Day 9 - Santiponce to Castilblanco de los Arroyas (21 miles)

I do not wish to tempt providence, but today was just the sort of thing I had hoped for: a steady ascent on a hardened track hemmed in by olive and orange groves with all the shade that provided; the route then opened out onto to fields of wheat and open skies with the ruins of a castle in the distance; then a long tract through shrub and woodland; before a final white gravel track and quiet road to reach Castilblanco de los Arroyos. And to top it all I am being reminded what staying in a camino hostel is like.

It was a relatively long day: my walk through Seville and on to Santiponce broke the natural first leg of the Via de la Plata which ends at Guillena, only a short walk from today’s start point. To make today worthwhile - and give some leeway for the future - I planned to walk to Guillena for breakfast then continue on to finish my day at the next stop of Castilblanco de los Arroyas. Those highlights mentioned above were to lay after breakfast. Before that I was largely walking in the dark for some kilometres through countryside and along a wide and very straight track. The first hint of light arrived in time for me to see where best to ford a narrow river that crossed the route - there was no bridge - and not long after that I was on the straight path that cut through crop fields on the last kilometre to Guillena. By the time I stepped out from the small bar I had found for my simple breakfast to meet that fulfilling day of track and groves and peace and isolation, clear skies had replaced the grey of early morning that had accompanied my arrival.

Once at Castilblanco I headed for the municipal hostel to be met with an overwrought volunteer trying to book in a rather spirited, somewhat demanding crowd. When he got to processing me he explained that normally he would get three or four people a day but on this day he was already nearly full. My bunk secured, I showered and headed out to see this town that Cervantes spent a night in and mentioned in one of his books; they certainly make the most of his one night's stay having built a monument to the occasion and identifying the building where he slept with the Spanish equivalent of a Blue Plaque.

Day 8 - Santiponce and Itálica

Amphitheatre 

Today was a day for relaxing. I first visited the ruins of Itálica across the road from my hotel. One of the earliest Roman settlements in Spain, it was founded in 206 BC, the year the Romans won the decisive battle that began their conquest of the Hispanic peninsula. The area was an important producer of grain and olive oil and the city rose to high status in the first two centuries AD. Of interest to a wandering Britisher is the fact that the emperor Hadrian of Hadrian's Wall fame was born there.

The site is impressive in its size; it is one of the largest in Spain and archeological work continues. Although with the exception of the amphitheatre - which, with the addition of some computer graphics, featured in Game of Thrones  - there is not much standing above ground level as it has been scoured as a source of building material over time, including for the main Seville to Merida road. Nevertheless, there are some impressive mosaics to see and it is interesting to explore the layout of a Roman city.

Roman Theatre

The local museum was next, mostly Itálica related, and then the nearby Roman theatre where I had to peer through the fence as it is open only when used for local performances. Finally I visited the beautiful Monastery of San Isidoro; a mixture of architectural styles, highly decorated with frescoes and with a history that put it in the centre of religious reformation in Spain. It was a visit I had been in two minds about making as it is on the edge of town, a longish walk on a hot day, but I’m glad I did; it was ornate and beautiful and made for an interesting architectural and historical counterpoint to everything Roman. In between I explored the streets of Santiponce, settled myself in cafes and enjoyed the sunshine.

Tomorrow I am back on the road.

Vía Augusta and Camino Francés

It is impossible not to compare the Via Augusta that I have just completed with the Camino Frances that I completed five years ago, both after all are recognised 'Caminos', long walks through Spain with a pilgrim history that lead to Santiago de Compostela.

As I noted previously, if the Via Augusta is not in an urban area it seems to be on the way to one and there is no way that this will compare favourably with a route of small villages and isolation. But the magic of the Camino Francés is not just in its beauty, it is in the way there is total engagement with all those involved. Walkers are greeted with a ‘Buen Camino' from other walkers and locals alike, a simple phrase but it forms a bond not only between the walkers but also between the walkers and the communities they pass through; it creates something special.

That something special is missing here. Hunter, my American host in Alcala, told me that many people there were not even aware of the Camino that passed through their town. My sense is that this holds true all along the route. But why should they be? For the villages of the Camino Frances walkers are the lifeblood of their existence; here though they are an occasional and unnoticeable element in a town's existence. However, the fact most people did not even respond to a (hopefully) cheerful ‘Buen Dia', to me meant it could be any other long walk. And that is how I viewed it in the end, a long walk to get to the start of a hopefully better one.

Day 7 - Alcala de Guadaira to Santiponce (15.5 miles)

By midday today I was back at Seville cathedral after four and a half hours walking from Alcala and seven days walking from Cadiz, the Via Augusta now complete and the Via de la Plata about to begin.

