Walking without a donkey – travels in Spain – Page 5

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Aldeanueva del Camino to Calzada de Béhar, Via de la Plata

Walking the Via de la Plata camino, Spain.

March 31st 2018 10 kms 2. 5 hours then a bus to Béjar and a shared taxi (6.5 euros each) to Calzada de Béhar.

At the large hostal in the centre of the busy town, I had a couple of very interesting conversations with an Irishman, and an Englishman who lives near me in a Fife forest, both of whom are wild campers and walking with tents etc. This is something I have been thinking about for a while as it eliminates the need for finding a free bed every night. (See yesterday’s blog for a good example of how hard it can be unusual but worth knowing about if you are considering walking the Via de la Plata).

The remains of the rain from the day before lay over the mountains.

The dormitories are warm and the kitchen well equipped. It was swarming with peregrinos I had seen before and so was a friendly place to be.

After the escapades of the day before, I set off as usual, walking to Balneario which was all along the road.

Once there, I immediately saw the sign to the terma, the hot baths, and thought that would be a lovely treat but…

I entered a bar to find my companions already partaking of their morning coffee. One said he was staying behind to visit and after telephoning the hostel we were heading for, both for myself and 3 others because I spoke the most Spanish, I decided to stay as well.

The Roman baths were booked up ahead of time (this was the Saturday of Easter weekend and very busy with tourists) but the kind woman at the desk showed us around.

Benito, a German with a propensity for delight in all things.his is the old Roman bathroom, now a museum.

Then we went over the road to the modern baths and took advantage of the Pilgrim Discount (4 euros) for a leisurely swim and laze around on loungers, with a huge blue bathrobe thrown in for good measure. It was a small pool with one fountain and the only others present were a family with 2 young daughters, so reminiscent of my own in days gone by. I had a good sleep and after an hour and a half my feet were barely aching at all. Wonderful. (They are open until lunchtime and then reopen later in the day. )

We had a nice meal back at the bar (he had salad with orange and goats cheese; I had salad with gulas and prawns which turned out, despite my thinking it was a seafood salad by the title on the menu, to be sprinkled with thousands of tiny pieces of bacon which I laboriously separated from every mouthful before I ate it.)

Note to self: always check for the presence of meat before ordering!

The town is beautiful, tucked right in under the mountains and, on account of its height, very windy.

We managed to find a sunny corner to wait for the bus, before being driven to Béhar (only two buses that day at 12-something and 5pm) – an idea which the Tourist Information adviser had come up with. He said we could walk from there. It was lovely and warm and we wound our way up, higher and higher, through spectacular scenery, to the main town of this region, on the edge of Extremadura.

Once again we visited the Tourist Information and discovered it was further than we we had been led to believe and, it being close to the evening, my companion suggested we take a taxi – ending what was essentially a rest-day, which after all was day 10 and so a sensible time to take it.

Camino friends had already arrived at the albergue after a very steep climb, and the hospitaleros were most accommodating. There is a a garden overlooking the wonderful scenery, and loud music coming from a closed outbuilding which I was told the next day was where they were training horses to dance.

There were two very large sittings for the evening meal which consisted, for us vegetarians, of salad, omelette and flan. The usual, but all cooked on the premises and delicious.

Very sadly I forgot to take my swimming costume off the washing line the next morning.

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Galisteo to (Oliva de Plasencia) to Aldeanueva del Camino, Via de la Plata

30th March 2018.

wp-1522593871390..jpg — The walls of Galisteo and the snowy mountains in the distance.

Leaving Galisteo was a long process. I attempted to follow my book and ended up taking a yellow arrow which was a red herring!

It was a beautiful morning, but after a steep descent followed by the re-climbing process, an hour later I was back where I started. So, if you stay at the Pension El Parador, remember you are already on the Camino and only need to take a left out of the front door, walk across the Roman Bridge, go straight across at the first roundabout, right at the second and you are off!

wp-1522593871381..jpg — Road walking with the important yellow arrows.

wp-1522593871414..jpg — Looking back at Galisteo as I was crossing the bridge.

What a very hard day it became – 11 hours on the road, including two mistaken detours.

wp-1522593871425..jpg — Farm country with plastic tunnels, familiar from Perthshire, Scotland.

I walked along a road with no pavement for ages until I got to Carcaboso where I happily stopped at a bar and sat in the sun with my cortado (a sort of cappuchino).

The bar in Aldehuala del Jerte (not Carcaboso!).

Then I took the recommended right fork. I could see inviting-looking countryside to my right and left, but I was on the road. Still. With very poor signposting. I did enjoy the toads jumping into a brook and today’s flower – what I think is the field lupin.

Then an old man stopped his car for a chat and told me that, no Carcaboso was ahead! I had actually just passed through Aldehuala del Jerte (Jerte is the name of the river).

