Over breakfast, I remember a calendar saying that seems just as banal as many others, but somehow fits in with my present hike:
God doesn't require us to succeed, He only requires us to try.
Thinking about my aching Achilles tendons, a possible success is worth a try, but anything but certain.
And yet the day starts so wonderfully. My hotel indeed offers breakfast, not for free of course, but for €5 I am happy to indulge in all kinds of delicacies. A welcome change after all the tostadas.
But then I set off, the day is long, the route as boring as ever, but the attraction of monotony should not be underestimated.
Cold ears
As I mentioned, Lord knows Zamora deserves a lengthier stay and the 22 Romanesque churches might have worked their magic after all. I mentally apologize and make my way to Decathlon, where I hope to find some gloves and a headband.
The reason: in the last few days, I've been surprised by a severe chill in the early morning. Clammy fingers, cold ears, when I breathe out, it reminds me of the first cold morning in autumn. So I need a solution.
The store is located on my way, but it doesn't open until 10am. So I can take all the time I need until a nice young lady in the store provides me with everything I need and from now on I'm equipped with everything I might need in the cold weather to come.
A local celebrity
Before I finally turn my back on the city, I take one last look back, number 17 of the 22 churches waves back, and I stop, somewhat irritated, in front of a huge mural. The gentleman pictured there must have truly been a celebrity. In any case, he gives the impression of a local VIP who must have left political, social and cultural traces.
Well, that's all I care about, I'll leave him to the weather and the winds.
A potential orgy of colors
My guidebook mentions colors in spring, true orgies of color and scent, when the landscape shines in all colors and produces lavish fragrances. I try to imagine it, close my eyes and see it and smell it.
Of course not.
I neither see lavish floral splendor nor do I smell seductive fragrances. It's just brown-burnt plains, and the smell is reminiscent of dust and withered grass rather than olfactory surprises for the nose.
Because things continue at the same pace as yesterday, once again, the road ends in nowhere, loses itself on the horizon, a kind of Sysyphus in Spanish. You keep walking and walking, reminiscent of the VW Beetle, and yet you never seem to reach the end. But as Albert Camus claimed: Sysyphus must have been a happy man.
And I am indeed a happy person, rarely as much as on this seemingly endless Camino. A few profound philosophical remarks might be appropriate here, but the heat, which is already lurking again, puts even the last intelligent thought into a kind of temporary paralysis.
Montamarta and a wedding
Montamarta is recognizable from afar, not very large it seems, 600 inhabitants, situated at an altitude of 710 metres. It also has - unsurprisingly - a Romanesque church called Santa María del Castillo, which dates back to the 12th century and has a beautiful bell tower.
More importantly, I have to call the lady at the hotel to reassure her that I'll be there in half an hour. For some reason, I am told to hurry.
The only stupid thing is that the path makes big curves until it finally leads into the village, and even stupider that the Hotel El Molino 1941 (the landlord assures me that he has no idea how this strange name came about) is at the other end of the village is located. I don't like the fact that after more than 6 hours I have to rush for some inexplicable reason, but what the heck.
I am, of course, already expected. The landlord rather gruffly assigns me the room and rushes off with his wife. The secret is revealed: the people have obviously been invited to a wedding.
At least I ended up in a palace of a hotel. The room is huge, the living room has space for a family of several people, a garden with a swimming pool invites you to take a bath, and in the middle of it all - a washing machine. It takes so little for so much happiness.
From Montamarta to Granja de Moreruela
I have always been skeptical about the desire to know the future. And today proves in every way that I am right. Because if I had known what was waiting for me today, I would probably have stayed in bed.
It starts early.
An ATM from Hell
I get up at half past seven, well rested, hungry and looking forward to a hearty breakfast. But once again the restaurant opposite is still closed, a cold, dusty wind scratches my throat.
Instead, I discover a Santander ATM and try to withdraw money. 300 euros should be enough for a while, but then the unexpected happens, i.e. nothing at all. You can hear a noise, something is turning and turning inside ... and finally it stops.
The process has been aborted.
