Via de la Plata Camino – Day 5, Spain

20.5.17 Monesterio to Fuente de Cantos, on the Via de la Plata Spanish Camino. 22kms – a nice sensible distance to walk after yesterday!

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The Sierra Norte are still there, away in the distance as I walk out for day 5.

Last night I had wandered around Monesterio, shopping and having a beer, so I knew my way – or I thought I did. I got to the outskirts of town, stood in the middle of the road and scanned for yellow arrows which I had been following, retraced my steps and met a second solo female traveler, Yvette. It was 7.40am. She said I looked so confident that she had been following me! Together we found our way quickly and for the first time I had a companion.

She told me she was Slovakian, and she spoke good English, which was great as I have no Slovak. We established that we shared interests, chatting about complementary medicine and health-related matters, how the body manages stress, and of course why we were walking alone in Southern Spain. There was a good energy and we endeavoured to be mindful of our own body at the same time as sharing the way.

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Dry earth, wild flowers, and masses of blue sky.

There were cows wearing bells, herds of goats and other animals. We walked past beautiful streams, grand trees, and there was a green peace all around us.

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She spoke about the luxury of not having another person’s stuff to process, and we mused that in the past men went to war and many did not return. Now we divorce each other, so either way there are still a lot of women alone at the end of their lives.

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Dandelion suns growing by the wayside.

In fact she was walking much more slowly than I was as she was not well. I slowed down for a time because of the pleasure of having company, but we agreed to separate after an hour and a half or so, so she could rest more.

Black winged birds with orange caps, and white throats and undersides were singing beside me. The fragrant shrub I had not managed to identify on the internet last night, so still thought of as a sort of  broom, repeatedly attracted my attention with its so sweet smell.

After two hours the landscape had changed and there were no trees, although luckily there was a breeze. Quite a few lizards I did not quite see, scarpered at my approach.

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Fewer large trees at this stage.

I remembered that yesterday when I sat down to eat there was a grasshopper right by my left ear. Listening in this quiet place is one of the great pleasures of the Camino. I reflect that as a therapist I am familiar with listening to others. Attending work supervision, and being with friends enables me to be listened to. When I walk, however, I luxuriate in paying attention to the subtlety of nature and to myself.

I try listening under a tree away from the beating sun, but not for long as my sweaty back gets cold. I eat some sugary cakes to feed my muscles.

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Surprisingly fertile. I did not walk through any villages on the way – no chance of a tea.

Even though I try to avoid ssuashing insects, unfortunately the scuttley spiders seem to change direction just before my foot descends, alerted by the earth moving as I walk towards them. Sadly they are therefore more likely to be stepped on. I spend some time thinking about fear.

I notice ants going up and down a tree – something new to me.

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I did not take too many photos today, partly because I was walking some of the way with Yvette and partly because it all looked rather similar.

Both Christ and the Buddha walked and meditated. It seems to be something closely related to religion. I think it must be about contemplating ones behaviour and the habits of others, on the meaning of things.

There are empty husks, dry whispering beside me. Are they oats? They rustle and shine white-gold in the sunshine.

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How do I know the smell of dust? It blows around me. Over and over again I breathe it in without noticing, until I recognise that it is the dust which smells like that, not the other things which we are there simultaneously. It is the same way I can smell snow in the air back home, and people are surprised. I think my father taught me to focus on smelling, as it was something he really appreciated. Despite being a smoker, he really enjoyed sniffing the roses at dusk, or inhaling the gentle scent of a child’s hair.

The grasshoppers, they were loud, louder, really loud as I got closer, and then their noise subsided and tailed off as I ambled on. It was the opposite and slower version of standing by a motorway as cars zoom past me.

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I reminded myself that I do always know that I will get there eventually. I thought I must still be tired from yesterday if I needed reminding like that.

A tiny bird balanced on one ear of corn.

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Where the trees were, I sat with my feet in the water to cool, and I listened and watched. I took my top off for airing. Then, when I was ready to go, Yvette came by and we found we had more things in common. We made plans to meet that evening before I toddled on. What a happy, golden corn, blue sky sort of a day it was.

 

 

 

Entering the near deserted town.

The last hour was really hard, hard work in the heat, and I stumbled off the edge of a pavement in Fuente de Cantos and twisted my ankle which was not at all like me. But round the corner was a patisserie with its sweet sugar smell, and a few doors up was an oasis. It did not look much from the road, but this was not the municipal albergue, rather, one I had seen advertised on the road. In fact I had picked up the last leaflet.

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Entrance to El Zaguán de la Plata.
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See what I mean by ‘oasis’!

I wondered if I was in the right place because it looked like heaven. The door was open so I wandered through the great entrance hall into the courtyard. I sat by the fountain. I admired my surroundings. Of course I started to take photos, when out popped a man and offered me a drink. Most kind. So I had a seat (although I was very sweaty, in the 30 degree heat), and heard the water burbling and allowed the flowery aromas to waft around me, and exhaled.

