Fuente de Cantos – Zafra
For once, the weather forecast hasn't been wrong - for this morning, heavy thunderstorms and heavy rain are predicted. In other words, not what you wish for on the open plains between Fuente and Zafra without shelter. It's amazing how quickly you deviate from fixed intentions when the sky doesn't look blue and sunny, but gloomy and ominous.
So we take the bus in a happy mood and get chauffeured to Zafra. However, the thunderstorm seems to be holding off and the sky is clearing. We must have been deceived once again.
But Zafra is great.
The town is exactly what you might expect from a typical Extremadura town with a bit of Andalusian flair: long alleyways surrounded by tall buildings, a medieval, winding old town, perhaps a church tower or castle in the background, a square in the center with restaurants and stores and trees and lots of people.
Zafra
Sometimes you feel at home in a city from the very first moment, strolling through the streets, looking left, looking right, full of admiration, then again uncomprehending, questioning. That's how it must be, in fact the reason for being here.
I sit down in the first best restaurant on the main square, order a beer and do exactly what I always do in such cases - observing the hustle and bustle around me. The absolute best and easiest way to find out how a city, a country, a people is all about.
It is impressive and familiar yet different at the same time. The people are loud, very loud, as if they were all suffering from severe hearing problems. The children are wild, running around, pure joie de vivre. So much power, so much energy to waste.
And yet there is a relaxed atmosphere that doesn't give much attention to the noise and chaos. People sit there, chat (there is obviously always a lot to chat about), drink their beer or glass of white wine and have a good time. At home, you might automatically wonder why these people aren't at work on a normal afternoon.
Zhilin and Frank join me later, we decide to have dinner together and later visit the Alcazar de los Duques de Feria fortress.
The Castle
Strangely enough, you enter the castle through a hotel entrance. You suddenly find yourself in festive surroundings and have to find the right door leading to the citadel. Thanks to her travel guide, Zhilin knows the way and leads us up to the mighty towers.
The majestic building is a kind of mixture between a castle and a palace and apparently served as the residence of the Duke of Feria.
And now, just after sunset, when the light darkens, the scene becomes truly majestic. The sky above the towers turns blue, then dark, and finally the city at your feet sinks into black night.
Zafra – Villafranca de los Barros
Surprisingly, I'm early on the way once again, is it the age? Is it some kind of prescient escape from bed? In any case, the lamp at the tower just outside the town is still burning.
The way to Los Santos de Maimona (the Spaniards know the importance of long and pompous-sounding names) is not far, a happy hour and a half, and then the next craving for coffee arises. And who do I meet there, comfortably enjoying a strange breakfast – Zhilin and Frank.
The Pampas
The weather today is as expected yesterday, i.e. overcast, as if the weather gods wanted to show us what they are capable of after yesterday's failure. We set off together after Maimona, nothing new under the non-existent sun.
It's now a three-hour walk more or less through the pampas. Not particularly strenuous, mostly on flat paths alongside trees and bushes and once again nothing else.
Sometimes strangely shaped trees or a group of sheep are the only interruption to the monotonous surroundings. You stop, admire a little, bleat to try to get the sheep's attention. But without the slightest success. I can't blame them.
These funny creatures at the edge of the meadow.
As already mentioned, the stage doesn't bring any big surprises; an old ruin of a once stately house is worth a rest. One wonders about the sad fate of the collapsed walls and tries to imagine what it was like in the past. With people and animals and hope and life.
All past.
The square stones, indicating the direction all along the way, are not only very welcome signposts, you can also sit on them and have a picnic. Or you might proudly stand on them and show the world what it looks like when you're on the Camino and have nothing better to do.
But then we reach Villafranca, a text message informs me that the hotel reception is occupied for half an hour more and I'm asked to push. This doesn't suit me at all, but I hurry through the streets anyway, iPhone and Google Maps pulled out, and finally reach my hotel, just in time. And the hotel is first class.
Theo, the Dutchman
Afterwards I try, somewhat in vain, to find a restaurant or at least an open shop. Saturday, I should have known.
An elderly fellow, a pilgrim type, approaches me on the street, looking for the local hostel. Of course, Frank and Zhilin have told me where it is. On the way there, the man, who turns out to be a Dutchman called Theo, tells me that he has hiked 50 kilometers that day. Now that's what I call a righteous pilgrim.
After all, I find a supermarket on the outskirts of town, but an open restaurant is a futile effort (I read this in one of the numerous Camino reports: Good restaurants and bars in Villafranca de los Barros).
I grumpily retire to my room, dinner on the bed with TV entertainment, and as it's Saturday, football is on. Well, at least.
Villafranca – Torremejia
My travel guide says:
There is nothing to sugarcoat here. This is a decidedly dull stage. Extreme nerves of steel are required on the straight gravel road, over 12 km long and as if drawn with a ruler.