The first hour of the day had proved a pleasant one along the banks of the Guadalquivir river that flows to Seville, passing old ruins of Moorish water mills that had once ground flour when Alcala had been known as the 'bread basket of Seville'. However, as the city got closer so did the industry and modernity that fed it, evidence of which had previously been hidden from view by distance and the contours of the landscape. The meandering, reed-banked and narrow river was swapped for a straight concrete-sided wedge of a canal and before long, railroad and main roads also made their appearance alongside me. It was only to be expected.

Moorish Water Mill

Guadalquivir towards Seville

Today's disappointment came not from the long and uninspiring route through the busy city - I had set out prepared for this - but from preparations for the Easter celebrations: at the cathedral, the normally accessible paving marker that indicates the beginning of the Via de la Plata lay six feet the wrong side of a cordon of plastic tape. Despite my best efforts a member of security there would not let me nip under for a photograph by it; he was even annoyed with his colleague who took my phone to get a decent picture of it for me.

Having completed my first route I now stepped out on the second; not for me another night in Seville. Instead, I am now in Santiponce four miles north of the city - another four miles marked more by the stamp of man than the stamp of nature - where I will be spending an extra night to rest and plan for the next few days. Tomorrow I will visit the ruins of the Roman city of Itálica that are to be found here, a National Monument, a World Heritage site and the main reason for this stopover.

Day 6 - Postscript

As I sat alone in the small restaurant eating my goat's cheese salad dinner I saw what looked like a crowd forming on the street below. Upon checking, it turned out to be a procession of people - young and old, men and women - holding candles as they slowly wandered past. The waiter told me it was not practise for the Holy Week Easter celebration but some other procession and I sat down again thinking the best had passed. However, shortly after a crowd rushed in to benefit from the higher vantage point the restaurant offered and above their heads I now caught glimpses of a giant Christ effigy, clearly the main event. I'm not sure now whether I misunderstood the waiter and it was something to do with Holy Week, although I thought those celebrations started sometime next week.  I guess it will now remain a mystery. 

Day 6 - Utrera to Alcala de Guadaira (11.5 miles)

My fears from yesterday could not have been more wrong. Other than the first half hour while alongside the throng of commuters on the road from town, today has been more the sort I had hoped for. A quiet road through orange and olive groves gave way to dusty track that eventually headed across fields to Alcalá de Guadaira. No major roads or urbanisation, just open ground and bird song and the track ahead; whereas yesterday I could not wait for the day to end, days like today might go on forever. 

By late morning I was having coffee at my destination, Alcalá de la Guadaira. It is a town that from a distance seems to cling precariously to a hill, a hill dominated by fortified walls, originally Muslim but later modified under Christian rule. I wandered the walls in the afternoon, with their views over the surrounding countryside, but the main castle was sadly shut. The rest of the day slipped casually by; a cafe, a few drinks with my American host who has walked the Camino Frances and was so touched by it he now runs an albergue here, and finally dinner in a restaurant that seemed just about able to cater for someone wanting to eat before 9pm. Tomorrow I will arrive back in Seville.

The Roman Via Augusta

The Roman Via Augusta

Yesterday I saw a Roman bridge although, despite being on a route named the Via Augusta after the Roman road of that name, I am not sure the two are associated. Indeed, other than the route around the Bay of Cadiz and the town of El Cuervo which purports to lie on the route I am not sure how much contact I have had with the original Roman road; I have seen no evidence of it and from what I have read its exact route to Seville is not fully known although parts do lie under the modern Spanish road system.

Roman Bridge

The section I am walking - whether seen or not - is actually only a tiny piece of the original whole; tomorrow I will have completed just over 100 miles of what was once the longest and busiest Roman road in Hispania, stretching along the Mediterranean coast and into modern day France. Once in Seville I will then leave the Via Augusta and head north on the Via de la Plata towards Santiago de Compostela.

Day 5 - Las Cabezas de San Juan to Utrera (20 miles)

Looking into the darkness from the height of Las Cabezas this morning, urban Andalucia was plain to see; patches of light from towns and industry spread out to the horizon, linked by strings of red and white jewels, the shining lights of vehicle on major routes, with the whole scene demonstrating the triumph of development over nature. That feeling was reinforced a little later as I saw dawn framed by the huge concrete supports of a motorway flyover that my route took me I under. Not on this trip the magic of the Camino Frances with its sense of isolation and mostly tiny villages linked by a winding, white path. Here, it seems if you are not walking through an urban sprawl then you are walking towards one, and more than likely along a motorway or, like the major part of today, a railway or concrete canal. In those rare times in between when you find yourself in something approaching the countryside it is all too quickly snatched away before you can properly immerse yourself in the pleasure of it. 

