As the saying goes, we should celebrate the festivities as they come, or something of the sort. This might be particularly true for this Sunday morning, as the day really does seem to have put on its festive clothes. The sky is just as blue as yesterday, the early morning air is fresh and smells of ... Sunday.
Caceres
I'm up surprisingly early, and to my surprise I even find an attractive restaurant right next to the hotel and fill my stomach with churros.
I don't think a day could start any better.
An Irish Sunday concert
The Plaza Mayor is crowded, I get the impression that the whole city is on its feet. Even from a distance I can hear sounds that sound familiar, Irish sounds, clearly.
So the festival is in full swing, people are gathering and don't want to miss out on the spectacle.
To my astonishment, the number of musicians who have made themselves comfortable on the stairs and on chairs still exceeds the number of spectators. It seems that more than 50 musicians have gathered here to celebrate Irish music. Where they all come from is a mystery to me.
People sit on the steps or on chairs, old and young, men and women, violins are, as is usual in Irish folk music, the most important instruments, but there are also drums and other percussion instruments, wind instruments and others that I can't identify.
Eventually, a space is cleared, dark and very festively dressed ladies and gentlemen line up as a dance is announced. I can imagine what will follow. You don't have to teach the Spanish how to dance. While the music transports me to the middle of an Irish village, the dancers move to the sound and rhythm of the folk music.
In the meantime, numerous spectators have gathered, the applause and shouts are loud and enthusiastic, and you could watch for hours and daydream about other worlds.
And once again it occurs to me that I'm not just traveling for the sake of hiking, but that it's also a kind of escape from the banal existence at home. And you always hope that the escape will take you to exactly these places where you suddenly notice what is missing in your well-ordered life.
It's Sunday morning again, time for all sorts of philosophical reflections, which I sometimes give a depth that they don't deserve. But that's the way it is when you're traveling and hiking, you have time for different considerations.
Afternoon with beer and heat
The city has retained its medieval appearance to this day. Despite yesterday's extensive sightseeing, it is worth discovering the smaller, less important details contributing just as much to the city's image.
I've always loved to be strolling in cities, big ones like Delhi. or Buenos Aires or Mandalay, but also in smaller ones like Leh or Luang Prabang or Cartagena.
And so it is today, one step at a time, always following my nose, I quickly lose my bearings. I find myself in quiet courtyards, in corners where unknown saints have found their stony likeness, in places where there is no one, just me on a bench, without destination, and frankly without much thought. You might say a human being reduced to pure existence.
Evening with friends
And then Frank reports back from his trip to Valdesor, he will spend another day in Caceres and then continue hiking. We take the opportunity to spend the evening together with Romi, discussing, laughing and enjoying each other's company.
Who knows if that will still be possible in the future, as I am one day ahead from now on (and as it turns out, this is exactly what happended).
But once again I hear the unmistakable call of the Camino - I have to keep going, always heading north, towards the destination still so far away. A hike should be about shutting down the inner machinery, about calming down, reducing the constant tension, the urge to accomplish something, to make a difference.
Unfortunately, as it turns out, it's an impossible task. But who knows, there are still many days and many kilometers ahead of me, maybe that longed-for dream of peace will come true after all.
From Caceres to Casar de Caceres
The morning welcomes me with a touch of gold, the walls of the houses are speckled with yellow, the lamps are still burning, but their light will soon be replaced by a more powerful one in the sky. I shouldn't leave, I should stay. Rent an apartment, just for a few weeks, spend the afternoon under the arcades while life pulsates all around. A book on the table, a beer or a glass of white wine, sometimes gazing at the beauty at the next table, sometimes staring into the distance.
All those goodbyes. But that's life. A permanent farewell.
With a wistful look back, I follow the Camino arrows down to the lower part of the city, called La Bomba. Unlike the travel guide, my app leads me over a not too steep hill, very pleasant, joggers nod to me, "Buen Camino", and the wide countryside opens up.
You might call this stage a Sunday walk, but given tomorrow's monster stage, the Big One, I'm happy to take the short walk.
After crossing the hill, a fairly flat dirt track leads to Casar de Caceres, just over 10 km away, which is apparently famous for its cheese, Torta de Casar. Whether I will be able to enjoy this celebrity remains to be seen.
Out into the wide countryside
As soon as you reach the plain, the view loses its depth of field. The horizon fades, becomes indistinct, all around is scorched land where nothing seems to grow. But this is a pretense of false facts, because what looks dead has merely retreated into waiting, because eventually, as every seedling in the ground knows, spring will return and bring life.
And once again, the sky shimmers in the deepest blue, turning into a whitish nothingness on the horizon. One should be able to explain it, Frank as a physicist might be able to, while I once again have no idea.