 

What a find! I was, yes, you guessed it, the only person there, so I had the whole place to myself. Including the swimming pool which was great water therapy for my ankle. Of course, I had sent my bathing costume home on day 1, so it had to be underwear, but then again there was no-one to see me. Well only the owner and his dad pottering about the place. Oops!

 

I did walk out later to get some messages (used in Scotland to mean shopping) and it was a dusty and extremely hot walk to the edge of town to the supermercado. I visited the convent turned hostel which the others were staying in, both to see it and meet Yvette, but unfortunately she was nowhere to be seen, and I never saw her again. I did bump into the English cyclist who I had passed yesterday. He was looking for the post office to send his guitar home. He said he did not find that he had a need for it.

 

Shots of the town.

 

A glass or two of wine; the view from where I stayed; a lovely Madonna tile; and not everywhere was as smart.

 

 

There was a museum at the albergue, full of baskets, old farm machinery, and knick knacks. Fascinating.

 

 

Places to rest and recuperate as the temperature slowly cooled.

 

The downstairs bathroom and ceiling of the dormitory – all really attractively decorated.

 

 

Fuente de Cantos was the home of Francisco de Zurbarán (1598-1664), so I visited the museum. Not my cup of tea, but what a cutting figure he made!

Francisco de Zurbaran https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francisco_de_Zurbar%C3%A1n

Hostel website http://www.elzaguandelaplata.es/

Via de la Plata Camino – Day 4, Spain

19.5.17 day 4 Almaden de la Plata, through El Real, to Monesterio, on the Via de la Plata Spanish Camino. 35kms – crazy!

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View of Almaden de la Plata the afternoon before.
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It was dark when I departed the following morning.

The Christmas lights were on in Almaden as I left the town after an over-confident decision to make a double day’s walking. It had actually been cold in the night and was cooler than normal as I walked out this morning. I wondered if it was because of the altitude.

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Christmas decorations in May?
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It is the little touches that make a hostel attractive.

So, in my last blog I noted that the east-west route for today was clear from the top of the hill, and I knew which side of me the sun should be. But, I was distracted by the goats and made a major mistake, the worst I have ever made in terms of time spent going in the wrong direction. I did not take the option on the left. If it is dark, fellow walkers, be careful! Note to self: I have to be extra watchful in mornings.

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Not as if it wasn’t sign posted!
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On the other hand I would not have otherwise seen the sun starting to illuminate this amazing landscape.
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And I have since read other blogs and I was not the only one to make this error.
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Some people went much further in the wrong direction than I did, poor things.

I had wanted to get a head-start: uncomfortably my competitve streak seemed to be coming out. I knew I was walking towards the rising sun, and that I should be going east to west, but I also thought I was right. However, just look! the mist was coming off the glassy water just as if it was an Enid Blyton magical pool.

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Having reset my course, I continued on through this area of outstanding natural beauty, heading towards the Sierra Norte. There were sheep bells tinkling all around me (idyllic, I know), and I saw one of those huge black and white birds standing as still as if it was waiting until it understood what the world was all about.

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Well fancy living here – right in the middle of this haven of nature, as if it was their back garden.

I realise, however, that when you walk alone, you get the autonomy but no support.

Beautiful, black twisted trunks.

The same birds as yesterday were ‘boh boh’, answering each other across the path in the early morning sunshine.

Walking, for me, is all about doing the work of sorting things out. The same themes of loneliness and relationships were on my mind this morning.

The sun was not yet high enough to light up the water.
My shadow, now I was going west like I should have been all along!

Yes, I knew I should have been heading , in that direction, but the little voice inside my head had to get very loud before I stopped and retraced my steps. It is something I have always hated doing, going back on myself. Is it because of the time and energy lost or what?

There were a whole lot more animals here than I had seen on the rest of the journey put together. Curly horned goats were eating voraciously, and pigs, sheep, chickens and even one lone peregrino.

Not that I was giving myself a hard time, but I do belive that it was a matter of the tortoise and the hare: I had been impetuous and mind-less, and, interestingly, it happened on a day when I had decided to do twice as many kilometers.

 

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Anyway, I was going slowly, and without a doubt the smell had changed as the sun warmed the world up. There was more to sniff overall, less subtle, and, well, the beasts were ….pungent.

The rich, deep orange, red, and brown soil was so hard and so full of rocks, the drought had made great cleaves in it.

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Rocks, but you cannot see the great fissures.

Time: there is simply getting through it, and just managing it. And then there is racing. This walk is supposed to be about sampling every moment and being in the world, being in place, so to speak, so that I can see what is around me in glorious technicolor. That is what I have given myself the opportunity to do.

Then from stage left, out of the scrub, comes the first solo peregrina, a woman also walking on her own. I nod hello and get no response so I leave her to herself.

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Immediately I came across a huge flock of goats, tucked against the fence and around the gate, and guarded by one, no, two dogs. All was peaceful munching, dozing, and baa-ing. I moved through the throng, and was about to do the right thing and close the gate, when I picked up a change in energy and heard the goats starting to bleat, and then I saw that the dogs were on their feet. I looked and the female walker behind me was obviously scared. Her fear was transmitting to the animals – she was frozen.

