Day 39 - Puebla de Sanabria to Lubián (20 miles)

With twenty miles to do I set off at 7.15am with André and Tova, a Danish woman who I had originally met in Zamora. We followed the road out of town and around the base of the hill on which sat the old village; the official path actually went up into old Sanabria only to come back down again further round and slightly along the road, but having made that ascent yesterday we all agreed we could miss it this morning. We walked through woodland and alongside a small but noisy stream before paralleling a long, straight and thankfully quiet road that stretched off to the distance and where our different paces eventually had us spread out along its length. The purple outline of hills sat on the horizon as I walked, slowly resolving itself into detail as I progressed: a blank purple smudge gradually separated itself into distinguishable valleys and slopes; patches of green began to stand out, eventually becoming woods and trees; and finally, to complete the picture, emerging grey patches of rock resolved themselves into crags with definable cracks and fissures.

It was a while later that I left the road to follow a woodland track, more oak but now mixed with pine as I climbed the foot slopes of those hills that I had been walking towards earlier. Streams and small waterfalls made an appearance, sometimes visible at other times only heard, and slowly the hills that had previously been at a distance began to surround me. I dropped down into a narrow valley and followed the line of a stream along the valley floor; it was a shaded and tranquil world of trees, singing birds and the rush and gurgle of fast flowing water and one where I could quite happily have spent the rest of the day.

I left the woods and broke into open ground at which point a more unnatural element was stamped upon the landscape: first a high speed rail line and then main roads, curving gracefully as they sat high up on their vast concrete supports that allowed them to straddle valleys before burrowing their way through inconvenient hillsides.  Meanwhile I weaved my way underneath them, up and around valley heads and over ridge lines only to maybe then join them again on the other side. At other times my route kept them hidden from view but not out of earshot; it would be some time before I eventually escaped their presence.

My last hour was again a track through woods, a track lined with timeless, moss covered boulders like giant green sponges lost from the sea, and weaving along the slope of yet another small valley. Somewhere below I could hear the dancing sound of a small river while my route crossed thin rivulets that were feeding it from above. As I emerged from the trees and entered the fringes of Lubián, the albergue almost the first building I encountered, it felt as if I were in a village in the middle of nowhere, nestled in the landscape, surrounded by hills and with narrow car free streets and no modern trappings. A bar just up from the albergue afforded great views down an untouched valley and I sat outside drinking beer and wine, chatting with fellow walkers and being beaten by Patrick at chess as we whiled the evening away.

Day 38 - Asturianos to Puebla de Sanabria (9 miles)

Asturianos is another small village so within minutes of leaving the albergue this morning I was back out in the countryside. It was to be a day of two distinct landscapes, the first was mostly woodland but instead of the wider gravel paths of yesterday, today I was following thin grassy tracks which left me with a sense of being enclosed by the surroundings through which I walked, a greater sense of intimacy with nature. Initially I could see the purple outline of hills in the distance, rolls of cloud clinging to small areas of the ridge line, but before long I was immersed in the heart of woods on those narrow tracks with only a carpet of dried leaves beneath my feet and more spindly and lichen encrusted trees around me. From the fallen leaves through which I walked they seemed to be some sort of oak but their stunted appearance and thinnesses was nothing like the majestic trees I was used to seeing back home. 

The back half of the walk saw a different landscape, one of rolling moorland with its yellow gorse and purple heathers and with the backdrop of the hills now much closer. The track was now road but it was narrow and empty of cars and the beauty and colour of the surroundings provided distraction. My route took me under the nearby motorway as I worked my way round a small valley and an hour later I had reached its head and looped back through the moorland landscape to cross the motorway once again but this time over a bridge which gave a good view down a long valley to Puebla del Sanabria some two miles away. It was nestled at the base of the valley slopes and the old town and its castle sitting atop a small hill were clearly visible.

