The day started well enough. As I was packing to leave the guest house, the owner came across to say farewell. Now, I had worked out a plan for the day to go a little off piste, as the official route of today's walk is long (28km) and with nowhere to stop in between. There is an alternate route which goes in parallel to the main route but bypasses the large hill, the Pico de la Dueña, and provides two villages to stop of at for sustenance. This route, as described, does not lead to San Pedro Rozados. However, I saw a way on the map to get easily from the second village to San Pedro, where I aimed to stay. My mistake was to share this information with the guesthouse owner. He, wrongly, asserted that this would take me a long way out of the way. He sowed enough doubts in my mind that I decided to go by the route that included the hill.
So I set off from Fuenterroble, passing the little shrine church of Christ of divine help, and began walking along the evidently Roman Via de la Plata. The original mileposts and some of the original pavement are preserved on the very straight and persistent path through the Salamanca countryside of dehesa and grazing land, the Campo charro, beautiful and tranquil, but without notable features. On the first part of the walk two or three streams provided unwanted obstacles. Each was traversed without disaster, though on one or involved my taking off my backpack and throwing it to the other side, so I could get my balance on the stepping stones. Here I saw the advantage of those who carry a stick. One thing always to remember on the Camino is to remember to look backwards. Looking back towards Fuenterroble, there was a beautiful sunlit sight of the mountains I had walked between, dusted in snow. I took a video, but I can't work out how to upload it here.
After about 10km, first I came across an open field with bulls in it. And you know what Spanish bulls can be like in temperament. Fortunately these were in the company of ladies, and the cows usually calm them down. Still, I made sure I kept my distance and moved quickly without even looking at them. I was glad to get to the next fence. Leaving that field I passed some dehesa where there was a lot of shooting going on. Hunting for food is still very popular in rural Spain. I just hoped for no stray bullets!
The path began to ascend towards the great hill. As I ascended, I got closer to the power generating windmills, which I had seen from a distance back. Somehow I got distracted during this section of the walk. I seemed to be progressing towards the hill but after a while I realised of not seen a yellow arrow indicating the Camino for some time. However, the path was straight and seemed to be going in the right direction. Then I came to a junction, and again no arrows. Here I began to doubt, and rightly so. I continued on the path which was going in the right direction, thinking there must be some way of linking up with the correct route further on. I was wrong.
Some way back, I had missed a right hand turn, and pursuing the path I had taken, I ended out on a country path where there was a dead end ahead, and a pig farm on my right. The pig farm evidently had a path through it, but it was gated with severe warnings not to enter. I consulted my route map. I should be on a parallel path not far away, but to get back on it I would have to retrace my steps about 2km. There was indicated, however, an alterative cycle route avoiding the Pico, which would get me back on the Camino on the other side of the hill. So I decided to walk that. What the map didn't reveal was that, while a more even path, this also was steep and almost reached the height of the Pico. I could have kicked myself. To say I was annoyed with myself was an understatement. In the end I added 5km to my already long journey, making it 33km.
The annoyance with myself made it more difficult to make progress along the straight monotonous road which constitutes the last part of the route. Again more grazing land and no signs of civilisation, except one impressive Finca, with its grandiose farm buildings looking like a cross between a church and a castle. It's called the Finca de la Calzadilla de Mendigos which translates as the Estate of the little pavement of the beggars. There's a story behind that, but not one I wanted to discover at that moment. After a rest under a tree by the side of the road, I realised I had an hour and a half still to walk, and so I motivated myself and staying stepping out out, even as the road kept rising. Talking to myself and telling myself to keep going helped. Eventually, a sign, pointing up a green lane, indicating San Pedro was only 2km following the path. So far there was no sight of the village. I walked up the lane, and at the top, by now less than 1km from it, I saw the little village of San Pedro de Rozados, the most welcome sight of the day.
Entering into the rural hotel, the VII Carreras, the lady was so pleasant in her greeting, inviting me to a drink of lemonade and showing me to my room. The shower was most necessary today, as was the good dinner which followed (I'd not eaten since the slices of toast at breakfast and coffee, and yet my Fitbit was telling me I'd burned up almost 4000 calories, so I had some latitude!). Having walked through the land of ham and preserved sausages, I thought it fitting to start with a selection of those things before the menu of the day of soup and meat, followed by the ubiquitous flan (creme caramel). The German and Swiss companions on the way were there eating too so we shared experiences and plans for the coming days. I gave them some tips on where to go and where to eat in Salamanca. All of this made me so sleepy, my head hardly hit the pillow, as they say. Certainly there was no doing the blog before sleep, so here it is...a breakfast time blog.
Now for Salamanca, 23.5km away. Somewhere between here and there I'll pass the half way point of my pilgrimage.
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