From Seville to Guillena
The city still lies in early morning slumber as I say goodbye to the Nuevo Suizo hotel (without having found out what the name is all about) and take my first steps on the Via de la Plata, which will lead me to Santiago de Compostela in a few weeks' time.
Of course the path begins before the Kathedrale, where else? A gentleman recognizes my intention, and for the first time I hear the two words that will accompany me every day from now on:
Buen Camino
He happily takes a picture of the brand new pilgrim, who in fact isn't one, and points out to me that I should attend early mass before setting off. Well, I agree with him, but that doesn't stop me from politely saying goodbye and setting off. Because the Camino is calling ...
Off we go
It's not an big thing, not even for the biggest stray as me, to find the right way. The first signs or markings are visible after just a few meters. They will be my companions from now on, they will become friends always pointing me in the right direction.
But that doesn't stop me from taking the wrong direction for the first time in Triana, the famous quarter. I hope for a good omen and firmly resolve to be more focused from now on. Whether I will succeed is highly doubtful in view of my rather mixed orientation vita.
And while we're on the subject of Andalusian music, here's my all-time favorite (memories of 1979):
Alameda – Alamecer en el Puerto
After crossing the Guadalquivir, I follow the long path along the river to Santiponce, for the first time I feel like I'm on the move. Hey, I'm on the Camino de Santiago, which is what we call the Via de la Plata everywhere. I take my first coffee break in Santiponce, “Camino” the innkeeper asks, and I nod quite proudly for the first time.
Italica
The ruins of Italica are the first Roman evidence along the Via de la Plata. General Scipio Africanus founded this important and oldest Roman settlement on the Iberian Peninsula. The old town is now buried under Santiponce. The excavations show, for example, the amphitheater, which could accommodate 25000 people. For the first time - it won't be the last time - I'm impressed by what the ancient Romans achieved.
It's Saturday and groups of visitors are crowding the ruins. Given the coming days along the Camino, where I will be walking on Roman footsteps the entire time, I am cutting the visit short to devote myself to what I came here for.
Because the first, endlessly long section to Guillena is waiting for me.
A dead straight path
It's about 12 km of dead straight road in the direction of Guillena, gently up and down, the horizon forms the boundary, nothing else around it. A dead world, you might think.
And there is no place to stop, no bench, no stones or anything to rest your tired legs, it is an area that seems absolutely lifeless. But then there are a few trees and bushes, actually something like life, a small river that left a deep hole during the last rain, a hole almost as wide as the path, so you have to shimmy along the bank. At least the last few kilometers follow Guillana.
Hostels and new friends
For some reason that seems inexplicable at first glance, the hostel is closed and I am taken to another one by an older lady, the hospitalero's mother.
Nothing special, the usual bunk beds, showers and toilets, some kind of common room, nothing else. But I'll have to get used to it.
At least you get to know your first colleagues. There is Frank from Ludwigshafen (“the ugliest city in Germany”), a shy young lady from Germany named Nina, and an incredibly loud and very strange Spanish woman named Soraya. In the evening we are joined by an Asian woman, Shilin, and as it later turns out, a wonderful hiking friend.
But the reason for the hostel's temporary closure becomes clear after a visit to the city. There's a huge festival going on, a kind of fair, with lots of tents and restaurants and attractions and a million people enjoying Saturday night. I am just a foreigner, an observer from the outside, drinking my beer, watching the hustle and bustle and feeling happy.
From Guillena to Castilblanco
The first breakfast is, to say the least, an impertinence. Actually, there is nothing for the 15 euros, a bit of dried up jam, an even smaller bit of margarine, which has seen better days, and I can't remember any coffee.
Anyway, I'm leaving at eight o'clock, it might be that I'm the last one again, it doesn't matter. The path crosses a bridge, then into an industrial area and finally on a pretty bad road heading north.
Beneath a blue sky
It gets better and better, the atmosphere all around is for the first time what I imagined it to be. A heavy silence filled with the increasing heat, interrupted only occasionally by the distant cawing of a bird.
A phenomenon that is now becoming a habit - you meet again and again, sometimes one is ahead, then the other, you picnic together, chat with Frank and Soraya and slowly get information about the strange people who are also walking the Camino.