Today was a short walk so I had plenty of time to explore what is billed as one of Spain's most beautiful villages. A trip to the health centre, to translate for André the Frenchman who needed to check a blister, followed by coffee and Tapas were the prelude to an exploration of the old town. After crossing the river that winds around the base of the hill it was a steep ascent up steps to the top and into old Sanabria. It certainly is beautiful and, much like Cáceres, the old town appears untouched by modernity with its old cobbled streets and wooden balconied stone houses. The day was rounded off by making use of the albergue kitchen to prepare a dinner of salad and pasta which we enjoyed with a bottle of local wine before resting in readiness for a longer day tomorrow.

Day 37 - Rionegro de Puente to Asturianos (16 miles)

Today I had no need to rush as it was not too long a day and there are plenty of beds at my destination. Others seemed to have different ideas so, when I walked out of the albergue at 7.30am, I was almost the last to leave. I left the village and began a long walk across shrubby fields with a short stretch along motorway thrown in for good measure, the motorway that according to the hospitalera yesterday had sucked passing traffic from Rionegro de Puente and with it the life of the village. After two hours I stopped for coffee at the next village along, caught up with fellow walkers and then pressed slowly on in the company of a young Polish guy.

Before long we were passing through an expansive landscape of white gorse dotted with spindly, lichen encrusted trees and amongst that the collapsed remnants of dry stone wall pens harking back to a previous age and use of this area. It was a landscape that reminded me of New Forest moorland back home. Occasionally the trees gave way to small patches of cleared ground in which villages nestled, villages with only a handful of houses and where the most prominent building was always the small stone church. As the afternoon wore on the balance slowly changed until the trees dominated and the wide gravel track of the Camino wound its way through lichen encrusted woods dotted with patches of white gorse.

Other than the occasional village or stretch of road it was like this until we finally reached the albergue at Asturianos. Set back from the village and integrated into a giant sports hall, it is large, clean and modern. And it has a proper bar which seems to relate to the sports hall since it is frequented by locals and walker alike. Not long after arriving, and after a beer in the bar, I walked back down to the village for lunch in the company of Patrick and two others, the same price as yesterday but nothing whatsoever in comparison. 

It is now 9.30pm and the bar is deserted of pilgrims, although a couple of locals are making good use of its facilities. I guess like yesterday they are asleep and even though it is still light outside I am minded to join them.

Day 36 - Olleros de Tera to Rionegro de Puente (9 miles)

Today had everything: peace, beauty, an interesting debate and superb food. And all in one short walk. It will be a hard day to top.

I started late, making the most of a comfortable bed and in the knowledge I was at least an hour and a half ahead of the fastest and earliest of my colleagues from yesterday. A wide track took me through the smallholdings that seem to make up farming in this area then into a long section of shrubland before coming out by a dam across the river Tera and the massive reservoir it created.

I cross the dam and then join the shore on the other side, walking around the reservoir edge with its calm waters and gentle reflections. It was still early and I was completely alone with my thoughts, no sound other than the birds and everything totally tranquil; it felt as if I owned this morning. Again there was evidence of the fires from three years back: the black skeletons of trees standing stark against a blanket of yellow flowers that covered the ground between, a contrast of beauty unfortunately born of something tragic. 

Again my pace matched the mood of the morning and it was over two hours before I walked through the few houses that made up the village of Villar de Farfon, the final one of which was a small stone albergue where I aimed to get coffee. It was to be an hour and a quarter later before I left. The albergue is owned by a South African missionary and over coffee we somehow got into a wide ranging discussion, kicked off I think by his view that King Charles being crowned as 'Head of Faith' rather than 'Head of The Faith' would be the downfall of British Christianity and with it the liberal standards Britain enjoys. We covered a lot of ground - how centuries of Christianity can still define a more secularised nation, his experience in India and the Middle East, the comparative tolerance of different religions and a host of related areas - I can not fault the man for his passion but when I left I had not been convinced that Christianity was the answer to the world's problems nor that - and I have to admit this was implied rather than stated - if I were not walking the Camino for Jesus then I should be. But it was a fascinating discussion with, at least for me, some interesting insight. On leaving I thanked my host for an interesting debate but I got the impression from his reaction that, unlike me, he saw it not as a discourse between us to explore a subject but an opportunity I failed to take to embrace his truth.

