed by me either phwoar! Most Spanish girls are an acquired taste but occasionally there's a Penelope Cruz lookalike (my friend in the Tourist Information) or a Shakira double like the barmaid.

I've become quite latin and hotblooded like the locals are by reputation, it must be catching, or it's the heat of the day, either that or it's the fact that I've just spent over a week sleeping in the same small rooms in bunk beds with lots of pre or post pensioners, mucho snorers and little privacy. I don't get mad, I've expanded the limits of patience and tolerance as a necessity.

Finding time to talk about Meg's appointment it transpires that she finally got her point across between her phrasebook, sign language and the doctors insistence over and over that she is feeling Cacka! This becomes our latest in-joke, if I want to make her laugh it's all I have to say. Hey Megan, um I'm feeling a little bit CACKA!!! Roaring with laughter is the best medicine but so is the fact that despite her still fragile state, Meg's feeling much much better already and even opts for some soup. It's great to see her winning smile back.

I go back to my webcafe and although I'm a total Skype newbie it's great to talk to, see and hear my folks and catchup plus I can put my videos and pictures online finally... Thank heaven for small mercies. I've always felt entirely safe in Spanish towns and walking back after dark is no problem plus the three Self Defence Bootcamp weekends I've attended afford me the confidence that if anyone so much as approached me in an undesired way, they'd be coming off worst (or I'd run away which was always my first choice before and after the Krav Maga training). I don't like confrontation, so I avoid it at all costs, but so should they. Introducing myself in my mind like this:- Me llamo Jason Bourne...

Next Time...

No room at the Inns. Trying to drive off in someone's car. The singing Pilgrim.

Via la Plata Blog - Day 7

Following one of the Pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela

Monasterio to Fuente de Cantos - 22k

Day 7 - 15th April 2010

Leaving the hostel with rain in the air still from the previous evening I made for the Churreria. The hub of any pueblo or town, I found the Manager of the Hostales Extremadura where I'd stayed the previous evening and lots of the locals all tucking into their Churros and various beverages. Many Spanish men start the day with an alcoholic drink in a small Brandy glass with a large chunk of ice in the bottom. I found myself opting for a Chupito, a shot, of my favourite one called Melocoton (Melon liqueur) every now and then first thing in the morning and occasionally at other times too ;-)

The Churros are a delicious fried donut type mixture made into huge rings and then cut into different shapes, usually similar to a horse shoe. You then cover them in sugar and traditionally you have a cup of Chocolate Caliente (Hot Chocolate) with it, which is dispensed from a machine similar to a Chocolate fountain which heats it until it is melted into a thick liquid. I learned quite quickly to take care when drinking it because it cools at the surface but is red hot below, as a confirmed Chocoholic and a lover of all things sweet it's the perfect start to the day for me. Taking my time after realising that it's started to rain very heavily and wondering how wet Dirk and Megan are getting on the trail, some of the German Pilgrims who I had been seeing for a few days came in, friendly greetings all around and I gave the nice German lady a taste of my Churro in order to spread the good news that is donuts for brekkie.

The rain finally stopped long enough for me to start walking and I found the path waterlogged in places, when it becomes muddy there is nothing worse for your feet and everything else because the ground moves a lot under you and your boots become much heavier when clogged with the sticky clay soil so I got into the habit of stopping every now and then to do high kicks to get rid of the worst of it. I'm sure that I looked quite comical but Pilgrims are seen as slightly crazy people anyway (or as I liked to describe myself Yo soy un poco loco - I'm a little bit mad) so I didn't care plus when you're wearing a silly hat to disarm anyone you meet they soon get the idea. Catching Richard from Texas walking with his friend Dick from New Mexico whose wife Judy had caught the bus onto the next stop, I soon left them far behind and made good progress with my full belly and a rather good nights sleep apart from having to get up a few times rather quickly to evacuate last nights meal from the grumpy man's restaurant, cursing him again only this time in much stronger terms. Megan had said she wasn't feeling too clever in the morning and just wanted to get going but I was taking herbal supplements in the evenings to help me sleep and also to keep me regular, they seemed to do the trick rather too well, and I felt fine thankfully.


