Monday 18 March 2024

Day 7. March 18, 2024. Cañaveral de León to Segura de León. 16 kms

 


May the pigs run free

Upon the natural stage

And curséd be he

Who puts them in a cage.


The hospitality and the meal at the Bar St. Sebastián were superb.


I have been doing more waning than waxing, and, in fact, a little bit of wailing and whining and whingeing as well. To myself, anyway. Yesterday was brutal for me. Today was easier. And it’s amazing how a few tiny poppies can lift your spirits.


It was an upward climb to our coffee stop at Fuentes, eight kilometres on. A sombre beauty in olive green, pasture on either side of the road, sometimes sheep and sometimes cows grazing under the oaks, bordered by drystone walls. On the higher ground, olives grew on the steeper slopes.

At Fuentes, we enjoyed leisurely cafe con lechés at €1 each. And the afternoon was an easy stint along the road. Again I took the road, while my hardy companions took the natural detour. I am preserving my energy.


I rarely eat pork in Canada because of the evil treatment of pigs in cages but here I have not hesitated to sample the pork delicacies for which the region is famous, because we have often seen the pigs at large. This afternoon, I watched them running free, not even in a sty, but in a field ambling and gambolling about, as happy as pigs in muck.


Tonight, we are staying at a casa rural, recommended by Ferdinand, the man behind the Camino de Huelva.


Day 6.March 17, 2024. Aracena to Cañaveral de León. 26 kms

 


It was a good breakfast at 8 o’clock at the hotel, even if it meant a late start.


After short stint on the highway, we followed a trail through a natural park and down a river valley for most of the morning, a lush valley for these parts, and I noticed a couple of weeping willows.


And then a long road walk, little traffic this time, and a choice at the end: to take off through the park again or continue along the road. I took the road, opting for the known unknown, as someone once said, rather than the unknown unknown.


The known unknown is the brutal climb up a road with every bend ahead offering the prospect of a levelling out and an end to the climb, but no, the climb continues, and continues, and all the time as you plod uphill, you’re  thinking about reaching your destination. Finally, I arrived at six, our longest and my hardest day.


And then there’s the utterable joy of sinking down into a chair at the bar and enjoying the biting tang of an ice-cold beer.

Sunday 17 March 2024

Day 5. March 16, 2024. Campofrio to Aracena.22 kms

 



Orpheus with his lute made trees,

And the mountain-tops that freeze,

Bow themselves, when he did sing (Shakespeare)


Not the clanging of a church bell this morning, tolling the hour as we passed through town, but a cacophony of dogs that barked us on our way. As the sun rose over the hill, the daisies in the ditch waved to us as well.


A long stretch of highway downhill, a lovely detour on the old road, a long stretch of highway uphill, another detour through bucolic pastures. That was the day. And of course, the glorious arrival in the very busy town, in anticipation of Estella, having to wait at intersections for a minor Tour d’Espagne to wiz by.


The five-kilometre detour along the old road was the most beautiful stretch of the camino so far.


The unutterable joy. I think that was the title of a Christian book I read once, perhaps by Malcolm Muggridge, and for him the joy would’ve been the ecstasy of being at one with God. For me the joy is being at one with Nature, walking on a lonely road with a broad vista of the valley with the stream sparkling below, the white sage rose and the heather and  the wild lavender along the wayside and the scattering of oaks over a dry stonewall. It’s the other evidence of the natural world as well, the beetles, the slugs, even the horses poo, or the strange string of caterpillars, which look like a long snake, composed of 30 or more individuals in a line following the leader. And of course, there is the glorious silence, interrupted only by the trilling of birds. Now, that is all that an be uttered about it.

Why do we love nature so much? Is it just the escape from the world that’s “too much with us”? Or is it something atavistic, something instinctive from our early days when we were part of the land, like the dog that circles before sleeping as did its ancestors to make sure that they were safe before resting?


Our journey has not been without mishaps. Orpheus missed the second day of our walk with some kind of stomach ailment, and two days later, Cecilia was afflicted with the same or similar ailment. Aeneas has developed blisters, and may have to walk at half his usual pace, a kilometre every nine minutes. I am really enjoying their company. They offer to carry my pack, which I decline, but they haul me to my feet, which I accept. They seem unwilling to let me set off on my own, fearing perhaps I may come to an untimely end.


The accommodation has been interesting and varied. At Minas de Riotinto we slept on the floor at the sports centre. Last night at Campofrio we stayed at the Casa de Peregrino, very comfortable in separate rooms, at no charge because Santiago was the patron saint of the town and perhaps the City of Santiago was supportive. We were not permitted to make a donation. It was a non-donativo albergue. Tonight in contrast, we are staying in a villa at the luxurious Barceló Aracena because the rest of the town was booked out. Orpheus, who organizes our accommodation so effectively, was able to knock 250€ off the price.







