Via de la Plata – Page 4 – Walking without a donkey

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Via de la Plata Camino – Monasterio to Fuente de Cantos

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!

DSC_0026_6 — 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.

DSC_0028_7 — 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.

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

DSC_0029_4 — 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 after an hour and a half or so I went on 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.

DSC_0030_6 — Fewer large trees at this stage.

I remembered that yesterday when I sat down to eat there was a grasshopper by my left ear. Listening in this quiet place is one of the great pleasures of the Camino. I reflected that as a therapist I am familiar with listening to others 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.

DSC_0031_7 — It was surprisingly fertile. I did not walk through any villages on the way so there was no chance of a cup of tea.

Even though I tried to avoid squashing insects, the scuttley spiders seemed to change direction just before my foot descended, alerted by the earth moving as I walked towards them. Sadly they were therefore more likely to be stepped on. I spent some time thinking about fear.

I noticed ants going up and down a tree.

DSC_0035_4 — 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 one’s behaviour and the habits of others, the meaning of things.

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

Dust blows around me. Over and over again I breathe it in without noticing, until I recognise that it is that which smells, 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 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.

I reminded myself that I 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.

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 town

The last hour was really hard work in the heat, and I stumbled off the edge of a pavement in Fuente de Cantos and twisted an 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’. The building did not look much from the road. It was not the municipal albergue, but one I had seen advertised on the road. In fact I had picked up the last leaflet.

DSC_0041_4 — Entrance to El Zaguán de la Plata.

DSC_0043_1 — 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 and admired my surroundings. Of course I had 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 once again the only person there – I had the whole place to myself which included the swimming pool which was great water therapy for my ankle. 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 ( a word 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. It was 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/

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Via de la Plata Camino – Seville to Guillena

This blog charts the beginning of the Via de la Plata, this time from the start, from Seville to Guillenna, 25 kms. 16.5.17

Jésus kindly dropped me off at a very early hour, still dark, to begin the Via de la Plata in the city of Seville, in deep southern Spain.

Negotiating my way out of town I saw a beautiful doorway, the flash of my camera lighting it up. What lies through the metaphorical portal for me at the start of this camino?

All the Spanish caminos have Santiago de Compostella as their final destination. I had completed the Camino Francés in late November 2016 and fancied continuing to walk, so started the VDLP (as it is known in the club!) from the end, in the direction of Seville where everyone else starts it. In fact it was very tricky to negotiate the signs and arrows going backwards, so I only did ten days or so and promised myself I would recommence from the beginning. And here I was, five months later!

It was actually pitch dark at 6.15am except for the parts with streetlights

‘He gathered these details as he walked, and he could not have gathered them had he not opened himself to the kinds of encounter and perception that travel on foot makes possible. Walking, Lee notes, refines awareness: it compels you to ‘tread’ a landscape ‘slowly’ to ‘smell its different soils.’ The car-passenger by contrast, ‘races at gutter height, seeing less than a dog in a ditch’. Lee, like Leigh Fermor, believed in walking not only as a means of motion but also as a means of knowing..’. taken from Robert Macfarlane’s introduction to ‘As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning’ by Laurie Lee.

Camino de Santiago is carved down the right hand side of this stone marker at the edge of the bypass

Like Laurie Lee, I had travelled across Spain, unlike him I had spent one day in fast cars (Zaragoza – Madrid – Seville), and so I resonated with the above quote. I was so very glad to have my feet back on the ground and be moving at what felt like my natural pace again.

And of course I got lost as usual, attempting to find my way away from the urbanisation. Seville is a beautiful place, but my heart lies in the rural landscape and I was keen to move on there. The birds, my constant companions, were wide awake. I trundled through wasteland searching for the yellow arrows – scouring the edges of benches, trunks of trees, discovering one wrapped around a lamp post, and another on a motorway bridge underpass.

These photos are in order along the path.

My advice to fellow travellers: everyone knows the way, ask, and/or wait patiently for a sign.

Do not go too fast, look back so you get sights of the sprawl you are leaving behind.

And if, like me, you have left before dawn, you will have the added bonus of seeing the sky lighten gradually at your back.

Like many parts of all the caminos, the outskirts of cities and large towns are less than salubrious, but because I was so excited, and have been practicing appreciation of all that is around me, there is beauty if you look in the right way.