Coffee stop

Another beautiful stretch followed, this time through open woodland, green and healthy with no evidence of fire, and in just over an hour I was in the albergue of the small village of Rionegro de Puente. It is an old medieval pilgrim hostel, beautifully renovated, with plenty of space and beds. Only one other walker was there and together we went to the restaurant opposite for lunch as soon as it opened. And what a treat. The 'Pilgrim's Menu' - normally a simple affair - was a four course meal plus wine and coffee and digestif, beautifully presented and of a standard I have had in few restaurants. I had been told earlier by the missionary that we underestimated the regard in which pilgrims were held by the locals and I can only think that this restaurant owner fell into that category, sharing his passion for his food with passing pilgrims for only fifteen euros.

The rest of the day drifted slowly away; a walk to the village shop, a visit to see the church and shared beers in the albergue kitchen with other walkers who had made their way here as the afternoon wore on. When I left the simple but comfortable sitting room at 9.30pm with the aim of preparing my rucksack for the morning I found the dormitory in darkness and everybody asleep. It seemed sensible to follow their example.

Day 35 - Tábara to Olleros de Tera (22 miles)

At just after 7am people started drifting away from breakfast to begin the small tsunami of bed-desperate pilgrims rushing to the next albergue at Santa Marta de Tera fifteen miles away with its twelve beds, not enough for the eighteen people in this albergue let alone the other pilgrims we knew to be dotted around in the town. I had already decided that I would be doing another long day: firstly I did not want to be part of the rush for a bed; and secondly the village has no restaurant so anybody staying at the albergue would have to buy their own food to eat for tonight. Another seven miles on there was a small albergue in a village with a bar and restaurant and this was the one I initially had my eye on.

The first few miles took me - and the little trail of people I was following - through fields and along the bottom of a wide and lightly wooded valley. I began to see evidence of the forest fires that hit the area three years ago: wide expanses of charred and bare trees across the landscape standing black and stark amid the grasses and flowers that had been able to make a comeback since the devastation. It had clearly been extensive. 

Most of today was along wide tracks and a little road until Santa Marta de Tera at which point other walkers stopped while I continued along the Camino; I wanted to press on as I had heard some people talking about getting taxis to the next albergue if unable to find a bed. I had also by now decided to do an extra mile or so as there was yet another albergue slightly further along with good reports in my guide book.

My route now took me along the river Tera which incorporates its name into a few villages in the area. However the path was mostly set back from the water which as a result was often out of sight behind trees. I was also walking along wide tracks that were clearly there to support the local gravel industry, evidence of which I would catch occasional glimpses of through the surrounding plantations. As a river walk it did not compare with yesterday. 

Within two hours I had reached my destination, the tiny village of Olleros de Tera, had a beer and found the albergue. It was locked. The sign on the door was promising saying the albergue was open and with a contact number but it all proved fruitless. After an hour happily waiting and lazing outside in the sun I thought I had better take my lack of a bed for the night seriously.  So I am now in a small guest house where I have a room to myself and the helpful owner has given me access to her washing machine. It’s a little more than the six euros I would have paid in the albergue but a lot more comfortable I am sure. 

After making the most of my unexpected luxury I headed into the village for dinner. Olleros is tiny and seems to cling to a traditional past: the men sit in the bar playing cards, everyone acknowledges you and many of the buildings, including homes, are still of mud and stone. I climbed the open bell tower of the aging brick church and looked out across the village, enjoying its quiet charm. I am pleased I ended up here. 

Tomorrow I can have a short day.

Day 34 - Fontanillas de Castro to Tábara (22 miles)

Today it is thirty-four days since I started walking. On the Camino Frances five years ago this would have been the day I arrived at Santiago de Compostela but on this trip, with five hundred miles done, I still have half as many yet to do before I get to walk into that cathedral square this time round. I guess though that it is in some way fitting that this should be the day I start to head west towards that city. 

This morning after two hours of walking I reached Granja de Moreruela and I left the Via de la Plata. That route continues north for another four days of walking until Astorga where it ends and there walkers can pick up the Camino Frances. Instead I am now following the Camino Sanabrés in a more westerly direction. I am told the Sanabrés is beautiful so this, and the opportunity it offers to walk some new parts of Spain, makes it preferable to connecting up with a route I have already done.

