He is a dreamer. Let him pass.
What a brutal climb out of town this morning! Three and a half kilometres up, up and up, and I was progressing so slowly that when a woman came up from behind and greeted me, the Buenas” came from three feet behind, and the “Dias” three feet in front. She was racing up the hill .
A further kilometre and we arrived at for breakfast at Los Santos de Maimona. And what a bar!
I have written about bars in Spain before, bars with character, not always good, somber stone buildings with little light and men that shout at each other, and dubious facilities with toilets that lean and leave you little room to do what you have to do and no toilet paper and no paper towels but only a sluggish hand drier that may or may not work.
By contrast, the bar at Los Santos de Maimona was light and bright and white, and the toilets were clean and amply supplied with paper. It was more a coffee shop than a bar. We arrived before nine, ordered breakfast, and then in twos and threes and fours, women arrived until they numbered twenty-five in all. There were only a few men, one at the bar, the others at a table with their wives. Quite remarkable. The only thing in common with the more traditional male bars was that the women shouted at each other.
We left the village on a little country road with trees on all sides, hills in the distance, the rumbling of machinery from a factory on the hill, and the barking of distant dogs.
The stony road stretched out far in front of me, and I could see the pilgrims who had recently passed me: a couple of Frenchman, who were a little faster than I, a pair of Korean women, and far in the distance, Rob, who walks exactly twice as fast as I do.
And then I realized. This was no ordinary country road meandering to nearby farms. This was a very ancient road indeed, a road with a purpose, stretching straight for several miles, very likely part of the Roman road linking the important towns of Seville and Merida.
And here was I, whose “little life is bounded with a sleep”, walking with Romans and Phoenicians and Christians and Moors, and feudal lords and their retinue, and knights on horseback, and the merchants, for this was the Via de la Plata, the Way of the Silver.
Or perhaps not. I was told in Seville that the name of the famous route was composed of two words, one Latin, one Arabic, both meaning “the way”. The Way of the Way. Redundant perhaps, although here a Christian might quote, “I am the way, the truth and the life.”
As the legions passed by, I heard the centurion telling Decius to pull his finger out and keep in step (in Latin, of course).
We have settled in at a hostel at Villafranca de los Barros, and while we were eating dinner on a nearby street, we found ourselves witnessing a procession for Holy Week. It was impressive, but I shall not attempt to describe it.
Charles, from that last pic you look happy and healthy and it’s only 1000 km or so to Santiago! Walk on, walk on.
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