I was not really going that fast, but there were 3 Germans walking out at the same time as me, and they went ‘like the clappers’. I needed to keep up with them, so I thought, because they were so confident, but it was not my natural speed and there was not enough time to take focused photos. I have kept it in as a record of the route.

I was hastening to keep up and did not take the time to stop long enough to focus

Crossing the River Guadalquivir further up

There were trees laden with oranges (no photos) lining the streets, and I kept on going straight.

And horses tethered by the roadside. I was to see many of them as I made my way north. Good, free grazing

Another dreadfully blurred photo, not for show, but for those following the route as well

It is an exercise in appreciation of the industrial

We all four lost our bearings here. We asked someone who, most unusually, sent us the wrong way

Hints now of things to come. Do you see the yellow and white decorations on the church with a flat bell tower?

I dashed into a cafe for a take-away croissant (no breakfast – very stupid – I never learn) and promptly lost the others. I panicked thinking I would never find the way on my own, so I ran to catch up. Ran! It is no fun with a backpack I can tell you.

At least I was starting to see a view of the countryside and not just railings and dual carriageways

Before I left, Pedro dealt me a card for the journey. It was ‘Amistad’ meaning friendship. When I came across this around 8am, it seemed like an auspicious sign

The unmistakeable sound of a peacock heralded my arrival in Santiponce, 7km from Seville, after two hours. One of the richest artistic and cultural heritages in Andalusia, it is sited on the banks of the River Gualdaquivir, which suffered several floods. One caused its surviving inhabitants to take refuge in the monastery (see below), which then granted the highest land for the safe re-building of the town as it is now.

I searched for the squawk. It was on the roof, silhouetted against the morning sky

I do not know what tree these seed pods come from, but I liked the shape and colour against the cracked earth

Early morning sweeping in her pinny – it seemed like a classic Spanish sight somehow

There were more orange trees and the sun was trying its hardest. I have to say that after yesterday’s scorcher, I was rather glad that it was not as hot, given it was my first day back on the road with the rucksack and all.

Beautiful though isn’t it? The ex-Monastery of San Isidoro del Campo, founded in 1301, on the edge of the town

I took a detour to see the Roman Theatre but it was shut, only open in the summer (I guess May is not the summer) for performances. The nearby Tourist Information was very helpful though, and it had lovely clean toilets.

The famous Seville oranges – people were picking them up off the street and eating them

The Anfiteatro de Italica opens at 9am and one of my favourite blog writers recommended seeing it (see end of page), so I sat and ate an orange, listened to the birds, and rested my back until I could get in.

I wished that my dad had been with me to see this

The amphitheatre itself – I could almost hear the bellowing of the crowd

There were gardeners planting and tending red roses, just like characters from Alice in Wonderland. But it was hard to rest and enjoy when I knew there were miles to go. So I rejoined the Way and the flora and fauna.

An hour from Santiponce and it was starting to get hot. The smell of a jam factory meant I was headed back into an industrial area, and a massive motorway junction followed.

At least I knew I was well on my way now – no need for anyone to guide me

After a little while I was rewarded with beautiful wild flowers – azure cornflowers, cow parsley like big white iced buns with a beetle instead of a cherry on top, silver grey thistles, reeds, irregularly shaped fields of wheat – green and pale yellow – as well as pylons and traffic sounds competing with the birds.

I was on my way again – this was what I had waited for

I thought it was a beetle in the middle, then I realised they all had them and that it was a seed

The path was stony and my feet were getting sore.

The plants were undulating in the welcome breeze.

What were those yellow flowers in the distance?

It looks pretty but this flooding on the path was somewhat challenging to manoeuvre

Piles of ants descended on scraps. Their diagonal queues dissected the path and I tried to avoid them. Birds played together in the breeze.

*Ah, that’s what they are! Turning their heads as they follow the sun around, they are like submarine periscopes or beautiful, vertical rays of brightness*

The backs of the sunflowers were like bonnets, their faces all to the sun hiding the fact that each one was swarming with bees

More flowers: Bindweed and borage. I was totally alone. There were no words except the occasional ‘buen camino’ to and from cyclists flying past, shoulders up to their ears. Now I was able to breathe in time with my walking steps, to notice a butterfly I hadn’t seen before – pale green with a splash of yellow and just a few black dots like Kandinsky, beautifully blended with the flower colours. I saw a dragonfly. I felt happy.