Friday 15 March 2024

Day 4. March 15, 2024. Minas de Riotinto to Campofrio. 11 kms.



I could not have realized more than sixty years ago, when I worked as a student at a Rio Tinto mine in Broken Hill, New South Wales, that one day I would pass through the town where it all began. Relics of the old mine are scattered throughout Riotinto de Minas and just north of the town are the huge open cuts which had been mined for copper, silver and gold for thousands of years. Serious exploitation of these deposits began with the Romans, and reached a peak with the British Rio Tinto mining company in the mid-20th century. That company has gone, but we noticed that parts of the open cuts are still being exploited, if only for road metal.


Two of us walked a short distance today; the others made a detour, but we all arrived at the same destination. For me it was short, but not easy.


I have been led astray by a guide book before. Some years ago on the Chemin de Piedmont, I was led onto a motorway by M. Lepère, and was stopped by the French police. This morning as we followed the trail on the Buen Camino app, we were  walking along a road which ended abruptly in a 100-foot drop. Had we been able to continue on the non-existent road we would have found ourselves in a lake. Clearly, the old road had been quarried away since the path was traced by the developers of the app. Instead we had to walk along a highway which bridged the huge open cut mine. We quickly and apprehensively crossed the bridge against the oncoming traffic. After that harrowing experience, we stopped for a second coffee at a convenient bar.


The Spanish always shout at each other in bars. This time, one very loud fellow shouted at us, jabbing me in the legs, and the one word that I think could understand was “danger”. Was he warning us about bulls? This area was famous for its bullfighting. No, we concluded, he was warning about the traffic on the highway, which would be “charging” us if we continued the way we were going, for we had now given up on the guide and were relying on Google Maps.


We had no choice but to follow the highway as it crossed a lake, probably a flooded area of the old mine. Sometimes we had to walk inside the barrier; at others we could walk outside it on the oxidized boulders and charred rocks that made up the embankment. Occasionally, I would see a tiny poppy struggling to survive in the charred leavings of man’s destruction. There was a moral here.


Eventually, we left the wasteland behind, and followed the highway as it climbed steadily up and around the side of the hill. Suddenly, a yellow arrow appeared and sent us off to the left on what was obviously the old road, up and up and up in the most brutal of climbs. The new highway was now far below. I intended to rest at the summit, and around every bend I thought the road would level off, but no, it continued to rise until eventually I collapsed  by the wayside in the shade of some spindly conifers. And just as there are painful climbs, there are moments of sheer pleasure. I rested beside the road, revived by the cool breeze. I reflected on the notion that you have to experience pain to appreciate joy.


As it happened, the summit was around the next bend, and then I experienced another pleasure that every walker of the Camino will understand: there was the village, sooner than I expected.




Day 3. March 15, 2024. Valverde del Campino to Minas de Riotinto. 27 kms

 


This stretch has to be one of the most lonely, peaceful walks of any camino. Once again we were following the disused railway line, now just a rough country road, although who was using it we don’t know for we were passed by neither car nor tractor. Gone were the bicycles of yesterday as well, for the paved Atlantic cycle trail had taken a turn back to the sea. Indeed, the way in parts was rough for cyclists, although we were passed once by a hardy fellow, probably a pilgrim following the Camino, for this would certainly not be the cyclist’s route of choice.

This was beautiful, wild country, with plantations of conifers, some struggling oaks, olive groves, and of course the intrusive gumtree.


Within easy reach of our destination, we were led astray by a worker in a neighbouring orange orchard who told us we were going in the wrong direction, so we turned around, left the railway line, and surrendered to Google maps, which took us by perhaps the shortest route, but which happened to be down into a deep valley which of course we had to climb out of. Fortunately a lively conversation on a burning issue propelled me up the steep slope to the town of Campillo.


We were very anxious to reach this town for at 20 kms it offered the first refreshment  of the day where I broke a rule and had not one, but two beers. Usually I wait unti I arrive at the destination, but that was only four kms away and I could float along the easy terrain.




Now we were back on on the railway trail, but here it had become a wonderful, paved path lining the two towns, and enjoyed by cyclists, families with prams, elderly couples, solitary walkers, a real sample of the Spanish community.


During the course of the day, one of our topics of conversation had been the gregarious nature of the Spanish community, and how it differed from Anglo-Saxon society and to what extent this was the result of climate or the Church.


