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 u
p 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 co
ntain 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 t
he 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...
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
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 u
p 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 co
ntain 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 t
he 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...
Next Time - Day 8 - Cheating and taking the bus, my good excuse my poorly pilgrim friend...
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