In this part of Spain there are lots of large lumps of stone lying around in fields and on hilltops, I assume they are the hardest parts of the bedrock that haven't eroded away. The attitude here is if it's too hard to move, break it up and build the field margin walls with it or leave it there, the Cows have things to climb on to get a good view of where the best grass is ;-)


Climbing slowly up through the foothills suddenly the view opened up and there was a huge expanse of fairly flat looking terrain ahead, my worst nightmare because it can become a bit samey after a while slogging your guts out. However the odd shower kept me honest and gave me a chance to grab some cover under the biggest tree I could find. As wild looking as it is, most trees are only there if they produce fruits or nuts and as farmed as the fields are they all contain huge numbers of wild flowers because they are grazed by livestock and not ploughed for arable crops. I wished that our farmers would leave more areas of their land like this, English farmland is beautiful in Spring and Summer but not this stunning if I'm honest. I was also taking fewer photographs by now because you can only take so many of the incredibly breathtaking scenery.


Arriving in Fuente de Cantos in the early afternoon, the school was just closing it's doors so I get variously intrigued, surprised looks, some cheerful greetings from the kids and bemused expressions off the parents. The older people know about the Camino and often like to say hello or wish you a good journey, or even on occasion try to stop you to talk about it. Like any place in the world there are ignorant miserable people but I would say the ratio was far less here than at home. I made for the centre of the pueblo assuming that the big church type building is the Convent that I'm looking for. If I'd thought about it I would have realised that I'd past it on the outskirts and that it's the Church that is central in most villages. Rather painfully because my feet were killing me I left a bar after yet another shower and my usual small beer and some free herby pickled fish. More bemused looks but you get used to it, the Via la Plata is frequented by a tiny number of Peregrinos compared to The Camino Frances in Northern Spain so I guess I should have expected that too.

My circuitous route to the Convento Frailes de Zubaran (a famous artist who hailed from this village and has a museum in his honour right next to the Albergue) means that I arrive at the entrance to the Convent compound just as Megan is walking back from the shops. Quick greetings as I'm pretty desperate to get rid of my bag and do some housekeeping on my feet and shower. Booking in you often get offered breakfast the next morning for an additional couple of euros, it's usually toast and jam with a coffee, tea or my fave Cola Cao.

The Spaniard's reputation that precedes them is that they can be a bit lazy and everything is manana manana (tomorrow tomorrow) but they do an incredible job when they get their arses in gear. The building has been completely refurbished and although that can seem a little uncomfortable to a Brit, when we always preserve our historic buildings intact for posterity, you can't deny their artistry and skill. It's an awesome Hostel to stay in for 12 euros inc. brekkie. I wander around, showering, washing clothes and hanging them up outside hoping the windy day dries them before bedtime and that the showers stay away until they do. I'm given the other bed in the same room as Megan who had obviously not been there long, huge, comfortable and well presented and furnished. The views into the courtyard take my breath away but Megan is really suffering. Having all of the symptoms of a flu type illness, she's running a fever, aching all over, very red in the face and just takes to her bed. Sill unsure what the problem is I try to reassure her and go off to find a shop to buy provisions, planning to cook us a nice meal tonight to hopefully make her feel better by tomorrow. Jacques and Pierre, Dirk, Dick, Richard but not Judy who is in Zafra the next big town and lots of my other compadres including the Germans from this morning and our other Dutch friends and Paco (whose real name is Francisco but Spanish nicknames seem to have no sensible rules, my friend Jose from Seville is known as Pepe, go figure?). The town is quiet but I find the shops on the edge of the Plaza, in the late afternoon the youngsters and the old timers alike hang out there. Kids racing around on motorbikes, scooters, in kev rev cars with pumping tunes or chilling with their mates, the lady in the shop is very friendly and helpful and doesn't bat an eyelid when I leave and come back almost immediately for something I've forgotten in trying to get Megan's favourite comfort food put together for tonight. She's not feeling any better but has managed to sleep a little so I leave her with a refilled water bottle, an opened can of Pineapple rings with the juice decanted into a glass and close the windows and shutters to give her a chance to really rest properly making my way downstairs to the building in the garden that is a huge brand new kitchen and dining room, there are even beer taps on the bar, they don't work unfortunately. A pilgrim from Germany is sipping red wine and offers me a glass, his name is Helmut so I of course accept and begin preparations for the meal I'm hoping Meg will feel well enough to dig into later (little did I know then, that she would be bedridden for 18 hours). Helmut and I immediately hit it off as almost all Pilgrims do and chatting I start softening the onions, garlic, green and red peppers, par boiling the potatoes and chopping tomatoes, draining peas, mushrooms, carrots and beansprouts in preparation of putting it all together with some tuna fillets. The red wine starts going down well so I open mine to let it breath for a few seconds ;-) and we are gradually joined by Jacques and Pierre and a few others. I go to check on Meg but she's zonked out but at least she's keeping topped up on the fluids I left her, oh well more for me and it looks like I'm going to have a lot left over unless I can find a few customers for my nosh. The meal came together and I was mightily proud of my efforts given that everyone who was there and was kind enough to accept my offer of hospitality didn't puke or turn their noses up ;-) On the contrary it went down very well indeed considering the fayre available in their home countries, unless they were just being kind or like me would eat anything when starving hungry from the efforts of what was a very wet and muddy and tiring day...