So I trudge along, like all the days before and the days after, while the sun, this daily miracle, this daily toil, burns from the sky and brings thoughts to a standstill.
I am sometimes asked why I do this to myself at my advanced age. It never occurs to anyone that it is not a voluntary decision, but a genetically prescribed act that began somewhere on the steppes of our ancestors.
Someone recently said in a movie (Reacher?) that thousands of years ago some people sat down by the fire and stayed while the others moved on. Apparently I'm one of the latter.
Casar de Caceres
After almost four hours, the Sunday walk ends in Casar de Caceres, a long main street leads me through the town. An apparently new hotel appears on the left. I walk past, as I'm sure it's not the Albergue Rural Vía de la Plata.
And so I follow the seemingly endless road along the silent houses (still too early for the siesta), to the local hostel, which is not at all what I'm looking for. So the new hotel is really the one I am looking for. Which makes the Sunday walk a little longer.
In contrast to the hotel, which looks very modern and new, the hotel manager turns out to be an ass of the first order, unfriendly, arrogant and disparaging. I wonder if my somewhat deranged appearance plays a role in this. Anyway, the room is huge, three beds, a bathroom that is bigger than some previous hotel rooms, what more could you want for 30 euros.
Heat
The heat, this crippling creature, is particularly blistering on this day. Wikipedia says: "The climate is mild in winter, but warm to hot in summer". But that doesn't stop me from exploring the amenities of the village. The shops with the famous Torta de Casar are on the left and right of the street, but, of course, they are closed. There is generally not much to see, especially no residents. They have retreated to their chambers and leave the street to the rather clueless tourists.
I won't let the heat stop me from at least finding the place where the Big One starts at dawn tomorrow. The Ermita de Santiago, dedicated to St. James, will be the starting point.
On the way back I actually meet a human being in the form of an old man who is sitting relaxed in front of his front door and greets me with a mocking smile. Camino? he asks, for once not a greeting, but a skeptical question. Sure, I answer proudly, but he laughs. Tomorrow it will be much hotter, he claims and can't help but grin.
What have I let myself in for? Even hotter? On the Big One? Lovely prospects.
From Casar de Caceres to Cañaveral
So today is the dreaded Big One, the 35 km stage to Cañaveral, which is described in all travel reports as very demanding. And as the hotel roughly in the middle of the stage is closed, I have to bite the bullet.
For once I play a real pilgrim, so I get up at half past five, at least with the certainty that a local bar opens promptly at half past five.
The walk through Casar, lying in a deep sleep, has its own beauty. My footsteps on the asphalt are the only sound, a few street lamps illuminate the short path to the bar in question, which is actually open and gives me a few extra calories in the form of a sizeable portion of churros.
But then the adventure begins.
As I said, today's stage is tough. It's mentioned in all the travel guides, with all the challenges you face, the length of the route, the heat, the loneliness.
This is exactly what I like most.
Schrödinger's Cat
At the Ermita I take last deep breath, take my iPhone out of my pocket and activate the flashlight. Because what lies before me is gloomy darkness.
The last lights of Casar are left behind, fading as I plunge into the all-encompassing darkness. No moon in the sky to shed any light on the world, no lights of a farm or a hut, nothing, just a pervasive blackness. Without the flashlight, I wouldn't even be able to see my hand in front of my eyes, but I plod on, the trembling light of the iPhone on the ground, sticks in my left hand, cell phone in my right.
And yet I like it. Once again, it's one of those exceptional situations that I love so much. You're completely alone with yourself and the darkness and silence, just the sound of careful footsteps on the path. It's rutted, with deep ditches and holes, you have to be careful not to fall into them, or worse still, lose your bearings, because for once, although not surprisingly, there are no signposts to be seen.
A kind of Schrödinger's cat - they are there and not there at the same time.
How can I put it, one of those situations where you feel more alive than ever. I could cry out with joy. That's exactly what I'm looking for.
But above me, like a dotted black coat, the night sky, the Milky Way as close and as visible as I haven't seen in a long time.
But then, very leisurely, as if there was no need to rush, what makes every new day so special begins in the east.
A red fire
It starts very slowly, barely recognizable at first. Just a glimmer, something that seems to be foreign in the impenetrable darkness. But the phenomenon becomes stronger, the contours of the surroundings suddenly become visible, fences emerge as if from the shallows of a sea, trees and bushes, the ground with all its holes, everything becomes brighter and brighter.
The horizon transforms, at first just as an orange velvet veil, it rises, changes color, the orange gives way to a deep, bleeding red.
I involuntarily stop, because what is happening now, although repeated billions of times, is a daily, glorious miracle, the sun emerging from nowhere, giving brightness to the day, warmth, everything that belongs to life.
