Zambs have but a short time to live
Despite the insistence of Arturo the hospitalero that the roads were too dangerous, we decided to walk the highway to re-join the Camino. And the tourist bureau said this was quite possible.
From the front of the cathedral we took a long street with a succession of different names to the river crossing, and then a couple of streets down, we found the road to Zaratán, six kilometres away. This was easy walking, on the footpath all the way. Here we had a second coffee, and a little later on we passed some happy chooks.
We found the VA-514 and followed it all the way to Wamba. We were quite safe on the bitumen shoulder walking into the traffic. We still had the stone embankment to our left.
After the first long climb up onto the plain, we came upon a huge bank of solar panels, stretching forever in both directions. Rach and I differed on how many there were: She thoughts hundreds, I thought thousands. Either way, according the sign they produced 9 MW, surely enough to power the city of Valladolid.
Rach decided it was time to ditch her Zambs. I tried to persuade her to keep them to plant her geraniums in, but she decided to leave them by the wayside. We held a short ceremony.
We continued to walk along the highway. More solar panels ahead, on the left, and wind turbines on the right. I wondered about their comparative efficiency, in places that were both hot and windy. And how much did the environmental benefits from their renewable energy outweigh the environmental impact of building them?
Thirteen kilometres from the cathedral we came to a turnoff to Ciguñuela. We could see the town two or three kilometres to the left. We decided to keep walking along the highway off to Wamba, the next town on the Camino.
Just after the 18 km mark we saw the yellow arrow. The Camino had joined us from the left. It had been an easy walk. I turned around and shouted back towards Puente Duero, “You’re up the pole, Arturo.”
We walked on to be greeted by the statue of the Visigoth King Wamba, who had given his name to the town. Apparently, Wamba is the only word in Spanish to begin with a “w”. Unfortunately the beautiful Romanesque church of Santa Maria was closed. But the bar wasn’t, so we went in for a coffee and a snack. A husky was outside. We had run into a man and his dog again. They were moving slowly, but we had in effect lost a day, so we had met up again.
We asked after Jack the dog’s progress. I mentioned how, as a husky, he must have thrived in the snow on the mountains. But no, turns out he’s a bit of a sook. His master said it was too cold for him to go over the mountains, and even down on the plain he sometimes needs a coat.
After that, it was a seven kilometre slog to Peñaflor de Hornija, à town on a hill in a hollow on the meseta. We found our albergue and went out for a meal. We had been told that the bar would serve them at any time.
Some locals pointed us to a bar run by a woman with a smile that flashed on and off. Do you serve meals? No. Is there anything to eat? A sandwich. There was nothing to eat for Rach at all, but I had a sandwich of stale bread and stale sausage. While I was eating it, Rach dartedup the street and found the bar which served meals. Now why hadn’t the miserable crone directed us to it? I abandoned my sandwich.
At the bar on the Plaza Mayor, we had excellent food, served by the amenable Gonzales, who gave us helpful advice, and prepared us a takeaway breakfast for the morrow, for the bar would not be open.
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