Anyone who has known me for any length of time, before I went away on the Camino last year, would probably be incredulous at my description of cooking a meal such as this. I was almost allergic to food if I couldn't see what was in it, didn't like what I call 'wet food', (sauces, gravy, stews, my limit was tomato sauce in baked beans). I wouldn't eat many vegetables apart from some of the green ones, would even remove tomato from shop bought sandwiches including any seeds and my diet was very bland and boring indeed. Walking up to 25 miles a day and having all sorts of things put in front of you I just tucked in and cured myself of all of these problems, especially as ordering in Spain can be a bit hit and miss, you're never entirely sure what you'll get.

Between the people who started to catch the scent, or wandered in wondering what the well lit building on the patio was, given that the receptionist was an unhelpful cow so no-one knew the Kitchen was there and popping out periodically to drum up more diners it turned into an impromptu party. We dragged the tables together and soon everyone was tucking in to first, second or third helpings (ok just me then). I'd bought enough food to feed two and it stretched quite easily to feed 10 or more for less than the price of a three course meal in a restaurant for one at 7 or 8 Euros. Jacques and Pierre didn't want any as apparently the Quebecois eat early and it was getting on, their countrywoman Jo didn't say no though. I would put it back on the heat they popped into the Albergue for chocolate and fruit for pudding or I would sneak out to try to find some more hungry looking Peregrinos in the lounge area or in the rooms upstairs. Drinking songs were sung, poor Paco found that he was the only Spaniard in a room full of people speaking English when he couldn't, and in his own Country no less!

These are the best evenings on the Camino, it sticks in my mind as one of my favourites...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqffywQ8ob8

Checking on Megan periodically and reluctantly living my dream role as a Clucking Mother hen I get her washing in, then going back to clean up after our party. I get help to washup, we say our goodnights and everyone turns in, full and happy. Except me, I sit in the lounge and give myself a little pat on the back, look through the itinerary given that I don't think Meg will be walking tomorrow we make a plan to get the bus into Zafra to let her recover.

Next Time - Day 8 - Cheating and taking the bus, my good excuse my poorly pilgrim friend...

Via la Plata Blog - Days 5 & 6

Following one of the Pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela

Almaden de la Plata to El Real de la Jarra 21k
El Real de la Jarra to Monasterio 23k

Made a plan the night before between Astrid, James, Megan and myself to walk to El Real de la Jarra and see what the weather held for us at lunchtime before walking another 23k to Monasterio, if it rained we would all stay put in El Real. I rocked up after walking through some wonderful scenery, past cactus filled hillsides, pig & goat farms, through wooded river valleys, flower filled meadows, orchards full of Olive trees and lonely looking smallholdings.

The Albergue on the edge of town looked packed and the Dutch Pilgrims (not german as I had thought previously) and others were all happy to stay there, so I continued walking, noticing the Castle on the hill outside the Pueblo. It made the whole place look incredibly picturesque, shame I haven't got any photos of it, tired feet lead often to tired camera work.













