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 Estrella, 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 can 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. Bede missed the second day of our walk with some kind of stomach ailment, and two days later, Rachel was afflicted with the same or similar ailment. Rob 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. Bede, who organizes our accommodation so effectively, was able to knock 250€ off the price.
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