Despite these frustrations I am glad I am doing this route to link to the Via de la Plata. Had I not, whenever I looked at a map of Spain I would see that unwalked section from the coast to Seville, an itch forever needing to be scratched. And I can hardly expect things to improve over the next two days as I approach that city. My hope though, is that once north of there the next part of this walk lives up to expectations.

Tonight though I am in Utrera, a small, neat town of whitewashed houses and narrow stone paved streets. I am heading out from my airy pensión to eat and relax, hopefully putting sore feet and frustrations behind me until tomorrow, my last day before Seville.

Day 4 - El Cuervo de Seville to Las Cabezas de San Juan (17.5 miles)

It was another early start into another sleeping town. But it was to be a more rewarding day than yesterday. For two hours I followed a rutted track through the darkness and towards breakfast in the village of Lebrija, the only place I would pass through before Las Cabezas. It could have been incredibly peaceful save for the dogs. 

Dotted along the road were fenced enclosures, whether smallholdings or houses was hard to tell in the dark, but most had two or three dogs, dogs that barked noisily as I approached, that ran up and down in their compound and barked as I passed, and in doing so set off dogs in more distant compounds along the track and across the fields. It was a chain reaction of barking and I was pleased to be rid of it by the time I stopped to eat in a crowded bar on the edge of Lebrija. 

After a breakfast of sandwich and coffee - I seemed to be the only person in the bar not enjoying an early morning aperitif - I watched the sun rise from Lebrija's high vantage point before following the route through the not quite rural countryside: a quiet road, a gravel path through crop fields, and by a long canal - concrete lined and more brutal than those back home that blend into the landscape rather than impose themselves upon it. A smear of cloud kept the worst of the sun away and overall the route was better than yesterday’s, more so still when I headed away from the canal and into the higher ground leading across the hills to my destination. 

I am now sitting with a drink in a bustling square in the attractive hilltop town of Las Cabezas de San Juan with its white painted buildings, narrow streets and an imposing pink and white stone church dominating the highest point. The sunshine and crowds are enticing but as my hotel room has turned out to be a fully equipped two bedroom flat that too has its attractions; I will be washing clothes and loafing on the sofa with TV before dinner and then having an early night amid its well appointed luxury in readiness for tomorrow's 20 mile leg

Day 3 - Jerez de la Frontera to El Cuervo de Sevilla (16.5 miles)

At 6am I stepped out into another sleeping city and a misty morning. For the most part it wasn’t going to be a day of dramatic views, not due to the mist, which I welcomed as protection from the sun, but because of the uninspiring nature of the day's route. At first the Camino meandered through the narrow streets of the old town heading to the long and wide out of city road but it was then that things became less engaging: an hour traipsing along that straight, palm-lined thoroughfare; then along a track by a rail line with all the rubbish and detritus that such places seem to attract; then more of the same but this time along a road that skirted a mist-hidden Jerez airport; before finally reaching a motorway - busy and noisy - and a track alongside, which I was to follow for some miles.

With the mist now burned off, if it were not for that motorway carving its way through the landscape I would have enjoyed a few miles of uninterrupted views, of rolling hills and vineyards, but that black tarmac strip receding into the distance and the constant noise proved an unavoidable intrusion and unwanted distraction. My only respite was having coffee and a sandwich in a motorway service station that the path gave access to, unusual but the only place between Jerez and El Cuervo where I could buy anything. It wasn’t until the last four miles or so to my destination that my route finally headed away from the road.

Those last four miles seemed to take an age; the increasing temperature, the weight of my rucksack and the early start were all taking their toll. But now the sound of the traffic was lost to the breeze and the white track of the Camino cut through green fields of crops and the occasional copse so the walk had become a much more enjoyable experience. Even so, with the temperature rising to 26 degrees, it was a long, tiring hour before I finally rid myself of my pack as I checked into my accommodation - a small and dark room above a typical Spanish bar - my mind set on a shower and a hearty meal. Afterwards I checked out El Cuervo, although it seems to have little to offer. All I could glean from the tourist noticeboard was that it grew up on the Roman Via Augusta road and that it is famous for its bread.

Day 2 - Puerta Real to Jerez de la Frontera (15 miles)

Yesterday evening, after relaxing from my walk, I headed out to investigate the town. Puerto Real is a place of neat, tidy streets and interesting ironwork on the building's windows; maybe this harks back to the days when it was a shipbuilding centre (although it doesn’t give the impression of industrialisation), days long since past. Now it might have a different claim to fame: I read that it is the only place in Europe where you can find chameleons. 