Spotted Astrid and Megan making trips to shops and decided to try the market (small supermarket) to get fuel for my Swedish Army stove. It uses Methylated Spirit that you or I might use to clean paintbrushes after doing some decorating, its Spanish name is Alcohol de Quemar (Fire Water, Burning Alcohol) and it's very cheap at just 75 cents per 75ml which was perfect because I had a small bomb proof bottle for keeping it secure before my whole pack became flammable. Didn't want to crowd Astrid but she didn't seem keen to stop and talk anyway so I wandered into a tiny bar down the street and had a small beer plus the free tapas, it was the kind of bar the locals drink in, fairly grubby but loads of character, nut and seed shells and cigarette butts on the obviously well trod stone tiled floor. The weather didn't look good, I was joined by Megan, so we waited it out and it started raining soon after, I can only assume that James and Astrid got rather wet on their walk to Monasterio, which was rather ironic to my mind because I'd tried to insist that morning that Astrid should have my raincoat as she had no proper protection from the elements. Stubborn streak in full operation, she handed it back to me even after I said I'd throw it away if she didn't take it ;-)

Found a bigger bar that served proper food and had my usual Cola Cao (a high energy chocolate drink that originated in Spain and contains Cola nut extract, 8 Vitamins, Calcium, Phosphor and Iron, it's my favourite beverage on the Camino as I don't drink tea or coffee, plus it's good for me too aswell as tasty, so pretty much a no-brainer. I had a note in the limited information I was carrying that there was a private house with accomodation on Calle Real (Real Street). Finding the house of Concha at Number 70 and getting a quick look around the prospective room, Megan and I were very pleased with the price which was only two more euros than the fully booked Hostel, a much nicer bathroom than you usually get, an admittedly nasty looking half empty swimming pool, a well in the garden, washing and airing facilities and best of all single beds with proper bed linen, FLANNELETTE SHEETS!












I took a walk up to the Castle and the view was gorgeous after the most recent sharp shower had passed, catching up with Jacques and Pierre. I had been recommended by Concha to try the Meson Restaurant and within moments of setting off for dinner we collected other Pilgrims in our search for somewhere to have a drink while waiting for it to open after eight o'clock. Evening meals ought to be earlier for Pilgrims because we almost always get to bed by ten, on The Camino Frances in the North of Spain there are far more facilities geared up for the yearly influx of hundreds of thousands of Peregrinos, this route is much quieter, with far fewer places to stop during the day, far fewer hostels and it was becoming clear that my money was only going to last so long given the higher price of Tourist Hostels unless I started camping every night. That was never part of my plan because I wanted company in the evenings, not to do the whole walk alone or miss out on the communal atmosphere of the Albergues, despite the fact that I was carrying a stove, hammock and tarpaulin for exactly that need. I received a text from Astrid about staying in a Hostales (small higher priced Hostel) in Monasterio, replying that I wasn't going to make it there. I didn't want to walk too far too soon and forty odd kilometres this early in my trip just wasn't an option given the fairly poor state of the bottoms of both feet and the late hour. Deja Vu from my last trip...

Had dinner with Megan and Bob & Morag. who were also staying at Concha's. Two British expats they'd moved to the Murcia region of Spain and were walking together on the Camino. Bob had stories coming out of his ears which is great when all you want to do is eat , drink and listen to someone else talk. Bob's ears pricked up when I mentioned that I'm a gardener, because they have a 5000 square metre space just waiting to become a garden filled with fruit trees and especially raspberries as he's been unable to find anyone who can grow them there. I thought how wonderful it would be to spend a few weeks with some friends on a working holiday this autumn but stayed away from offering them my contact details, preferring to keep my own council until a later date, I was sure to be seeing them again at some point when I could take Bob aside and offer my services, it wasn't the time or place to be a jobbing landscaper. After a rather nice meal which I ordered as usual without actually knowing precisely what I would get, they have a peculiar way of serving the food in that you sometimes receive your main course while still working your way through the starter and your desert while still munching your main and often there are very few vegetables and almost no potato just meat. The wine in Spain is always great though so I filled up on that and we all retired to Conchas.

Statue of an Iberian Lynx in Real de la Jarra

Day 6 - April 14th 2010

The flannelette sheets were so comfortable but all beds in Spain are made up with a sheet, bedspread and blanket and with the sheets I was a little too hot and without a little too cold oh well, beggars can't be choosers. It was still the best nights sleep yet, even though I had told Megan to loudly say "Jon you're snoring" if I woke her up at all, which she duly did and unable to drop off again but extremely grateful for my first several hours uninterrupted slumber, I retrieved my slightly damp washing from the line outside. It hadn't dried due to the overnight rain and so I attached it to my Backpack and prepared for the days walk. Trying to get ready without disturbing anyone else, given the fact that we were staying in someone's family home, I wrote in the visitors book (which is a good habit to get into when you're thankful for someone's hospitality).