I had hoped that being off a route based on Roman road would be the end of those long, straight stretches of pebble strewn and dusty gravel tracks that stretch endlessly off into the distance and pound the feet. Sadly that was not the case and the first and last part of today’s Sanabrés route featured some such miles through a dry and empty landscape. But sandwiched between these was a beautiful walk along the edge of the rocky and steep sided valley of the river Esla. I crossed the river over the beautiful Quintos bridge - a narrow series of stone arches reaching across the water - and joined a rough track clinging to the valley's edge. It climbed through shrub to the valley top before continuing on flatter ground through bark woods and fields dotted with the occasional ruin of an old stone shelter. By lunchtime I had reached the tiny village of Faramontanos de Tábara where a few of its buildings seemed to be destined for the same fate as those shelters and where I had originally hoped to spend the night. Instead I found an open bar, had their last slice of tortilla and continued the last five miles to Tábara in the heat of the afternoon, and where I am once again in a ‘traditional' albergue. On this occasion however I managed to get the last of eighteen beds so it’s a bit busier than last night.

The communal dinner was mostly French and Germans, but Italy and Poland were also represented. It was hearty and nourishing but not as good as yesterday’s. But like yesterday wine and digestifs were included and by 9pm people were drifting towards their beds.

Once again my plans for tomorrow have been upset by the closure of the albergue at my intended destination. Instead of nine miles and a good rest I might have to do fourteen, although even that would not be too bad. Except the albergue at that village has only twelve beds and I expect most of the eighteen people here will have it in their sights. I don’t want to be setting off early in a race to get a bed so it might end up as yet another day of over twenty miles for me, a distance I know I can do when I need to but which I am now trying to get a break from.

The Curse of the Siesta

When I arrived tired, hungry and sore into Fontanillas de Castro I was beginning to wonder if the albergue I had expected to find there was closed down. I had read it was at the beginning of the village but had walked almost the whole length before finding it. When the hospitalero answered the door with a big smile and a 'welcome pilgrim' it was a great relief after seven hours of walking and thoughts of having to camp were happily dismissed from my mind. It was also good to hear that this albergue was run on ‘traditional' lines: a communal dinner, a bed and breakfast provided and all for a donation on the part of the traveller. I had seen no sign of a bar as I walked into the village and I had not managed to eat anything substantial for lunch so having everything provided without the need to leave the albergue was a blessing.

The trouble with long walking days in Spain is that you can fall foul of the Spanish siesta, something some of the smaller villages seem to take very seriously. You may find yourself walking for some hours, arriving early afternoon at the first place where you might eat and drink before continuing your journey only to find the bars, restaurants and shops all shut up since an hour before and not opening again until much later. The consequence is that on shorter days you might arrive in time to rest and eat even though you may not need to but on those longer days, when feeding your body becomes more important, you may not get the opportunity to do so. 

This is more or less how I was when arriving at Fontanillas after hours of walking and nothing much since breakfast. Although I had found a bar open in the previous village eight miles before it was too late for food and I had only a tiny tapas plate with my drink. I could have really done with more. Of course everyone carries food in their rucksack for just such occasions but nothing quite matches sitting down to something substantial to eat after many miles of walking and with the knowledge that there are more miles to come. 

Day 33 - Zamora to Fontanillas de Castro (20 miles)

Today was a bit of a mixed bag in terms of the route. There were a few negatives: it was a late start because I had to wait until 10am before the shop opened for me to buy my new phone cable; parts of the route took me through the industrial outskirts of Zamora; and there were long stretches alongside a new motorway the building of which has changed the Camino route and not for the better. I also decided to add an extra eight miles to an already late day in order to try and get ahead of the large number of walkers that seemed to have gathered in Zamora. On the plus side though, parts of the route were further from roads than I had initially expected with a resulting sense of isolation and the albergue, which I reached in the early evening, is comfortable and quiet - other than the Spanish hosts there are only three other people here - and it provided a well needed dinner; my plans for lunch at the village of Montamarta where others finished the day were foiled by the Spanish siesta.