I try a second time, this time with only 140 euros, and sure enough, it works. It's a bit strange, and it gets even stranger when I realize a little later that both amounts have been debited from my account. A few of the imaginative Spanish swear words come to mind, which I forbid myself to use in order to protect children.
The end of the Via de la Plata
At today's destination Granja de Moreruela the path splits. The historic Roman route continues north to Astorga, where the via then joins the Camino Frances. From now on the path to the west is called Camino de Sanabrés.
I actually want to enjoy the last few kilometers on the beloved Via, but at the beginning, this stage mainly leads along streets and a motorway.
The Hermitage of the Virgin of the Castillo
However, shortly after leaving Montamarta, the Ermita de la Virgen del Castillo greets me from a hill. It's a chapel dedicated to the patron saint of the town. It was built in the 16th century in Renaissance style and has a beautiful high altar containing a Flemish panel from the 16th century.
From the top, I would have a wonderful panoramic view of the surrounding area, but above all of a silted arm of the Ricobayo reservoir. Because I would actually be walking through the water of the reservoir, but it seems as if the water has turned into dust (like many other things).
And even more problems
With the exception of the fact that the Rother travel guide offers flawless information, the associated app is quite a disaster. I'm mentally writing nasty emails to the publisher every time the digital display of the route disappears and can't be activated.
There are sometimes situations where directions and app information do not match. It is even worse when the reality differs from the route given.
For the first time, Rother leads me far away from the signposted route on a path that is rarely if ever used, out into an overgrown field where water bubbles up beneath my feet. My curse repertoire is quite large.
It gets even worse: neither the signposts nor the Rother app nor the travel guide have realized that the former underpass under the motorway no longer exists.
So you stand in front of a wall with a embarrassed face and wonder how in God's name you get to the other side of the highway. Later I find out that there is a crossing a kilometer further up.
I leave everything else that the annoyed hiker comes up with to oblivion and dispose of this low point in my hiking career in the deepest, darkest drawer. Just this much: the highway, a high fence and a friendly young gentleman from the highway patrol play a decisive role ...
Las Ruinas de Castrotorafe
I am – this much has long been clear – a fan of the Lord of the Rings world. No shady place under gently swaying trees, no gurgling river along green pastures and above all no ruins of former castles that do not conjure up images of Middle-earth in my mind's eye.
Admittedly, they are dream worlds. But they are wonderful worlds that Tolkien, an enemy of industrial development and protector of primeval nature, imagined. From the first encounters on the Hippie Trail to the great films by Peter Jackson, the hobbits, the wizard Gandalf, the evil Sauron in Mordor and the grim wars have cast a spell on me.
And so I keep coming across places that bring back memories. This is what happened in Ladakh, on the Alpine Panorama Trail: and now here too. At the ruins of Castrotorafe.
Because after a few hours - for once without any further problems - the ruins of the ancient city of Castrotorafe appear, which is now uninhabited and popularly called “Zamora la Vieja”. It was apparently a medieval defensive settlement that grew up on the banks of the Esla River.
The construction of the first wall surrounding the town dates back to the 12th century. The importance of the town was obvious due to its geopolitical location, as it controlled the passage of the River Esla, which formed a link between Castile and Galicia.
And the remains of this ancient wall is what can be discovered from the Camino. The ruins of the actual city are a bit away, certainly worth a trip, but as always, the destination for the day and a cold beer beckons. And so masterpieces from ancient times are missed because the hiker has other things on his mind than cultural artifacts. Shame on you!
Another palace for me
On the way towards Granja you pass two small settlements: Fontanillas de Castro and Riego del Camino. In Fontanillas I look in vain for a bar, but the hospitalero at the local hostel speaks to me, but doesn't think it's necessary to point out that I'm walking in the wrong direction.
The rest of the stage to Granja is quickly told; it runs mostly along the motorway, no shade, no house, simply nothing.
I finally arrive at my destination, where an entire hotel is waiting just for me. The place seems absolutely dead. At least there is a shop nearby where I am served by a grumpy lady.
Since there is apparently nowhere to eat, I have my dinner for one in the hotel or in the nice place in the garden. What more do people need?
Matching song: Andres Cantu – Celebrations
And here the Camino continues… to Santa Marta de Tera