When I did get into Carcaboso it was obvious!

I followed the Way past the Iglesia de Santiago and a tiny sign on the wall showing left. It seemed to be a dead-end but, if you are going to do this after me (while the road works are there), do keep going, following the odd indication, and you will be out of the town in no time.

Beautiful, traditional Spanish tiles decorating a family courtyard.

I stopped at the Three Crosses and rested, people-watching. I read the poem on the sign beside the bench, for ‘every Friday’ and reflected that it was especially apt for today as it was Good Friday. My feet were aching ,so I took my boots off, renewed the plasters, trooped over the little bridge knowing I had 4 or 5 more hours to go and that the rain clouds looked ominous.

At the bus-shelter-style tourist information, I took a left and found the ‘Bombay’ sign as indicated in my book. (‘Vía de la Plata and the Camino Sanabrés’ by Gerald Kelly. He is a renowned author and walker but do not get an out of date copy as things change really quickly.)

wp-1522593871434..jpg — New-born lambs everywhere.

The noisy geese cheered me on; the raptors glided and wheeled overhead; fences made of barbed wire and a variety of sticks including Ash with black buds were on either side; bulrushes at the cotton-wool stage stood erect. There were derelict buildings and lots of gates which had to be opened and closed as I trolled uphill.

wp-1522593871443..jpg — Storks nest on a handy monument.

I saw what they mean by ‘cow’s lick’ as the fur at the front of the cows’ faces is in a pretty whorl; there were donkeys (I heard them though the night too), and I was happily traipsing away in the middle of nowhere.

I was reflecting that there was no point in thinking of going quickly or getting there faster as it is impossible, one must just live through it, even if it does start raining or your feet were hurting.

Now, here is a good idea which I came up with as I walked: start a pole exchange at airports because it can be impossible to bring them through security.

Up and down I went, wondering if I had made another mistake. Yes, I had! It was a very long way to retrace my steps: at least an hour. This was a really bad mistake, given it was already well into the afternoon.

Basic advice: only go somewhere if you see the signs; if there are none, keep going straight; and where there are two blocks of light grey polished stone, one with a yellow square in plastic on it and one with a blue/green one, ignore the latter.

It was so beautiful, like a Garden of Eden, but I was really, really tired and I did not know how far it would go on. Far, it turned out. Through Holm Oak trees, along stony paths; with large insects (for the first time) flying around my head), and amidst cows with scary looking horns I went, until I eventually got to the road and tuned right for Oliva de Plasencia.

Then it was a long walk on tarmac – one and a half hours – until I reached the village. The wind howled and the rain rained.

The albergue was full and the woman shouted that I should have reserved my bed in advance. I had in fact phoned approximately 17 times that day, and showed her the record on my phone, but she had not picked up. The other hostel was also full (it is run by her as well). And so was the one miles away which she angrily gave me the number for. People walking around the village tutted and tried to help a little. It was nearly dark.

So I went to the church – after all it was Good Friday and I had read that Spanish people are very fond of pilgrims and very generous in their hospitality.

After a long time during which I sat, exhausted, while it continued to rain, someone phoned the priest who said I could not stay in the church, but in the porch (I knew it was due to snow that night and was already two degrees, so that was impossible). No-one was prepared to offer me a floor or sofa, though I said I could pay. Finally, a kind woman phoned and discovered there was one bed left at a hostel in Aldeanueva and another couple then took me there in their car. What a mess!

I guess I should not have gone there if I did not know there was a space, but it is a very unusual situation and the men and women who helped me said that the woman who ran the places was not following Tourist Association rules. The day before (I learned later) a fellow walker did the same thing. He, like me, did not want to walk more than 25 kms that day and this village seemed to offer an alternative.

It was pouring by the time they very kindly deposited me at the city albergue and I was greeted by backpackers I knew. It was warm and had all that I needed. I was so very grateful to the people who had helped me.

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Grimaldo to Galisteo, Via de la Plata

Day 8. March 2018.

I am walking from Mérida to Ourense along the so-called Silver Way, the Via de la Plata Camino.

I have not been able to meditate recently because the bunk above me is too low and the floor too hard and cold. However I did do my tai chi in the night which, though painful for my foot, was beneficial overall.

Once again, there was a community sense of pilgrims all looking out for each other.

Halfway through yesterday evening the temperature had changed and the wind got up. It heralded, we were told, the rain.

But, beautiful was the word of the day; the one I kept coming back to as I walked through the gorgeous scenery.

It was a cold morning, frost on the ground. I had my trouser bottoms on!

Then an hour later they came off and it was bare calves for the rest of the day. Not bad for March.