Little by little the path begins to climb, I reach a plateau, the view looks out onto olive and orange plantations, lined with pastures and fields.
But it gets even better, because now you walk along loosely standing cork oaks, bushes and shrubs - it could be rosemary and cistus, as I'm told later.
A sign above the path is probably meant to be funny: Cheer up, it calls out to the hikers, while at the same time rather maliciously pointing out that there are only 927 kilometers left to Santiago. And that is also an understatement, because it is 940 km from Castilblanco.
But what the heck, you take it easy, it's just a number, we forget about it.
The hostel is okay, hopefully the last one until Merida, the hospitalero is okay too, but chatty, at least the bar opposite is open, so first beer, then setting up, chatting, shopping.
Dinner with Nina in the bar (which according to the hospitalero is closed), we pay 9 euros for the so-called pilgrim menu. On the way to shop we discover a bar that specifically states that it serves breakfast from six o'clock. Well then, nothing can happen.
From Castilblanco to Almaden de la Plata
And another new experience that will really bother me at every hostel in the future: at exactly half past five the pilgrims (especially old ones) get up and make a lot of noise to start the day. Well, I'm not unhappy this morning, I have to overcome the first big challenge this morning - the 16 km along the road. And since the entire route measures almost 30 km, you have to get up early and get started.
Almost feared a bit - the supposed breakfast bar is as dark as it can be. So back to the hostel, where I treat myself to a cup of cocoa and where the generous Frank gives me a sandwich so that I at least have something in my stomach. Strangely enough, I seem to be the only one willing to take on the hardships of the 16 km, the others take a cab to the park entrance.
16 kilometers along the road
I doubt I've ever hiked so early and in such pitch darkness. Andalusia is far to the west so there is light very late, meaning I'm setting off at 7am, still in the dead of night.
So now off to happiness, 16 km along the road. I feel completely at ease from the first moment, the occasional glance at the Rother app (I'll explain later) is unnecessary, I just follow the road, where there are no cars at that time, so I'm happy.
And for the first time, I experience what I will see many more times, walking as if in a trance, step by step, meter by meter, kilometer by kilometer.
Then it slowly gets bright, the horizon begins to glow, the first cars speed past. I enjoy it to the full, there is no rational explanation for this joy. Only the clattering of the sticks on the asphalt interrupts the silence. After 1.5 hours on a little wall, I take my first break at the side of the road. One of the Spaniards, also on the Camino, hurries past - Todo bien? Todo bien.
Somehow the trip has a beauty of its own. Up and down, rarely straight ahead, bend after bend. A long climb to the highest point makes itself felt in the legs, which are getting a bit tired, but the exertion is coming to an end.
El Berrocal Park
Shortly afterwards, finally the entrance to El Berrocal. I have completed the bloody, wonderful 16 km, without complaining, even with inexplicable pleasure. A long, flat dirt track leads for half an hour to the La Morilla forest guardhouse. Lunch there beneath pine trees swaying quietly in the wind, surrounded by lots of cats. But their eyes look sick - cat blindness? I feel sorry for them, I feed them with everything I have, but that's all I can do for them.
Towards Almadén
I carry on, up and down in the direction of Almaden, the paths now become wilder, sometimes like a washed-out riverbed, then again soft and gentle like down. The path leads along seemingly endless rows of holm oaks, later pine forests, and so I follow the Camino, revealing for the first time the beauty it holds along the way.
The final climb to Cerro de Calvaria drags on, after almost 30 km and over 9 hours it's a bit of an ordeal.
A plaque at the side of the path on the ascent commemorates Michel Laurent, who obviously died here.
A death on the Camino, not as rare as you might think. Overestimation, heat, thirst, exhaustion - there are some risks that you should be aware of. RIP Michel!
At the foot of the hill Almaden becomes visible, the last few meters go steeply downhill, then a garden restaurant, a beer. Toasting the first big success on the Camino.
The Hotel Concha is okay, despite the lack of WiFi in the room. A little later, tired and happy, we eat with Frank and Lin, we get closer. Apparently a traveling trio is forming. Todo bien!
Matching song: Govi – Nights in Andalucia
And here the Camino continues… from Almadén to Funte de Cantos