‘Walking itself is the intentional act closest to the unwilled rhythms of the body, to breathing and the beating of the heart’. Wanderlust by Rebecca Solnit p.5.

It was a lesson in endurance. When you are tired, you look into the distance and never believe you will ever get there, but you do. And it is joyous, my arrival into Guilenna.

There was quite a way before I really arrived. White houses with terracotta roofs greeted me at the end of the very dusty road. It turns out I should have gone over the bridge, not round by the river. I should have known when I found myself climbing over fences! The yellow arrows were once again hard to see.

Here was the prettiest church ever seen.

The first hostel was shut and I had to ask many women before I finally arrived at Hostel La Luz at 12.15 and it was 25 degrees by that time. The lady at reception was lovely – friendly, and informative. I was the first to arrive and had a dorm to myself next to the small courtyard, on the ground floor. The facilities were basic but fine for me, I had everything I needed.

I had decided to send things back to the UK (no use for my swimming things, or so I thought) to lighten my load. The post office was so, so slow – I sat and waited, watched and listened to the excitable Spanish conversations, and eventually it was my turn. It was a simple thing to do, not very expensive, and I sent some post cards as well. I rested and then had to go out again for food – what a very long main road it was in the 28 degree heat at 5pm! Or in fact 35 degrees depending where you looked (phone or electronic sign in the town).

I went to the start of Mass in the evening. Inside, it was highly elaborate as you would expect of a Spanish Catholic church, although there was a simple wooden roof: one part with stars, and the other vaulted, made of stone and painted pale yellow. There was a very life-like, full-sized Virgin wearing a real black velvet dress embossed in gold with a fantastic silver tiara and beautiful lace scarf and collar. The women were all in attendance, one with the sound turned up on her mobile, tap tapping in response to the message which sounded very loud reverberating around the nave.

The little girl who entered in her gold shoes and bracelets had a carrier bag with a pink ball in it. She put her finger to her lips for a loud shush to grandma and great grandma. Extended families wore their everyday clothes. The deeply tanned young men in white t-shirts ranged around looking at the iconography. I was at the back and attracted attention, presumably because I was not local. It was very much of a social gathering before the service.

Later I enjoyed my own brand of spirituality – t’ai chi on the terrace in the evening sun with the village rooves on two sides, the countryside I had just walked through on a third, and the place I will walk into on the fourth. I gave thanks for the whole situation.

Another blog about the VDLP

Laurie Lee, As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning

Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust

Walking without a donkey - travels in Spain

Via de la Plata Camino – Days 4-6, Spain

Day 4 – Laxe to Castro Douzon 1.12.16 19 km

Doorbells rung to ask the way, and tractors stopped for the same reason: 1 of each.

Items of clothing lost: 3 – all necessary for the cold weather.

Doing T’ai Chi in the garden of the albergue before we leave is bitterly cold due to the unusual cold wind, especially as I lost my gloves and thermal leggings yesterday. We were high up in Castro Douzon. There are swimming pools for adults and children though, and a playpark, so it must be lovely in summer.

Today there was a lot of walking by busy roads with no pavements, which was hard on the feet, and less scenic. There were, however, great vistas from the top after a good, steep climb: layers of purple and blue hills in the distance, bright green fields, terracotta and stone villages, and matching trees.

Descending into valleys, we discovered solid bridges over gleaming azure streams, reflecting the sky, which were full of vibrant green weed.

And we talked about women’s rights; pensions; how to say ‘kiss’ in different languages; and swapped information about our 3 cultures – Maroc, French and British.

Spain autumn 2016 phone 3982 (640x360) — The two women from Seuil who I was walking with. The older was brilliant at finding the way.

The local people kindly stopped and told us we were going the wrong way, and pointed helpfully in the direction of Santiago de Compostella. So we all learned to say that ‘no, we were walking ‘contrario’ towards Seville’, in Spanish. They also offered useful information like where and what to eat, and who serves the best ‘pulpo’ (octopus, the local delicacy – delicious when tender).