That looks like it's going to be fun. In any case, I'm mentally preparing myself for a particularly boring day, and this day starts very early. The lady of the house assures me that there is a bar nearby opening very early. So I'm standing outside the supposed bar shortly after six and, as expected - it is Sunday after all - I'm bitterly disappointed.
So back to the hotel, breakfast on the bed, hard bread and water and chocolate. I'm starting to feel like a prisoner in a medieval dungeon.
But then I set off (almost forgetting my sticks in the room), there is not a sound to be heard, the city sleeps the sleep of the righteous on Sunday mornings.
And for the first time, I have to use my iPhone's flashlight as I plunge into complete darkness on the outskirts of the city. The signposts are barely recognizable, but what else can I say? I really like it.
Darkness hanging over the world
It takes just half an hour when I hear the sound of an express train from behind. As soon as I turn around, Theo dashes past me in giant strides, a quick hello and he's gone. Yesterday 50 km? Now I believe every word he says.
Eventually Frank also emerges from the darkness, while Zhilin struggles with her blisters and is obviously late.
But the blackness of the night slowly creeps away, the sky breaks away from the darkness and shows a mottled face that somehow fits perfectly with this morning.
After a little more than 2 hours, in the meantime it has become bright and sunny, the 15 km long, extremely straight route begins.
The endless kilometers
The Camino is lost on the horizon. I already suspect that this won't be the last experience of this kind. But that's fine with me, because for some inexplicable reason that cannot be rationally explained at all, I like these endless stretches whose ends seem to be infinity.
The nomadic genes come to mind once again. Should there really be people carrying ancient gene components from our ancestors who did nothing but roam every day?
I kind of like that idea.
Zhilin appears eventually, but she is limping and seems to be in a lot of pain. As expected, however, she is tough, as you might expect from Asian ladies, and takes long strides forward until I can just make out her pink T-shirt far ahead.
Then she slows down, I catch up with her again, maybe take a short break, then she hurries off again until the game starts all over again.
We now cross the central wine and olive region of the Extremadura. The path runs along long rows of olive trees and vines. The mind takes a break, the monotony of the surroundings numbs every thought, and so we walk along, step by step towards the horizon, which always seems the same distance away.
But even the longest stretches come to an end at some point. The first bend after the 15 km is like a revelation and is received with a loud cheer.
Zhilin and I walk the last few kilometers to Torremejia together. I can see that she is suffering, that the blisters on her feet are getting worse. And so I count the kilometers for her: "Five more, four more, three more, we're almost there!"
The houses appear, back in civilization.
The hotel that isn't one
I actually made a reservation via hotels.com and paid the cost in advance. But the hotel turns out to be a normal hostel. The owner knows nothing about a reservation, he pretends to know nothing of hotels.com and charges the usual overnight price of 15 euros.
This will result in a hefty complaint (and in fact, the costs will be fully refunded).
In the evening we all meet in the only open restaurant and even Theo also joins us. 80s Pop is playing in the background and Frank and I are competing to recognize the songs.
Theo, on the other hand, has ambitious plans, as he wants to arrive in Santiago in a month's time. Wow, I'll be happy when I've covered half the distance in a month.
But he is also quite peculiar in other ways. "Theo, the first Camino? ... Yes, and the last one ... Why? ... I've never been abroad and I'll never leave Holland again ... Really? Why is that? ... I like it in Holland, why should I go abroad?"
There is nothing to add to this.
Torremejia-Merida
The usual chaos when getting up (I'm slowly developing a toxic aversion to hostels of any kind, because the night was anything but pleasant). Of course, Theo is already gone, on his way to Santiago, and we won't see him again.
After all, the innkeeper serves us delicious food; he probably wants to make us forget yesterday's rebuff, which he certainly succeeds in doing.
Today's stage runs without dead straight routes or spectacular landscapes. That's fine by us, because the sky has already put on an offended face again for today. We take it easy, Frank mostly in front, us two old or limping ones far behind. Every now and then we meet up again, discuss what we have seen and what lies ahead and are in a good mood despite the gray clouds.
As I said, one might feel threatened by this collection of gray webs in the sky. We have prepared ourselves for heat, sweat and sun. But pious pilgrims, which we are not, don't give a damn about such pompous warning signals and give the sky the middle finger.
Merida and its bridge
After almost 5 hours, Mérida lies right at our feet. The famous 792-metre-long bridge, a true Roman marvel, can be seen from afar and our steps involuntarily quicken.
In the past, cohorts and legions used to march across these 60 arches, you might think to hear the thunder of their footsteps. And today? Today it's cyclists, walkers and the occasional hiker who wants to show the world that he has made it. Well, at least as far as Merida. But what's 200 km when there are still 800 waiting.
Everything is relative.
Matching song: AI Marconi – Placido
And here The Camino continues... and stays in Merida for a day