Overall I was glad to put the day behind me; much of it was stony track which was hard on the feet and on balance the road views outweighed those of the countryside, a countryside that for the most part was endless, flat and open and with a sense of detachment and space. It also seemed to me that departing later led to a more tiring day than would have been usual for the distance I eventually covered. Unfortunately it will probably be another long day tomorrow as I am again faced with a choice of accommodation at either six or twenty one miles; I found out at dinner that the albergue I had planned to use that lay in between has closed. On the plus side though I will not be setting out at 11am as I did today and we have been told that much of the route is remote and beautiful.

Day 32 - To Zamora (5 miles)

I had originally planned another two night stayover in Zamora because I had been told it was beautiful with wonderful Romanesque architecture. However, a Spaniard suggested to me that two nights was in his view excessive; one day would be plenty if I arrived early enough. I am glad I took his advice; whereas Salamanca and Cáceres were cities of beautiful architecture Zamora is a place with beautiful architecture. Well worth seeing but, like Merida with its Roman gems, you sometimes have to seek it out.

The walls of Zamora old town sit on cliffs with the Rio Douro snaking its way around the base. I arrived at the albergue just inside the walls at 9am after an hour and a half of walking and a restless night. I dropped off my rucksack - I could not actually go in until 3pm - and set off exploring. Everywhere was shut: it is Sunday. Breakfast would have to wait until later and a phone shop until tomorrow; I have a broken charging cable and a dying mobile. I bumped into Bernadette, a Swiss walker, map in hand, and she happily let me join her as she explored the city: the old walls, Romanesque churches and cathedral (we were eventually asked to leave, I’m not sure why but I think maybe my companion ignored the 'no photographs' request), the castle and finally down to the river to see the old water mill buildings. Everything that was not a church was shut (and some of the churches were too). I bought her coffee and orange juice for her troubles and then she headed off to continue her journey. 

There is another reason I wanted to explore Zamora. It is a town where my route north crosses that of Laurie Lee's journey south just before the Spanish civil war and described in 'As I Walked Out One Midsummer's Morning'. I loved the book when I first read it, unaware of the author or his history (I bought it in more ignorant days simply because I loved the title). Last night I reread the section about Zamora but there is little that relates specifically to the city. However, as I sat having coffee and looking out over the main square a little later, I wondered where exactly in that plaza he had rested on first arriving and just how much of the city he would have recognised today.

By the time I was back at the albergue I had added the town museum and a light lunch to the list of things done. A long awaited shower, a change of clothes and a short siesta and I felt ready to face the rest of the day. I fell into the company of Jesús, an older Spanish guy, which definitely gave my Spanish a good workout and we explored a little more of the city together before rounding off the evening with a pizza and a quick walk back to the albergue before the 10pm lock out.

Day 31 - El Cubo de la Tierra del Vino to near Zamora (16 miles)

Today was everything that yesterday was not. An ever present road was replaced by countryside; the non stop chatting of a walking companion was replaced by solitary silence and reflection; and the fast pace that he set - something I accepted yesterday given the unattractive nature of the route - was substituted with a gentle walk to make the most of the morning. In short, I was again back in a more natural landscape and embracing the tranquility offered. 

I spent the morning wandering through a patchwork of small fields and colour: the rich brown of freshly tilled earth; the bright yellow of rapeseed; and green wheat, caught by the breeze and shimmering in the sun. Short stumpy vines in perfect lines and a few trees added to this landscape before me. I walked the straight, white gravel track that cut through it to the horizon, watching clouds blow across the sky while behind me the sun on my back lit everything in the bright and warming light of morning.

By midday I had reached the tiny village of Villanueva de Campéan where I made for the cafe to kill a couple of hours before heading to within about six miles of Zamora, the next main town. I then planned to camp for the night which would allow me to arrive in Zamora early tomorrow and give me a full day exploring what I am told is a beautiful place. Various walkers from yesterday were either at the cafe or arrived while I was there; a German who I understand spends his life walking Caminos; Patrick, a Swiss resident who I got on well with yesterday; and Andre, a French man who is capturing his journey in paint rather than words and who did a quick sketch of me talking to Patrick. After a couple of hours of beer and coffee and comings and goings of various walkers I set off again. 

By the time I decided to look for a camp site I was in flat and open farming country with nowhere offering a place with any privacy away from the route. I have had to accept a flat area on a wider part of the Camino but it is late enough in the day that I should not be disturbed. I have dined on canned cockles, fruit and nuts and sat reading while waiting for darkness to fall. It is going to be a long wait.

Day 30 - Salamanca to El Cubo de la Tierra del Vino (23 miles)

I said goodbye to Salamanca at 6.30am and as I headed across the Plaza Mayor and towards the road north out of the city the few people I saw on the streets seemed to be the remains of last night’s revellers rather than today’s early starters. 

Today's walking was to remind me of my first week heading from Cadiz. It took me an hour and a half to get out of the city and away from the main road I had been following to do so. But it would be a short lived respite from highway and traffic; the route never strayed far from the road throughout the day. Today's accommodation choices were to an albergue after ten miles or to the one after at twenty three miles. Initially I had planned on the former as I am in no rush and have no need to do longer routes day after day. However, I arrived at the small and uninspiring town of Calzada de Valdunciel quite early and even after coffee and passing time with a couple of other walkers in an otherwise empty bar I was left wondering how I would fill the rest of the day in a ghost town with nothing much to offer. So I headed off again in the company of another British guy I had met earlier that morning to cover the next uninspiring thirteen miles.

A short break from motorway 

Albergue - painted by French walker

After some three hours alongside or near one of the region's major arterial roads, and a game of 'hunt the alburgue' because of signposts pointing to long shut hostels, I am now in a comfortable albergue in Cubo de la Tierra del Vino (The Bucket of the Land of Wine). Yes, this is a wine producing area and the albergue sold bottles of the local wine so it seemed silly not to try one. The owner took great delight in explaining in detail how the deep roots of the vine, the land, the altitude and the weather come together to produce 'this special wine', a wine he said that was for drinking and enjoying on its own merits rather than with a meal. So I took him at his word and, sharing with a couple of colleagues in the albergue, we finished the very tasty bottle before dinner. And it was far better than the house wine our eclectic group of British, Serbian, German and French walkers were served with our meal later that evening.

Day 29 - Salamanca

When I was looking at a map of Spain before starting this trip I thought Salamanca would be the point where I felt I was on the home stretch. I have definitely made big inroads into the Spanish mainland but in reality I am under fifty miles past the halfway point of a 780 mile journey on foot. I still have to go around the top of Portugal before heading west to Santiago de Compostela so the end is still a while away. Not that I am complaining; I have seen some interesting and beautiful places and met some wonderful people and I am sure more is to come. In the meantime, today I spent my time enjoying further the delights of Salamanca.

I thought I had a late start this morning until I had been sitting in a cafe alone for half an hour before the morning rush began. Other than soaking up the city vibe I wanted to visit the two cathedrals that this city has - when the new cathedral was built in the 16th century it was decided to build alongside the older 12th century one rather than replace it - so it was to there I headed after coffee. The newer building is grand and impressive and I’m sure everything its architects intended it to be with its soaring stone columns and sense of space, the whole richly decorated with gold and brightly painted chapels. But I preferred the squat, simpler lines of the adjacent older cathedral, solid and reliable with it’s no nonsense stone walls decorated in places with faded paintings; a down to earth lady compared to her dandy neighbour next door. Afterwards I wandered the wide pedestrian streets of Salamanca, high walls either side holding the sun at bay. The streets would break out into large plazas, cypress trees and small green lawns at their centre. Around them churches, university buildings or old palaces, ornate and imposing. Salamanca is a city I would definitely return to.

New Cathedral 

Old Cathedral 

I finished the day by the Plaza Mayor sharing dinner with Eva, the Belgian cyclist I met four days ago; it is as busy in the evenings as it is during the day. Afterwards I wandered the teeming streets back towards my hotel for one more night of private comfort before I start walking again in the morning.