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 until 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.
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