The mountains were beauti…. No, they were amazing, in the early morning. Everything was on the rise, spring in the air. All was lush and abundant and I could not stop taking photos.

After leaving the small town of Grimaldo I walked past private houses with swimming pools, then took a left off the road.

It was a beautiful camino: through fields and grass; winding between trees; very wet underfoot, but the sun was throwing slanted rays and the birds were tweeting away ‘fit to burst’.

There were thin films of spiders’ webs on the ground. I attempted to answer messages as I walked.

I was inching my way to Santiago. There was a road at a distance to the right, between me and the mountains, but I was in the countryside on the uneven ground. I felt full of love.

I only managed to snatch a quick pee if there seemed to be enough polite space between the others and me. There was that cuckoo again.

And.. what.. security cameras? Yes I think so. Standing tall in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps to catch poachers.

Up and down I walked and all the downs were very boggy. There was snow on the mountains again, in front of me. In fact, there were hills or mountains on every side.

I picked my way between cow pats and acorns; grand and tiny stones; negotiated a series of big gates.

Today’s flower: a very small, yellow, slightly ridged cone (like a tiny daffodil trumpet), very often a singleton, but sometimes in twos or more; with a fine, sparse ruff of lemon-yellow, and a long stamen.

At the barrage were herons fishing, and there were deep pools alive with toads.

I arrived in the town of Galisteo quite early. What a sight! A former Almohad fortress, the walls envelope the inner streets and dwellings with medieval features and a simple but entrancing church, Nuestra Señora de la Asunción.

wp-1522520388383..jpg — Iglesia Nuestra Señora de la Asunción, Galisteo.

The albergue was shut and so I gave someone with terrible pain some Shiatsu in the outer bar of Los Emigrantes, kneeling amongst the cigarette ash.

wp-1522520717911..jpg — The municipal albergue, Galisteo, Extremadura, Spain. It was full by 5pm.

wp-1522520717952..jpg — Steps up to the battlements of the Mozarabic walls of Galisteo. Detail.

wp-1522520388357..jpg — Ayuntamiento (Town Hall), Galisteo.

Afterwards, the hostel was full as were the rooms at the bar. Luckily the man was very happy with his treatment telling people excitedly in Spanish how it felt, so there was a general movement to find me somewhere to sleep. This resulted in a beautiful twin room where I was alone. With crisply ironed sheets and bleached white towels in a quiet pension just up the road, it was the same price as the municipal albergue – 15 euros – including breakfast. How lovely to have peace and space after many nights in communal accommodation.

wp-1522520717988..jpg — Pension El Parador, Galisteo. Comes highly recommended.

Thanks so much to all my readers who send me corrections or answers to my queries, and who share their Spanish memories (especially of the Santa Semana processions which are currently happening across the country). I do look for the correct details before posting, but it is hard to identify flowers, trees or birds sometimes, so I am grateful to you.

wp-1522520717854..jpg — View of the camino from the walls of Galisteo.

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Embalse de Alcántara to Grimaldo, Via de la Plata.

Day 7 – 19 kms. 8.30am start, 12 midday stop-off for nearly an hour, arriving at 3.45pm.

wp-1522259170666..jpg — Today I walked with Marie Noelle from the Vendée, France. I am beginning to dream in French!

wp-1522259170761..jpg — Luckily we left the bus road behind early in the morning.

wp-1522259170700..jpg — Mountains and the village of Cañaveral ahead where we stopped for morning coffee and to air our feet

wp-1522259170745..jpg — It was hot and sunny all day, and we walked between drystone walls.

wp-1522259170769..jpg — We passed this on the way out of the town, going steeply uphill. I love the ‘noble’ part.

wp-1522259170779..jpg — Sometimes we could see the Camino sign but could not get across the barrier.

wp-1522259170788..jpg — The path winding through the vegetation to our destination, Grimaldo. What views!

wp-1522259170709..jpg — Idyllic streams tumbling through the landscape.

wp-1522259170808..jpg — A white Chapel with idiosyncratic orange-tiled roof typical of the Extremadura region. We went slightly off course here, mistaking the gentleman’s shouts to redirect us for a cow giving birth! (true)

wp-1522259170797..jpg — The camino in this region passes through Holm Oak woods and the March sunshine delights, lighting up one of the many pools. There were tadpoles in one of them.

wp-1522259170816..jpg — Wild flower meadows and what might be the Sierra Nevada.

wp-1522259170839..jpg — Not in order: this is the wonderful Embalse de Alcántara which we left at 8am. The very early morning light turned the still water pink, which I have never seen before and did not get on camera. This was a little later as we climbed up behind the hostel and away.

wp-1522259170858..jpg — Ghostly grasses surrounding this natural pool.

wp-1522259170827..jpg — Much of the area is fenced off to stop hunting.

wp-1522259170875..jpg — The first time I had seen pine trees since leaving Mérida a week ago.

wp-1522259170884..jpg — Bleached but soft stone colours acting as a lovely backdrop for the flowers – new species appear every day. Today’s were bluebells.

wp-1522259170901..jpg — A hump-backed Roman bridge.