It was nice and cool and still not yet fully daylight when I made my way through the streets looking for the Yellow Arrows and finding several picturesque views of ruined castles, strangely pyramidal hills, flooded parts of the path, fields full of livestock and oh Jacques and Pierre, can't help falling over them these days, they are so much fun and give me a chance to talk another language, one which I haven't spoken as much since I left school 20 years ago. I surprised myself although it was becoming increasingly more difficult to slip into English when my French failed as I was fully immersed in the Spanish culture by now. You start to think in Spanish, feel partly Spanish, my accent is pretty good so often times I will start a conversation and then end up nodding a lot and picking up on the odd word that I understand, hand gestures and the tone in order to get the gist of what the locals are saying. Megan and I were walking together at times and we both saw a large animal run across a field, it wasn't a dog, a deer and certainly not a livestock breed, I am convinced it was a Lynx but it was just too far away to be sure. Stopping at a shop selling Iberian produce I bought a bottle of water and paid an extortionately high price for some cured Ham but god it was good. Packed that away for my lunchtime sandwich later on. The route now followed a main road and there were no yellow arrows anywhere, just the small amount of notes I had with me to go on, Megan had caught me up again so we traced the route together and soon happened upon the only notable site to see on the route a Ermitage. Slightly disappointed at finding it in its location on an island between two main roads, deserted and derelict it was full of roadworkers rubbish and frankly tiny but how much room does a Hermit need? The path then took us through Eucalyptus woods and I found my new favourite walking stick, my bamboo had shattered and so I'd given up on them, unable to find replacements. The Dutch pilgrims were ahead now having passed us and Megan and I separated again after a quick bite to eat which helpfully lightens your pack for the rest of the day. There is often a quandary that gives you much food for thought on this type of walk. You don't want to feel as though your imposing on other people, who in reality you've only just met, even if you'd love some company that day and at the same time they are thinking the same thing. You miss your friends when they're not with you and wish you were alone sometimes when they are. Go figure...

Strolling into Monasterio with the two gentlemen from Quebec and having a laugh really made the last few k's fly by, another reason to have some company at times. We all made a bee-line for the Hotel Moya, they booked rooms, I wandered off after a beer and a cola cao because it was prohibitively expensive.

The fact that these walks take weeks to complete means that the majority of pilgrims are old enough to have retired or have the money and time to do it justice, younger pilgrims like me (haha at 37 I can honestly call myself young in this context) are pretty rare, so if you're thinking about doing this walk that might be a problem for some people or an attractive aspect of it to others. The nicest people in the world are the only ones prepared to take on such a journey. I can count on the thumbs of both hands the number of Pilgrims on my two trips that I disliked either because of their attitude or their reasons for undertaking it (like the guy whose wife didn't understand him). Some people use it as an escape rather than a turning point in their life, or a time to give spirituality a chance, or walking it in memory of someone they loved, or because they're suffering from an illness like Paco or my friend Luis from last year. I don't mind the ones who think it's just a physical challenge, they'll soon find that there's is much more than meets the eye to The Camino...

Megan is on the pavement up ahead so we make our way to the Tourist Information Office and find the Dutch Pilgrims have the same plan. The very helpful attendant, as they all are, hands us all maps of the town, marks places we ask to see, gives us a list of Hostels and Albergues down the route including prices, number of beds, phone numbers (as you can book beds ahead of time on this Camino.) and also explains that the best place to stay is the Hostales Extremadura and where it can be found. Traipsing down there it turns out it's where Astrid and James stayed the night before although somehow they seem to have paid half what we are charged, I put that down to her greater command of the language. The manager hands out keys having allocating the rooms to the men, two to a room and gives Megan her own one to herself, some Spanish people frown on anything other than same sex accommodation arrangements ;-) I'm going to be sharing with one of the Dutchmen so we find our beds and take turns to shower. There are two keys to each room on the keyring so I thoughtfully take one off and hand it to Dirk so that he can go and find Wi-Fi (pronounced comically wee-fee in Spain and constantly so by my new Dutch friend who had a tiny laptop with him for writing his daily blog and seems obsessed). I tell him that it's available and free at the Hotel Moya, just buy a drink and sit in the bar, and I jump in the shower.