Another fifteen miles down and I am now in Jerez de la Frontera - a large city in a region famous for its wine - having left Puerta Real in darkness at 6.30am in an effort to avoid the worst of the day’s heat. Apart from one narrow street full of traffic, I assumed heading towards the main road and bridge to Cadiz, the town was deserted. Within an hour I was on a wide track cutting through trees and shrub in the Torunos National park with urban Andalucia seemingly a world away; the rhythmic crunch of my boots on gravel and various bird song and calls were my only accompaniment, while ahead I watched the sky change from steel grey to ribbons of pink and finally to a glass-clear blue and the promise of sun and heat later in the day. It was an agreeable way to start the morning.

For two hours I enjoyed this rural tranquility, crossing the San Pedro river on a rickety wooden bridge, looking downstream to the estuary - Cadiz port, its suspension bridge and a couple of cruise liners small and distant - and then heading to where the park's edge met the urban region of the town of Puerto Santa Maria (from where Columbus started his first voyage to the New World). An uninspiring hour followed, walking the road that skirted the town, busy with traffic and nothing but commercial buildings; soulless, concrete and utilitarian. The fact that breakfast was the highlight sums up that particular stretch, a breakfast eaten by the side of another busy roadside after crossing the river Guadalete into Puerto Santa Maria.

Once out of town, a steady three hundred foot climb alongside a forest of stunted and scrappy pines took me over the high ground that separated Santa Maria from my destination. I was met with a cooling breeze and views of industrial Andalucia in the distance on one side, farmland the other, while ahead on the horizon I could see the white, heat-hazed scar of Jerez de la Frontera some six miles distant.

Those last six miles were on a dusty track paralleling the region's main north-south motorway. Fortunately for the most part it was on an embankment, slightly above me and out of sight, although sadly not earshot. By 11.30am I had reached the very outskirts of the city but it was to be another disheartening hour of street walking before I made the centre and my hotel for the night. I am now rested and fed and my accommodation for tomorrow night is sorted. Having checked tomorrow’s forecast and noted temperatures of 27 degrees later in the afternoon I think my morning start will be even earlier than today’s.

Day 1 - Cadiz to Puerta Real (16.5 miles)

As I reflect on today's walk from the comfort of my room in Puerto Real it seems to have been a day of satisfaction tempered with vexation. Satisfaction for having completed the first day, and quicker than I had expected. Vexation because, as I was heading into Puerta Real along the edge of the bay around which I had walked some fourteen miles I could see Cadiz across the water no more than four miles away with the suspension bridge, constructed less than ten years ago, that spans that gap between there and here.

My day started just before 7.15am as I headed out into the quiet, shadowed streets of the old town and towards the cathedral. I passed the market, where traders were preparing for the day, but other than that it was me and the birds and the cool of the morning. At the start of the Camino, in the cathedral square, some passing electricity workers took my picture, lending me one of their cable grapples so that, in their words, I 'looked like a proper pilgrim' and then I was off.

Initially I followed the route as it wound through the narrow back streets but the signage was poor (I had read as much in my research) and, with no detailed route map for the town, it didn’t take long to lose the official path although I soon picked it up again at the sea front. For two miles I followed the promenade, the breaking sea and beach on my right, the new town on my left, with its low rise, pastel coloured boxes - flats and hotels designed more to maximise profit rather than to minimise impact. It was then into the main part of the walk.

Historically Cadiz was joined to the mainland by a long, thin, sandy isthmus that creates a large bay, an isthmus that now carries the main rail line and road from the mainland to the city. And alongside these runs the Camino, its white gravel track sitting between the railway and the salt marshes of the Bay of Cadiz. For over three hours I would skirt the edge of this bay open to the sun, the track receding into the distance in long straight tracts that gave no real sense of making progress, made worse by the occasional cyclist that shot past and soon became a tiny dot in the distance ahead. The marsh provided some distraction; it is a nature reserve noted for its bird life and along with swallows and a few sea birds of various sorts I saw some flamingos wading far out in the shallow waters, a reminder that, here, I am nearer to the African mainland than I am to Seville.

Forty five minutes from my destination I sheltered in the shade of a concrete flyover - the only cover from the heat of the sun I had found to that point - and when I fell into a bar in Puerto Real for coffee and a refreshing orange juice not long after I was reminded of Noel Coward's song 'Mad Dogs and Englishmen' which seemed quite fitting for how I felt.