Not all Spanish are gregarious, however. Earlier, we passed one property whose owner was determined that no one was going to beach his defences. The fence was topped with vicious barbed wire, in case you were temped to scale it. But the outer line of deterrence was a row of cactus, the most alien, ugly, vicious-looking plant I have ever seen. I apologize to any amateur de cactus out there. Many people plant friendly, pleasant flowers along their property line, but not this fellow. 




After the pleasant hotels of the past three nights, we are staying in a room at a sports centre. Gratis but Spartan, just mattresses on the floor. Recently I was reading how an indication of good health and fitness is being able to get up from the floor without using your hands. I can barely get up from the floor using all my limbs, so my nocturnal excursions were more arduous than usual. Still, it’s all part of the experience, they say.


Two of our group were celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary so we celebrated with a fine meal and enjoyed the delicacies of the region.


Wednesday 13 March 2024

Day 2. March 14, 2024. Trigueros to Valverde del Camino. 30 kms

 


 The bell on the church tower metallically struck nine as we passed through the centre of town. Al late start! Bright ceramic Camino markers led us to the outskirts where we began walking along the disused railway line. This we followed all the way to our destination, some 30 kilometres later.


These old railway lines are always great paths to follow because the gradients are slight, and indeed we did climb gradually for most of the day. Recalling the steam trains of my youth, I could imagine the engine puffing to get up the hill and then relaxing into a a steady rhythm as the track levelled out. 



As we climbed, the terrain changed.. Cultivated fields gave way to pasture land and wooded areas dominated by eucalypts. Gone as well was yesterday’s yellow flourish of flowers in the ditches.  The sage leaf rock rose was dominant and sometimes extended into the neighbouring fields. We saw our first cork oak. I remember learning that unlike other trees, the cork oak doesn’t die if its bark is stripped, as if the creator had made an exception in this case, so that we would have an abundance of corks for our bottled wine.


Occasionally a road crossed the railway line, and on one occasion we hesitated before continuing. The way was clearly marked, but a lady in a car stopped, anxious to help. It is a universal human pleasure to give directions to someone who seems to lost. It doesn’t cost you anything and you feel good afterwards. But she wanted to send us in the opposite direction.  We pointed to the signs and the arrows, but no, that was not the right way. Finally she gave up with a snug, and drove off thinking, “Those idiots, they’ll be sorry.”


We were walking on the Atlantic cycle trail so many cyclists passed us in both directions. No other pilgrims though. The friendliest beings we encounter were some donkeys who came to greet us as we passed. It was an easy walk with its slight gradients, but long for me.






Tuesday 12 March 2024

Day 1. March 12, 2024. Huelva toTrigueros. 21 kilometres

 


Long day yesterday: Victoria-Toronto, Toronto-Madrid, express bus from airport to station, fast train to Seville, then slow train to Huelva. Had a little debate with the fellow on the plane about the best way to get from the airport to the station. He was taking the metro, but had to transfer to another terminal first.  We opted for the express bus.

To cut a very long story short, I have had another unsuccessful experience with an eSIM card. Even the lady in the Orange store in town could not put it right. Finally, when I said, “Bloody hell! Give me an old-fashioned, physical SIM card (translated by my amiable son-in-law, the linguist),” she set about to do so, only to tell me, “Sorry I can’t, you’re already in the system.” (That really was the short version of the story!) So I’m on EasyRoam with Virgin again, which is anything but easy at $16 a day.


It was a hard day for me, jet lagged and lacking sleep, but relatively easy for the younguns. 


We left the cathedral, the official beginning of the camino, walked up and over a hill, along a ridge overlooking the delta, and on to an outer suburb where we drank a second coffee. 


And then, such joy, out into the countryside. Wheat on one side, barley on the other, and such a profusion of flowers in the ditch, a yellow spread of daisies, buttercups and wild mustard, interrupted by red poppies, nodding their heads together in vigorous conversation, or standing soberly on their own, as if embarrassed by such jocund company. But on one occasion, this joyous scene was interrupted by some massive clumps of cactus with vicious thorns, alien creatures frowning on this beauteous scene.


As always, little incidents interrupted the rhythm of the day. At the edge of town a cyclist riding by shouted, Buen Camino, which cheered us up no end. Later we came upon a fellow cutting the long grass with a scythe for his horse. Better than hay, he said. Towards the end of the day, I ventured off the bitumen onto the dirt beside the road, only to find it was but a thin crust covering a veritable quagmire of quicksand. My friends had to pull me out.

For much of the day we walked along a rather busy road, with little room at the side for pedestrians, and then a minor road stretching on for ever into the distance, so that by the end of the day I was walking, not with an iambic, but a spondaic, even  despondaic gait.