Your ego is used to 'protecting' you in your day to day life at home, keeping seemingly over-friendly people at bay, making you think twice about accepting an offer of help because there must be an ulterior motive? Your instincts are undermined by it but they come to the fore here and your ego must take a back seat if you are to be open and capable of making the right choices, offering help when it seems to be desired. Trust yourself, trust other people...

Feeling refreshed and wanting to try to find Internet access myself I get dressed, hang my washing out the window as I don't want to pay to use a drier for a few items and find that Dirk has kindly locked the door behind him. Trying my key I find it doesn't work and wait for a few minutes, occasionally trying again every now and then. Eventually, my ego suppressed and my desire to escape growing I start calling out to Megan in the hope that she's still here in her room down the corridor. After a few tries, I hear her door and then a voice saying "is someone calling me?". I make the obvious admission, "Um yes, I seem to be locked in my room". Laughing and offering to go and speak to the manager Megan disappears for a few minutes. Coming back to reveal that the manager isn't around I sit tight and turn on the t.v. ending up watching a bit of a tennis match. He's in a bar down the street and comes back finally to reveal that he doesn't have a master key. The keyring has a key to our door and one to the door downstairs so that we can come and go as we please. SHIT!!! I explain where my room-mate is and Megan goes above and beyond by walking all the way to the Hotel Moya to find Dirk and retrieve our key. I can imagine that was an interesting conversation, "Hello, can I have the key to your room please?".

Coming back after what seemed like quite a while, ;-) I've been stuck in here for an hour and a half now, Megan tortures me for a few moments to comic effect and I offer her a very large beer for releasing me from my temporary lockdown, then finally using my trump card and promising her a lengthy foot rub too. FREEDOM!

I want to visit the Monastery that presumably gave its name to the town Monasterio, so does Megan and also Dirk who has come back from the Hotel Moya. Using my mobile I phone a taxi company and get hung up on because I couldn't get my point across. Hmm small setback so I phone another and he's very patient with me. Not sure if he'll actually turn up but we wait on the pavement outside and within a few minutes a private hire cab arrives. Either my Spanish is improving or this guy managed to work out what I meant and we speed off on a scenic drive to the highest point in the region of Badajoz. The Monastery is closed, typical of my luck when it comes to this sort of thing, but the views are spectacular from here and we are able to wander around and take it all in.





Our driver is quite willing to wait while we take pictures and videos and read the many information plaques situated around the Monastery.













Getting back to Monasterio it's time to go to dinner, I suggest the Hotel Moya but Megan wants to try a particular bar/ restaurant closer to our hostel so I relent because I'm not hung up on details, the flow is easy to go with once your in it. I ask if there's a Pilgrim Menu, the guy behind the bar is grumpy and unhelpful but we are shown through to a table in the dining room. It seems as though there isn't a choice because he brings our starter in and plonks it down, just as we are about to tuck in who should appear but Bob and Morag, who join us. It's seafood soup and very tasty so perhaps this was a good choice after all. It's another opportunity for Bob to exercise his jaws and reveal all sorts of tales from his rather interesting life. We eat up and finding we're overcharged I curse the grumpy guy under my breath and we go back to the Hostel. Sitting and chatting for a while in Megs room because Dirk isn't back and he's got the key, I am true to my word and her feet are killing her so Meg sits back and regales me with her own story while I work on her poor tootsies. Bidding her a goodnight I decide to pop to a bar, I don't want to turn in yet.

The closest one is pretty full of football fans, there's a night game on and Barcelona are playing, I've got my Didmarton football shirt on and it's a great icebreaker. Sitting and drinking and smoking watching a masterclass by Messi and his mates over their opposition. I love Spain I reallly do...

Camino Blog - Days 3 & 4 - Via la Plata

Following one of the Pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela

Via la Plata - Guillena to Castilblanco de los arroyo 17k
Castilblanco to Almaden de la Plata 30k

My snoring isn't going down well, so I make a plan to do something about it before someone throttles me in my sleep. Already met pilgrims from Spain, The U.S. and the ubiquitous Germans who make up maybe 50% or more of the total, for reasons I won't go into here (to do with books everyone seems to have read there). Catholic Countries are of course the home of many of the 'peregrinos' from other nations. Very few Brits around which is actually a good thing because it's a nice surprise when you find one instead of an embarrassment as it can be when you come across one of your countrymen talking very loudly in the hope that they will be understood if you're on holiday. I'm certainly not saying my Spanish is brilliant because it definitely isn't, but if you don't try, you don't learn as quickly if at all and you also get less help from the locals (because they're being awkward or just can't be bothered speaking another language in their own country and who can blame them?)