I went back and accompanied her out and tried various languages to communicate, but she seemed to speak none of them, so I left her to her own pace and went on.

I reflect that this walking lark is a test of how I cope with thinking on my feet, how I deal with obstacles such as metal gates, goats or water blocking the way.

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Oh the glorious blue!

Pools of unfathomable beauty were reflective and languid. They made me want to stop and sit for ever.

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In the middle of the park was the village of El Real, at 11am. It was a short stage of 15.5 kilometers, but tricky, especially if you get lost, are older, or have blisters.

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Her is the albergue I did not stay in.

But I did stop for a green tea (some of you will not be surprised), and some of my pack lunch, and the group of Italians I had originally been ahead of, and who obviously did not get lost, were there too.

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The little village had a good array of shops, and I was able to buy bread and a few other things I needed. All in all, it was a necessary and welcome hiatus.

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So pretty!

Then I was off again, up the steep hill and back into open country. There was a little queue of us, well spread out, and it was already very hot.

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Walls not fences. And over one wall was a river and I saw a turtle.

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And a ruined castle with the same massive (avian) cranes nesting on it I had seen in Almaden.

It was a long arduous climb, one that would have been at the beginning of the day rather than the hot middle, if I had slept at that place. Yesterday there was a short but very steep one and I was aware of my breathing as I climbed. Today it went on longer and I could feel my heart beating too.

I see the Buddha all around me sitting under trees as he was reputed to do.

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The name of the private house I walked past: Estrella, the star.

The buzzing of a spaghetti junction of pylons as I walked under it helped raise my Ki at GV20, but if it happened for too long, I reckoned, the Yin would turn to Yang.

Then a different type of buzzing: frogs which I was told was grenouille by a French man imparting knowledge as he happened to pass by. He was going so fast he would not have noticed if I had not stopped him and his wife to delightedly point the noise out. I had been sitting silently having my snack and listening to their songs.

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The long hot road ahead.

On through the Sierra Norte I walked, finding it hard without a guidebook to help me on my way. Looking down, I realised that, in this part of the world, even ants have shadows. I thought I would make that the name of my travel book if I ever write one. What do you think?

I move through a landscape of trees, wild flowers, and a mountain herd of cows, all a rich brown with horns and swishing tails. There were calves and two men on horseback herding them through. Seemed a peculiarly Spanish scene.

There was bullfighting on the tv in the cafe where I sat the night before last. In front of dignitaries, the waistcoats of the matadors were splendid, and their magenta swathes of cloaks were no doubt admired as swash-buckling, but I had to leave: it was devastating to watch.

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I gave thanks for the wind.

I passed the man who ate tinned peas and carrots for tea and tinned fruit salad for breakfast as he sat by the roadside contemplating an empty can. I thought how it must be so heavy to carry them all.

Kilometer after kilometer I trek, the yellow fragrant broom-type plant making my path fragrant.

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I crouch under what is actually a bush, for the little shade it offers, while I rest my tired feet.
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A rare building just on the outskirts of a rather yukky industrial area.

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After the lovely Sierras the air is full of industrial noise, an acrid smell in my nose, and what with the searing heat and dust, and the fact that the Extremadura Road sign tells me I have a further 10kms to go, I am somewhat down-hearted.

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Then there was a twisty path through plane trees which captured what breeze there was AND offered some dappled shade.

How much better than the motorway, though still I have to admit it is really hard going.

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There are little signposted paths, but you must look hard for some of them and there are almost dangerous parts, presumably to avoid the motorway. It was so very hot by now, and I took frequent tiny breaks. I think one of them was where I left my water bottle 😦

Why did I choose to do this long etape? I inevitably ask myself.

And then, at last, I was at the first roundabout of what turned out to be a largeish town: Monesterio. That is something worth noting: if you do not have a book, nor able to use the internet, you do not know whence you are heading, and it is therefore always a surprise – in my case always a good one!

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Once again, there was a long walk to the municipal albergue, an ex-convent, and it was not at all straightforward. Up half of the cowboy-film-style main street I went – the sign directed me to the left – and through the small streets I wound, asking people if I saw any, although it was all but deserted at this hour, tracing and retracing my steps until I arrived.

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It is huge, and joy, I therefore have a room to myself.

The lone Italian woman was next door, we shared a bathroom, which flooded at the easiest opportunity, and she was not happy with any of it.

There was a large courtyard out the back, I really mean huge, which as far as I could tell belonged to another building. At the top of a tower which I could see from my bedroom, there was a gigantic nest, but there were no birds visible.

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You can get a sense of the size.
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A peculiarly art-deco tower.

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Do you know what? In the kitchen there was a machine which dispensed tea bags. Never seen anything like it. It even had green tea!

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I seem to remember it was 1 euro per bag!

I had a peaceful, if humid, night.