I stop breathing. The red fire covers the landscape with a rosy foam, and there are the birds that, like me, have been silent for a moment.
Nothing can beat this moment. These are the moments that count.
Moments of clarity
Now I also see that the path climbs gently along a ridge, decorated by a strangely painted sky. And the milestones, some standing and some lying along the way, also raise their stone, ancient face. “Buen Camino” they whisper to me, “Buen Camino”. The stage runs along the original path of the old Roman road.
And then the day has finally arrived, warm light soaks the land, the meadows, the trees. A cow stands motionless in the meadow, lost in thought, it seems. What's going on in her head? Does she share my admiration? I instinctively feel connected to her.
The path continues, mostly between stone walls, behind which extensive fields are hidden, overgrown with the usual suspects, holm and cork oaks, bushes, grasses, anything that can withstand the heat and dryness.
The Embalse de Alcantera
I'm making amazing progress, my legs feel like two well-oiled machines, moving forward step by step. But sometimes there are quiet gasps, voices and footsteps on the path behind me and, as so often before, I am overtaken by younger, apparently very agile hikers.
"Perfecto?" they call out to me, I nod, everything is perfect. At least for now. Then the two, who later turn out to be a Canadian couple, Doug and Heidi, disappear. And it turns out that the pretty lady's parents have chosen Johanna Spyri's Heidi as their namesake.
A railroad bridge appears, you have to cross it, and shortly afterwards the first section of the stage follows, which I would describe as borderline. For almost eight arduous kilometers, i.e. two hours, I now follow the highway, sometimes on the right-hand lane, sometimes on the left. Cars, trucks, buses, motorcycles roar past, and occasionally I catch a look - astonished, mocking, bored.
The Embalse de Alcàntara reservoir becomes a backdrop; you keep looking at the huge body of water, but there is no reason to be happy.
But a few words about the Embalse are necessary. After all, the Tejo (or Tajo) is being dammed here before its waters are released back into the open and it is finally allowed to flow into the Atlantic in Lisbon.
You can't help but stand still again and again, admiring the huge expanse, taking in the smell of the water before continuing on. At some point, you arrive at the place you have been longing for, namely the turn-off from the road, up a steep slope until you have climbed the hill and can finally, after more than 20 kilometers, settle down for a picnic.
I'm a little proud that the schedule I put together last night worked out. The crucial point was to have covered at least 20 kilometers by lunch. The remaining 15 should be manageable without any problems.
Well, so far so good, but the heat in the early afternoon has become murderous and what awaits me is another treeless and shadowless wasteland.
Not funny
And just as I feared, it does indeed prove to be a test of my own resilience. I've become accustomed to bad paths in the meantime, but this trail consists mainly of washed-out ground full of stones, rocks and ruts, and every step has to be taken with caution - you don't want to sprain your ankle in this godforsaken place of all places.
There would be a lot to see, after all as you hike again on the original route of the Roman army road. If the mind wasn't preoccupied with the miserable road, it might imagine armies, weary legionnaires in their armor and togas or whatever they wore back then. But in fact, you don't want to know anything more about Romans and their long-gone wars, there is only one goal left, to reach this cursed Cañaveral.
The last kilometers before the village, which has long since become a mirage and always seems the same distance away, are the most difficult thing I have endured in a long time. It's just no fun having to complete this miserable path after more than 30 kilometers in sweltering heat.
But as Nelly Furtado sang in her hit "All good things come to an end", even the bad things come to an end eventually, and I reach the day's destination completely exhausted.
Reedbed
I was actually expecting a room in a hotel, but what welcomes me is another moderately friendly hospitalero who assigns me a bed and nothing else. As so often before, I am one of the last to arrive, pilgrims and hikers have made themselves comfortable, the beds are all occupied, the usual babble of languages from all regions of the world.
First I sit down on the bed, pretty exhausted, the sweat has turned my T-shirt into a wet rag, it takes a full quarter of an hour until I'm able to unpack, take a shower and transform myself back into a living being.
But I'm obviously not the only one who struggled with this stage. The story goes that a young man was recently found dead not far from the village. He probably had an attack of weakness in the evening, perhaps heatstroke, fainted, and because he was alone and nobody missed him at the stage location, he died tragically.
The evening doesn't bring much, all the shops are closed, nobody knows why, there is only one bar that only offers liquids, so dinner in the hostel, at least in the company of Doug and Heidi.
The night is short, it's hot, the room is overcrowded, and I'm wondering whether, after the strenuous stage, I'll be able to complete tomorrow's stage of almost 30 kilometers. So a few reasons to really screw up your sleep.
Matching song: Michael Lucarelli – Malagueña
And here the trail continues… to Galisteo