The walk is beautiful, Astrid and I spend the day talking and I notice many little similarities between us, stubbornness, frustration at the early risers and noisy get ready-ers, a huge love of Chocolate and other things associated with having a sweet tooth. My walking sticks are working wonders, allowing me to take some of the weight through my arms and apart from the two big sore patches that are only likely to turn into blisters on my feet everything is faring much better than the first few days of the walk last year, which was all down hill and resulted in tendonitis in both shins and massive amounts of pain in both knees. You can't expect this kind of endeavour to be entirely pain free but there are many things that you can do to prepare that will lessen it, like training walks with a loaded backpack (I didn't do that much of course, being me, but my job before leaving involved being on my feet for 9 hours a day). Arriving at Castilblanco de Los Arroyo I made a beeline for the first bar before going to the Albergue across the road and had a beer, which is something I picked up from my friend Jess from Australia last year ;-) Order a beer in Spain and you get a small one for a Euro but you DO get a saucer of free food. Which is the main reason for my beer habit, honest... And a Football match on, I love Spain x

Notable Pilgrims are the three older Americans who got up way too early this morning and then proceeded to noisily get ready for ages not leaving until after everyone else, Megan from the Rockies?, James the Psychiatric Nurse from Norwich (who Astrid immediately named our new 'Stephen from Kentucky', as he had the same great vibe as our friend from last year). But most of all the guy we met last night whose name is Jochen, he's slightly overweight (I'm being kind to his belly) smokes like a train and seems to be the kind of guy you want to avoid at first but soon grow to love, always laughing and joking, although I have to admit the cross cultural differences meant that I didn't always understand what he was going on about. The hostel is on the hillside close to a huge grove of Eucalyptus trees (apparently they don't only grow in Australia who knew?). I get time to use a needle and thread to wick my blisters, (gross I know but it works wonders to drain those suckers) cook some food using the handily placed gas cooker (crazily right next to some of the bunk beds) and then sunbath on the terrace.

Hot and bothered enough to take my daily degriming shower and having become fast friends with James and Megan, we got dressed for dinner and went to find a restaurant. A wonderful evening ensued, mainly because when trying to order a larger than usual beer, i.e. a pint for once, Astrid helps by asking for a jug and Megan and I tuck in to our shared Pitcher. It often happens that you begin a conversation with another Pilgrim by saying Ola and end it with Buen Camino (Spanish for Hello and Good Way, shorthand for good journey I suppose). I have met many and introductions are not necessary or don't come up at the time, occasionally I have spent days in the company of someone whose name didn't escape me, I never knew it! It gives you all something shared to talk about so social situations are much easier than at home.

Leaving the restaurant after taking a few pictures of the Camino related artwork, making our way back to the hostel and by now it was almost dark when suddenly two small dogs appeared from someone's open front door. They made haste straight towards Astrid, James and Megan so I got in the way and shooed the little gits off. Dogs in Spain are very territorial and protective of their 'space' and families. They can also be incredibly well behaved and far less neurotic than our pampered pet pooches, trotting quite happily along off a lead with their owners or in many cases wandering the streets alone or in impromptu packs. This is mainly due to the fact that some are ill treated but the rest are actually given the freedom to just 'be dogs' and not expected to listen to lengthy speeches, understand them and behave accordingly or treated as someone's surrogate child. We could learn a lot from them, but at the same time the R.S.P.C.A. would have a field day in Spain...

In the afternoon I forewarned those in the beds near me by miming fake snoring but it turned out they were all grunting slumberers too, so I got back and found my bunk in Snorers Corner.