The albergue at Grimaldo was easy to find by following the yellow arrows – 1km from the camino. It was full by the evening – one toilet between 15 of us – causing queues evening and morning. It is Donativo ie you pay what you want or think it is worth. Clean and with a small kitchen with fridge and microwave, there is no stamp on my credential. The two cafés were opposite and next door – both, as ever, run by friendly and helpful people and serving good food and wine. The one next door opened at 8am for breakfast for us because we guaranteed 10 plus people.

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Casar de Cáceres to Embalse de Alcántara, Via de la Plata.

Day 6 of my Via de la Plata Camino (Mérida northwards).

Casar de Cáceres to Embalse de Alcántara (27th March 218) approx. 22 kms.

wp-1522255429881..jpg — Sunrise outside Casar de Cáceres, Spain.

At 8am the incredibly loud bell in the square sounded and I left the hostel, two other women at short stages in front of me.

It was a clear run out of town and I really took my time, stopping even more often than yesterday, sometimes for five minutes, once for a snooze, three times for snacks.

wp-1522255429991..jpg — These notices are all over the country: hunting social preserve (Google translate).

Immediately the temperature was warmer and by the last (hardest) stage on the hard shoulder or lane of the A road for 1.5 hours, the heat was truly coming up from the tarmac. Luckily all the time I was in view of the stunning embalse (reservoir) so I knew that I would eventually find myself by the water.

wp-1522255430021..jpg — I had a lovely little sleep here for 10 minutes.

One couple walked together but everyone else, though friendly at the hostels, walked alone which suited me very well.

wp-1522255430040..jpg — There are new calves with soft faces everywhere.

Quite a group has formed: the French speaker whose wife suddenly left him and who says he does not know why, their planned future in tatters; 3 other single women in their late 30s: an American living in Madrid, teaching English; a German who is more private; and someone from south east London whose long term partner just left her at a time when her possibility to have a baby is dwindling; a Dutch couple and a German man of my age – the latter telling me about co-operative learning and the former who made a cycle tour of Scotland last year and were bemused by our dance, strip the willow!

The signs for the final rocky path were very poor, although the GR113 red/brown signposts were efficient. Follow them in the direction of Cañaveral. Once faced with the road, take a right and stay on the path as long as you can.

wp-1522255430031..jpg — Fragrant, white broom.

I did not realise the road part would last so long I stopped just off it to snack. Very soon afterwards I spotted a man looking at the gorgeous view by his car. He turned and spoke to me but I did not understand so he turned and showed me, shockingly, what he was up to, coercing me to come and join him. I had heard of these exhibitionists but never seen one. I shouted no, and a few other things and continued to walk on the hard shoulder, never changing my speed. Then I started to think about telling the police, remembering the Alert Corps app I had downloaded on my phone. It was then that I realised I had left the phone where I stopped, meaning I would have to go back past him to get it. When I turned around though I saw the Dutch couple who asked me if I was ok. They reassured me he had gone and watched out for me the rest of the way, which was great.

I did try to report the incident later because I would have hated another solo female to have to witness the same, although I was not in any direct danger, but the hospitalero said he phoned and the police were all busy and I should report it when I stop in a larger place. This did not sound the same as the promises the Guardia Civil are currently giving to protect trekkers.

wp-1522255429912..jpg — The first hawthorn bush.

It was not long before I arrived, foot-sore, at the private hostel on the edge of the stunning Lake Tajo.

The owner worked really hard booking us in, serving us drinks and food, and washing our clothes. He said it saves water because even though he is by the magnificent lake he cannot use it and must get his from behind the hill from the well and when it runs out he has to close, earning himself the reputation of being unreliable.

We dined altogether on ensalada (salad with tuna and olives); bacalao (smoked cod), and .. flan! With wine – 13 euros.

wp-1522255429923..jpg — New born lambs on wobbly legs, too.

There are spacious rooms. When I was awake at night I had snorers on either side, both young women: one squeaked; the other thrummed. And then there was also the sonorous person through the wall!

As well, there were people hobbling back and forth to the lav; the green flashes of the smoke detector; and the three-quarters moon shining in through the high windows. I was not sure if it was wolves or dogs baying.

The albergue at Cáceres was 15 euros (no extras), at Casar de Cáceres 5 euros (free washing machine and drier), and here 15 euros (as above). You can see that the prices of the hostels varies widely. The menu del día (usually 3 courses with wine) ranges from 8 to 12 euros.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: