My hotel is closed for Descanso, which probably means innkeeper's Sunday, so breakfast in a nearby bar, for the first (and definitely not the last) time with tostada with mantequilla (or rather inedible margarina) and mermelada and a gran café con leche. At least something sweet in my stomach, almost like being at home.
The Spanish guy from the first hostel is having breakfast next to me. I'll probably meet him for the last time because he wants to hike 34 km to Monesterio (as does Nina, we'll hardly see her again).
And lost again
I feel an inner urge to get started, a phenomenon that will accompany me from now on (like many others). The stage is short, so it's pure relaxation after yesterday's effort. The village remains behind me, the path goes uphill for a while, then it becomes level. A gentle wind, barely noticeable, caresses my face. Where the hell could there be any better place in the world than here?
But it only takes half an hour when I find myself standing in front of a gate, wondering where the signposts have gone. A grinning motorist points me back to the right turn-off. Morning is also a time for thinking, Landolt!
Pigs and goats and horses and an ostrich
It is a path to enjoy. As I'm probably the last one on the road again anyway, there's no need to hurry. Now I am accompanied, as I am for the next few hundred kilometers, by extensive oak forests, with the hiking trail in the middle as the only sign of civilization, so to speak.
A few delicate clouds garnish it deep blue sky, it's imperial weather, so to speak. Just right for the hiker who once again gets the impression that he is in the right place at exactly the right time.
And pigs are grunting in the middle of the holm oaks, the suppliers of the famous Jamon Iberico Pata Negra. They enjoy their happy life in the midst of dirt and stinking pools, but their fate of ending up as one of the world's best hams is thankfully unknown to them.
The path through forests is pure enjoyment, it goes up and down quickly, sometimes there are small pools in which not only pigs, but also horses and goats can cool off from the heat. But there, very surprisingly, an ostrich. He doesn't seem to really know how he got there. A lonely ostrich, you want to take it with you and bring it back to Australia.
Of course I miss the turnoff again and once again I find myself standing in front of a small river that doesn't match the map on my phone at all.
There are now a number of cattle gates, the first of a few hundred to open and close over the next few days and weeks.
A few kilometers and inclines up and down later appears El Real de la Jara up, a church tower shining under an overcast sky and far above, actually, a castle.
El Real de la Jara
But then I'm actually there, the sleepy town greets me once again without anyone, without a sound - siesta! Something that will always irritate me because it means that no bar, no restaurant, no shop is open. Anyway, I definitely find Carmen's hotel.
Jara apparently means rock rose. Those would be, unfortunately in the subjunctive, those wonderfully fragrant flowers along the way. At this time of year you have to imagine the smell, which is difficult the pigs not really rosy smell.
In any case, as I learn from the travel guide, the place was conquered by Christians in the 14th century, and that's how El Real got its castle. I'm not necessarily a lover of old walls, but first of all, it's still early in the afternoon and I have time, lots of time.
So I climb the path to the castle, admire the walls and imagine their warlike past. But then thirst sets in, the daily reward of a beer is pending, but there is actually an open bar where, not surprisingly, I meet Frank and Lin.
The evening is celebrated in the same restaurant, everyone is present, the food is delicious, the atmosphere is perfect, the highlight is Frank's surprising talent for singing what appears to be a Spanish romance, and even more surprising is his paint box, with which he practices Chinese characters with Lin .
You can see – our hiking combination couldn’t be better. Wine, women and song! What can you ask for more!
From Real de la Jara to Monesterio
I actually don't want to leave this lovely little town; it exudes something that we will encounter more often in the next few weeks. A serene calm, away from the restless world, here life passes at its eternal leisurely pace.
I'm out early, which is of course relative, because real hikers or pilgrims set off much earlier.
Shortly after leaving town, there are signs indicating where we are and what awaits us next. But since the sky has put on its Sunday clothes again, I don't really care.
Yesterday's weather will be even surpassed this morning. This is what it seems like when real angels like us travel or hike. The sky is as blue as it can be, not even the tiniest cloud questions the splendor on display.
The Castle of the Torres
It doesn't take long on the wonderful path when the ruins of a castle appear in the morning light. It's about that Castle of the Torres, a true gem. It was built at the end of the 14th century, but a large part of the walls and towers still remain.
And important – this is exactly where the border between Andalusia and Extremadura runs. And we will traverse its entire length.
Not that you'd notice the difference right away - it's just as hot as yesterday, the paths are shady or sunburnt or straight or curvy - nothing new beneath the sun.
Even a painter in his best dreams couldn't imagine the show provided being more beautiful. Walls against a deep blue sky, illuminated by a gentle morning sun. One could say that the director of this spectacle has hit the right moment.
Grunting pigs, cows from a picture book
Why do cows have a different aura at sunrise, as if they were part of this everyday miracle. You've seen them a thousand times, and yet these pictures are different, as if they came from a picture book. Just beautiful.
What you now cross are the so-called Dehesas, this landscape consisting of stone and cork oak forests, typical of Extremadura. The trees protect the soil from erosion and the grazing animals find the shade they long for. The Dehesas did not arise naturally but rather a landscape that has been shaped by humans for 4.000 years.
And the path is perfect, I'm making astonishingly fast progress, and the feeling is almost perfect. I feel unduly rewarded.
Monstery is apparently the capital of Jamon Iberico (there is even a ham museum). Agriculture in Extremadura is poor due to the climatic conditions, so this explains the breeding of animals and the consumption of meat, which is, so to speak, the daily bread of the residents.
Shortly before the city I meet my hiking group, Lin, Frank, Soraya. We reach the place and while they go to the usual hostel, I enter my reserved hotel.
Looking for a beer
A previously unknown phenomenon - a rude, dismissive hotelier who apparently judges me to be disturbing his afternoon rest and more or less dismissively shows me the way to the room, which is okay but does not have WiFi. I'm not surprised, it fits perfectly.
Then an endless wait for a beer begins, but even searching intensively throughout the town doesn't bring any results, so I sit down on a bench, somewhat annoyed (of which there are numerous, probably intended for all the thirsty people waiting for a beer).
The stores are also closed, and as my provisions are completely eaten, my thirst for beer is joined by hypoglycemia, which doesn't make the morose man on the bench any more peaceful. But maybe I'm lucky, because an old man in a wheelchair passes by and I address him, asking for an open store. He nods, tells me to follow him and drives ahead, very sloooowly, to lead me to a store that is, as expected, closed.
From Monesterio to Fuente de Cantos
When I look for an open bar, it's still pitch black, but I actually find it. A few still rather sleepy faces lean over the bar, which doesn't stop them from loudly exchanging the latest rumors or whatever is being discussed at this time.
As a stranger, they willingly make room for me in the illustrious circle, so that I actually receive my first longed-for churros with my coffee.
You would think that nothing could go wrong on a day like this.
A prologue in orange
Even when you start, the darkness is reluctant to dissipate. So you have to get to the right junction, then the path follows a long natural path between walls.
As already stated yesterday, the sunrise is firmly in the hands of the cows, who, little overwhelmed by the daily miracle, devote themselves to their munching activity under the trees. The sun has once again made all the effort and initially, as a prologue so to speak, dapples the clouds with an orange coat.
A distant dream
The path winds up and down now, but I feel good and am making quick progress. I'm hiking through a paradisiacal landscape, but you can't have an aversion to desolate, deserted, burnt areas, otherwise the paradisiacal feeling disappears very quickly. But you can imagine the same area in spring, green, fertile, fragrant.
Fuentas de Cantos can be seen in the distance, many kilometers away. The stage from Monesterio to Fuente is once again one where you think you are very close, but the city is a mirage, a chimera, clearly designed for the annoyance and frustration of the hikers, who still feel fooled .
A sheep stampede
Then, as the travel guide announced, a stream named Arroyo de las Canadas, just right for a lunch break with bread and jamon. And there arrive Frank and Soraya. Lin seems to be having more problems with her blisters than feared.
The term “Stampede” is actually known from old westerns. With John Wayne or Charles Bronson or Gary Cooper.
Little is known about a stampede with sheep, but that is exactly what amazes us a short time later. At the beginning only distant bleating can be heard, then a few sheep noses appear, still far away, but they are only the vanguard of around 1500 sheep (as the shepherd tells us). An avalanche of brown and white dirty sheep makes the world tremble. They rush past us, we can no longer understand our own words, and attack the river. Crazy!
And now that Lin also arrives, albeit with foot problems, we continue together.
A thunderstorm and wet laundry
There are only about 7 km left to Fuente de Cantos, but our chatter makes us forget to concentrate on the path. So we miss a turnoff and have to walk the last few kilometers of the road despite Lin's pain.
The city is much bigger than expected, which is the opposite of our hotel, which is more of a hostel. The rooms are small and very basic, but what the hell. Frank and I share a room, we wash our clothes in the washbasin and hang them up on the terrace, which later turns out to be a big mistake.
The sky has darkened, as we take an aperitif in the restaurant but then the weather strikes and shows what it is capable of even in heat-accustomed Extremadura. Needless to say, we think about our laundry, but first we eat at Baobab, enjoy tapas and give our laundry no second thought.
Not surprisingly, we find our laundry scattered on the floor, completely wet and dirty.
But Frank took precautions with a clothesline and pegs, so we just hang up our laundry in the room. A sight for the gods!
The only thing that disturbs our sleep is the weather forecast for the next day.
Matching song: Wet Wet Wet - Love is all around
And here the Camino continues - from Fuente de Cantos to Merida