Day Four - April 12th 2010

Leave as soon as it's light if you know what's good for you., walking in the heat of the day is miserable, especially as it just keeps getting hotter in the South of the Country until at least five pm. For me it is also a bad idea to stop for longer than a few minutes until I get where I'm going, preferring not to suffer the restart agonies and saving resting for the end of the day. I decided not to walk anywhere in the pre-dawn, mainly because I refused to get up even if I couldn't sleep this trip. Rest is not just desired it is necessary and the only foolproof cure for the more acute symptoms of what is undoubtedly a huge physical effort. Walking up to 25 Miles a day, carrying a maximum 10-15% of your bodyweight if you've got any sense (including the minimum amount of water that you can get away with and at 1 kilo a litre it's a balancing act worth getting very nearly right) it's like strolling a marathon distance daily over far rougher terrain than just tarmac. What you soon learn is that the opposite is true of what you thought as a child when going uphill was hard work and downhills were a lot of fun. Any descent is very painful because you are having to brake and take all of that extra weight on your knees and through your legs and feet. Climbing is hard work but nowhere near as depressing as you might think, given that what goes up must come down at some point. You look forward to the countryside opening up to get views of some incredibly romantic and breathtaking scenery.

Making progress along a tarmac section where following the road is a good idea or the path is out of use or in places non-existent can make you a bit nervous given the fact that some Spanish drivers are obviously crazy, the views tend to be quite prosaic but I knew that the afternoon would bring me to a Nature Reserve. When the path appears to lead to the horizon it can be a bit galling however, it's also hard to see a huge expanse of flat and seemingly featureless countryside in front of you because that can become monotonous. Without a few hills or something in your peripheral vision so that you can see you are making progress , even if it's very slow compared to driving somewhere, it can become a strain on your moral. God I'm hard to please I know, but walking really is the best way to travel, I'm not denying that. You get a far better sense of the place you arrive at and the journey really means something...


The Nature Reserve was stunning but getting through it and completing the final climb and descent were such hard work that I don't have many pictures of the scenery so you'll just have to take my word for it. I had met two French Canadian Pilgrims, helpfully called Jacques and Pierre so that it wasn't difficult to remember their names (just which was which, haha kidding). Every now and then I would catch them up because I rarely stop, they would then move on along the trail, seemingly using my approach as a reason to carry on and call an end to their break. It is hard not to be competitive if you have the streak naturally. I DO BIGTIME in certain circumstances... A very important lesson that I learnt last trip, don't try to walk at someone elses pace, either too slow or too fast. We all reached the summit of the climb out of the Reserve together, as I am quicker at the uphills (and was desperate to blag some water off them oops), to the most breathtaking 180 degree views of where we'd come. Before they left me behind as I am slower than most at downhills, I blame the torn knee ligaments that ended my Football Career (amateur village team I'm not actually any good but enjoyed it).

Even the rivers are bursting with flowers in Spain

Almaden de la Plata, a funny little pueblo at the base of the hill, all red roofs on white houses. Finding the Albergue meant walking through the entire place and then retracing those steps to find a shop open once the siesta is over. The routine becomes familiar, place your sleeping bag out on the bunk of your choice (or the one you are allocated), then shower and change before seeking out internet, shops and other facilities leaving your heavy backpack in the hostel. Security comes from the fact that there is always someone dozing, repairing feet or at some other stage of the process so you can relax and just wander once you're ready. Astrid, the elderly Americans (now known to be Dick and Judy from Los Alamos New Mexico and Richard from Texas), les deux Quebecois (Jacques and Pierre), Megan and James are all there plus a load of others including a Spanish guy with really bad feet called Paco who generously gives me access to his first aid kit for tootsies, I blag some Compeed until I can buy some (blister plasters, some people swear by them some swear off them). We meet up later and Megan, James, Astrid and I tuck into freshly prepared Omelettes and in my case a similar meatier conconction as I just can't live without that ready source of protein, although eating nuts and Sunflower seeds get you part of the way there.

Most people prefer to walk alone during the day, makes it easier to walk in silence to save your breath for the effort of your endeavours and the evenings are for socialising, comparing injuries and anecdotes, tips for the way, sharing your wisdom and stupidity in equal measure in my case makes me feel much better and provides comic relief for everyone else and me too. Offering help and receiving it isn't natural to us all and I had to break through some seriously strongly held onto bad habits and opinions to make it through the 5 weeks of walking I managed in 2009. Learning from that I found it much easier to accept any such offers and also to provide my assistance should I feel it necessary or desired, even when not vocalised you become more open and alert. It's a judgement call, you can come up against a lot of resistance from some people whose ego or pride just gets in the way. You need to be humble, you need to be patient and maintain a sense of humour in some of the hardest times you've ever experienced in your life. I've never felt more vulnerable and invincible, more loved unconditionally and ignored unnacountably, more open and cautious and all at the same time.