There is no frigate like a book
To take us miles away
For the first time on this trip I had a really good sleep. A sound sleep, the sleep of the dead, but I awoke. And looked outside. To my dismay, it was raining.
After breakfast at a Panaria just down the street, we found our way out of town and on to the Via Pecuria, which we have followed several times since leaving Madrid. It was a wide stretch of land fenced on either side, with a dirt track running down the middle. I suspect that this was one of the drovers’ routes which crisscross much of Spain. I have walked on them before on the Via de la Plata. It was a very gradual climb. I found my rhythm and for the first time on this trip I really enjoyed the activity of walking. I could walk at this pace till Kingdom Come, I said to Rach.
Then the gradient increased. We passed between a steep hill and a little village. Onwards and upwards. Rach and I argued over whether it was snowing or raining. Either way, my fingers were numb.
A whiff of woodsmoke on the air signalled habitation ahead. We climbed a steep hill and arrived at Mataelpino. By now there was no doubt. Rach heaved a snow ball at me. We staggered into a bar, my fingers so numb I could barely undo the clips on my pack. I checked the temperature on my phone: it was two degrees.
Out of town, up a steep hill, and then on to a highway, a slight gradient making for easy walking, brisk enough to keep warm. There was snow in the ditches on either side, on the bushes, and on a mountain slope leading up to a rugged ridge of boulders on the crest.
A cacophonous clang of cowbells disturbed the peace, and what I took to be the deep hum of a generator at a nearby farm turned out to be the rushing of water through a culvert.
Rach pointed out an example of inter-species friendship, a horse and a couple of young cows nestling together, a manifestation of one of the earliest phrases we learned as children. Even if we lived in the city, we knew about horses and cows. They belonged in the rich world of our imagination.
I worry about a generation of children nourished by electronic gadgets instead of books.
Some would argue that electronic games allow the child to be involved, to be stimulated. But what kind of interaction is it? A grunt, a trigger response on the control, a shout of triumph as an opponent is zapped, whereas we as children ventured into the enchanted wood or behind the waterfall, and experienced a world beyond our own, real people in the world of our imagination.
There is a theory which holds that we humans are destined to be controlled by artificial intelligence (AI). The signs are there, aren’t they: a crowd of people standing at a bus stop, captive to their iPhones, or an iPad babysitting a child.
We stopped at Navacerrada for a beer and a snack. I can recommend the Cerveceria Los Angeles where a large black stove was puffing out clouds of heat as we entered. It even offered free beer!
The landlord was friendly and helpful and stamped our credential. Pilgrim insignia adorned a wall, but I was concerned by a profile of the elevation along the way. We were to cross the mountain tomorrow. I hoped the chart wasn’t drawn to scale.
Then a brutal climb up a street to the top of the town, and along a very steep gravel path, the snow slushy enough to allow traction, onto a flat forest road, and then back to the highway again.
Four or five kilometres before Cercedilla the path dived deep into the woods, but another arrow indicated that we could keep going along the highway. And a delightful stroll it was. No traffic, absolutely flat, firm footing, until suddenly the road was blocked by a barrier and a guard standing in front of a long string of vans. What’s going on, asked Rach. They’re making a movie, he said. We could be in it, I suggested. A veritable pair of pilgrims. We could swell a scene or two. He declined, and directed us on to a gravel road. Unable to find any arrows, we consulted Sheila (Siri’s cousin) who guided us into Cercedilla.
We stopped an inn for a beer, and then walked several kilometres on to a youth hostel at Las Dehesas, cutting a few kilometres off the long and arduous tomorrow. Despite the rain and snow, it was a good day.
At the youth hostel we opted for the demi-pension for 30.60€ each. Neither of us qualified for the youth (under 30) category (not even Rach), which was even cheaper. All the same, it was a good bargain.
(My apologies to anyone who read my last post and said, “That’s not heather, that’s lavender.” How right you were.)
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