Weather: The sun shone but it was colder. There was the usual hard frost as we left in the morning.

Once we had arrived after our days walk, we got our credentials stamped and paid our dues, thankfully removed our boots, hobbled to the dormitory to choose a bed and showered. Later, after visiting the local supermarket for supplies (flour, milk, eggs and sugar for crêpes; sachets of chocolate powder and of course pasta for the youngster; a tin of mussels and a sachet of olives for me), I visited the bar to catch up with family and friends no longer walking with me. The bar is owned by the same family and buying a tea (€1.20) allowed me to sit there for more than an hour without any suggestion of buying more. It’s only when I was given a lot of free crisps that I thought I ought to order a small beer to make up for my second hour!

There were similarities between the two hostels – both had unexpectedly hot showers – bliss! Neither had working wifi. Both offered one blanket per person, and had heating, so our clothes and towels were dry by morning. Both had kitchens with utensils, and we could choose when to have the lights on or off. I’m getting used to the fact that there are always good things to be happy about.

Day 5 Castro Douzon to Cea. 2.2.16. 13.7 km

Bites sustained: at least 100 overnight including 16 on my face.

Other pilgrims: 3 men and a dog. A good story of a 100% blind man who is walking his second Camino. The guide dog learns the scent of the/another walker going the same way, and then tracks the smell and can lead his master on the right path. These Caminos can be incredibly complicated – in the middle of forests there are very often places with 4 options; the country path regularly crosses the busy main N routes with lorries driving at top speed; villages can have very small, winding streets leading between farm buildings; and there are times when fully sighted people are searching for a yellow arrow here and the blue/yellow Camino shell there for a good while before finding the way, so I am really impressed.

Units alcohol:0

Beautiful weather – lovely to sit outside for our morning coffee as well as on arrival at Cea when I fell asleep in the sun and dreamed.

During the days walk we moved through landscapes of assorted pines, chestnut, silver birch, oak, and eucalyptus; broom, brambles, gorse with gay yellow flowers, heather, and bracken.

Pink, yellow and blue houses, many of them like huge mansions, which I am told are for extended families, have balconies and balustrades, big and small, and statues in the gardens. There are cows, sheep, horses and of course donkeys out the back.

Every dwelling has a ‘huelta’, a vegetable garden, which at this time of year had turnips, and really tall brassicas which looked like sprout plants with huge leaves at the top but no actual sprouts. Plus the odd red pepper still gleaming in the sun, a few left-over tomatoes dangling, and sharp-cornered patches of dry stalks now the sweetcorn has finally been cut. Vines are domestic and hang from structures which double as terrace rooves.

DSC_0032_3 (640x360) — Where the maize is traditionally stored over winter so animals and the cold do not damage it.

DSC_0021_4 (640x360) — The remains of the maize still in the fields.

There are more dogs than I had ever seen in one place – usually on the end of a chain or rope and barking their heads off at our approach. My companions loved them all and attempted to talk to and pet them despite the rumpus! In Finnistere a week ago they seemed to run wild around the town, crossing and re-crossing roads and unaware of danger, but here they were mostly behind fences protecting property.

Spain autumn 2016 phone 4052 (640x360) — Old stone buildings.

The simple churches, mostly with a single tower and bell, are always to be found amongst the houses, however small the village, and sometimes on their own in the countryside. Many have fancy cemeteries adorned with colourful flowers, real and plastic, and ornate grills. Often there’s a stone cross or statue nearby.

Cea is one of the prettiest towns I’ve been to. As with so many places, there are abandoned properties, but here there were also many places with interesting pasts, a wide array of shops, banks and cafés etc, a large central square, and old and new architecture. All the places I have walked in are clean and well-kept, and here there were red and white geraniums and the most ornate house number/name tiles.

Day 6 Cea to Ourense 3.12.16 23.3 km

This was a hard day. When I walked there were times of joy, prompted by the beautiful scenery, or the sun on my skin, or the sheer pleasure of putting one foot in front of another. There were also times when this wonderful opportunity to reflect on the past, examine the present, and deliberate on the future raised myriad emotions. They passed with the movement, and there was space for tears, but it was definitely not always easy. This was one of the reasons I chose to do this.