I am now settled in the cool comfort of my pension room where my priority is now to prepare for tomorrow's leg before heading out later for dinner and a bit of exploring, hopefully by which time the sun's heat will have diminished.

Cadiz

Cadiz is regarded as the most ancient western city that is still standing and it has had a varied and interesting history. Today I thought I would try and discover some of it.

My first port of call was the Cadiz museum a few minutes walk through the back streets from my hotel. It was mainly prehistory and Roman with the latter being the focus. The Romans settled here in 206 BC and made a big impact on the existing settlement; the theatre, the remains of which I saw yesterday, could seat 10,000 people and was one of the biggest in the Empire. To add an element of eclecticism there were also some modern paintings and a selection of puppets used for entertainment in the 19th century, more interesting than it might sound.

Next it was to a site where some Phoenician remains had been uncovered. The Phoenicians founded the city, maybe as early as 1100 BC, but any remains seem largely to have been buried by the extensive Roman building works, or at least that was my understanding from the two very enthusiastic tour guides who gave me an extensive history lesson of the Phoenician/Romano history of Cadiz in Spanish. Overall more Interesting than the museum in my opinion although my head was throbbing from trying to cope with the onslaught of Spanish by the end.

After this it was a big leap forward in time and a visit to one of the two forts overlooking La Caleta beach. Santa Catalina fort was built in the 17th century to protect the city after an Anglo-Dutch fleet had captured Cadiz and destroyed 32 Spanish ships. There wasn’t much to see but the views were good.

I am now doing the last of my packing and preparing for a final night out in Cadiz. Tomorrow I begin my walk.

To The Coast

I am in Cadiz. From Seville it was a nearly two hour journey by train to reach this southern coast city, a journey that passed through places with names I recognised from the route of my forthcoming trek and in which I watched pleasingly flat ground roll past in between. With tomorrow my only one full day here I made the most of this afternoon: checking the market, visiting the cathedral and the Roman theatre, finding the beginning of my walk and wandering the narrow, car free lanes of the old town. When everything closed mid afternoon I headed back to my hotel to investigate that underrated Spanish institution, the siesta.

In the evening I again set out to explore. As I stepped out into the dusk I was met with the evening buzz of Spanish streets. Even though it was early for Spain - some of the restaurants had yet to open - there was still a busyness and a palpable sense of joy: children playing in the nearby park; the sound of laughter and conversation rising from the street bars - all sounds made by people rather than traffic. Locals were wandering the streets fitting in comfortably with the evening’s general busyness and a handful of tourists were working out how to. And everywhere the steady drone of chatter, no raised voices, no one dominating, just a steady, constant backdrop to the evening. It was an atmosphere that embraced you rather than distanced you, not here the anonymity felt in many another country’s city streets; how could anyone feel lonely in Spain?

Later I headed to the nearby La Caleta beach to watch the sunset (Halle Berry walked from the 'Havana' sea here in Die Another Day). It is a place that has apparently inspired artists over the generations and those of an artistic temperament were represented this evening by the lovers, the book readers and the guitar players dotted around the sand. But sadly, with the last of the sun's rays lighting the beach, the majority by far just sat there immersed in their mobile phones.

More Seville

My last full day in Seville before heading south and I wanted to get a local SIM card, some medicines for my first aid kit and visit the local Camino office to glean any further information I could. But first I wanted to catch some more sights. I headed out, grabbed a coffee and then headed towards the river and the 'Triana' district. However, before I got there I noticed a queue leading into what looked like a big wooden door in a wall. Being British I couldn’t help but join and I was rewarded with the magnificent interior of a 17th century Baroque church: it was wall to wall frescoes, paintings and ornate and gilded carvings. Well worth the ten minutes I managed inside before it closed.

It was then over the river to Triana, an old working district of Seville apparently known for producing bull fighters and Flamenco artists of renown. Wandering its colourful, narrow and quiet streets felt a million miles away from the frenetic madness just across the river. I stopped for coffee in the market (no tomato shortage here) and visited another church which had been recommended before heading along the river bank and back to the historic centre.

No salad shortage here!

Triana

Triana

       

It is my last day here in Seville and I still had need to prepare for my walk. As a result I spent the evening walking across town from one side to the other: from Vodafone shop (to sort a problem on my Spanish SIM), to a rather questionable part of town to find the Seville Pilgrims' office (to check for any additional useful information) and then to the final point of a triangle on the map, an out of the way place I had been recommended for music and food. Unfortunately, it turned out to be cash only. The music and food would not start for a while and I only had enough to cover one beer. By the time I had got back to the busier streets, where I might find a cash machine, I had also found a tempting tapas bar which drew me in for this, my final evening, although sadly without the music.