Via de La Plata 2002

Merida to Astorga

      Seduced by the promise of Roman roads and still standing Roman millarios (mile markers), seven of us set off on March 22 to walk the Ruta de la Plata.  Built to get troops and supplies north through the wilds of Extremadura and the southern reaches of Castile Leon, and to bring tin and silver and other treasure from northern mines south to the Mediterranean, in its heyday it was traveled by the world - by solders and traders and citizens going about their business, by the Arab invaders while they were in Spain, by re-conquering armies driving them out and by pilgrims going to visit St James in Galicia.  Today it is a minor player in network of roads that take pilgrims to Santiago de Compostela.   If you want to and have the time you can begin in Seville.  We began in Mérida, Augusta Emerita, founded in 23BC as a retirement community for legionnaires who had served in the Iberian wars.  Mérida, is home to more Roman ruins than any other city outside of Italy.  It has a theatre, an amphitheatre, a Temple to Diana, an arch for Trajan, a fabulous bridge over the Guadiana, and the remains of an aqueduct coming in from the north.   To top it off there is a very good museum, beautifully laid out and full of interesting Roman stuff.

Day 1: Aljucén

On the Sunday before Easter, we left to walk to Aljucén, only 16 kilometres to the north.  We were starting out easy.  How hard can it be to walk 16 kilometres?  Very it would seem!  The roads had been changed and paved since our maps were made.  We got lost.  Not seriously but inconveniently.  We had asphalt and Sunday drivers all the way to the Embalse de Proserpina, a reservoir made by the Romans to collect water that then ran through underground pipes and across that aqueduct into Mérida.  They were having a heat wave.  It was 90°F.

Walker's Note:
Coming out of Mérida.  Follow the yellow arrows on the ugly macadam road or go to Embalse de Proserpina and start from there.  The Spanish guidebook that many are using, promises a farm track, the road to Montijo, but road building cuts you off about half way there, so asphalt it is.  And frankly it is a terrible way to start.  After eating our lunch in a bar with no bathrooms, we continued.  After 4 kilometres, we finally found a dirt road through meadows and cork oaks.  Before we go any further, let me disabuse you of any fancies of alpine meadows and Heidi.  These were Extremaduran meadows, hard meadows, hot meadows, not very hospitable meadows, although they have grandeur and an austere beauty that is the trademark of extremely hard region.  The sky was blue, dark blue, the cork oaks were green, dark green and the land lay all around us, decorated here and there with giant boulders that only a really big glacier could have left, and there was nobody there but us, the occasional pig and a host of tiny invisible birds who sang grand opera from wherever they were hiding.  We passed our first millarios and we discovered that the pasos/puertos canadienses that littered our map were in fact cattle grates, and finally we staggered over a short stretch of Roman road - the kind with the small stones, and definitely not recommended for tired feet.  Aljucén is a white town with two streets, three bars, and glory be, a new refuge run by two ladies whose real job is designing advertising copy for clients elsewhere.  (Ain't technology wonderful?)  Instead of the "very basic roof and floor" promised in our guide.  We had a room to ourselves - all seven of us - with bunks for four and two mattresses for the rest.  The water was hot, dinner was provided and we met four other pilgrims - 4 schoolteachers from Barcelona who were walking the route during their Easter break.

Walker's Note:
Aljucén has a new private refuge - two rooms with beds for 8 and opportunities for air mattresses on the floor.  The hospitalera, Eva, does advertising design by computer and provides a nice, but plain supper.  There is hot water.

Day 2: Alcuéscar

17.9 kilometres of more of the same - more heat, more grandeur, more blue sky, more silence and bird song.  The only people we saw all day were an elderly couple picking oranges.  Three of us who were lagging behind the rest, stopped to talk and the senora gave us six oranges.  We ate them right there. A fresh from the tree orange is a beautiful thing.  Now we had a moral dilemma - should we share the other three?  Naaa, we would only be one short!  The second set of oranges went the way of the first.  At Alcuéscar we stayed with monks who run a home for men - old ones, young ones, sick ones, challenged ones.  Los Hermanos Esclavos de Maria y los Pobres also had room for us.  They fed us supper - soup, fresh eggs fried in olive oil, chipped potatoes and salad, and they invited us to share vespers with them.

Walker's Hint:
Don't go into the town.  Listen to the man sitting on the bench at the bottom of the hill.  Take the left hand turn down to the highway and there you find the brothers, the Servants of Mary and the Poor.  They are very helpful.   Invite you to vespers, feed you and if necessary get mattresses down to put on the floor.  They have an endless supply of very cold water.

Day 3: Aldea de Cano

We missed our road and took the long way, around an idyllic reservoir to Casas de Don Antonio, then skirted the highway past a Roman bridge and more millarios to Aldea de Cano where we had to sleep on a very hard floor.  Refuge in the old school is okay, but there really isn't much of a bathroom and the water is COLD.  There is a small store down a back street in the town itself and the food at the Las Vegas is very good and cheap, even if the owner is grumpy.

Walker's Note:
Coming out of the monastery take the road that is right outside the gate.  The road farther down also goes to Casas de Don Antonio, but it is a longer route around an embalse.  It is very pretty and probably preferable if it has been raining but it doesn't cross the Roman bridge into Casas de Don Antonio.

Day 4: Cáceres

The walk is breathtaking - fields, views, a Roman bridge, a chance to walk across the airfield looking over your shoulder.   The walk up into Cáceres is hell - a construction site, but what can you do?  In Cáceres, our first town, we were able to share in the celebrations for Holy Week.  In Spain this week is a big deal.  There are processions every day and people come from far away to see them.  Orders of penitents, wearing strange pointed hoods and long robes, take to the street carrying huge tableaux of the Stations of the Cross and lugging famous Madonnas dressed in their Lenten best.   We saw three in Cáceres.  One was at midnight in the old town.  Surrounded by its Roman wall from which peak various domes and Mudajar flourishes, the old town in the heat and light of the day is almost Disneyesque.  In the dark you are back in the 13th century.  We went early and waited outside a church while a crowd of thousands gathered.   It was a family affair, there was gossip and laughter and a small boy slept on my foot.  At midnight the hushing started and total silence descended on the square. Out of the dark came the sound of a bell.  Ga-ding, ga-ding, silence; ga-ding, ga-ding, silence.  The sound came closer and closer and a Capuchin monk emerged from the gloom.  Faceless he walked through the silent crowd to the door of the church.  The ancient knocker thundered, a voice from inside demanded to know what he wanted.
"Yo quiero el Christo negro, " he said.
The door creaked open on total dark and into our midst came a procession of more faceless monks carrying long candles and a recumbent black Christ totally surrounded by purple iris.  Ga-ding, ga-ding, they filed past us in silence and somewhere in the dark a man began to sing, not anything I had ever heard before, but a strange, haunting ululation that filled the night.  I was told it is Gypsy music.  The hair stood up on the back of my neck and soundlessly I started to weep.

Walker's Note:
There are many hotels in Cáceres.  We stayed at one in the main square.  It was ancient, Spanish and thoroughly acceptable.  As for eating we went to El Puchero on the Plaza Mayor.  The food was inedible the prices high and the waiter really grumpy, IF You Go Inside and have the menu- you may luck out, the Spanish schoolteachers did.  In the morning we went to the Iglesia de Santiago for their procession.  It was altogether a more family affair.  It was also daylight.  Today's penitents wore white robes and red hoods; the tableau was the Last Supper, born on the shoulders of at least a hundred men, followed by a weeping Madonna in a red cloak surrounded by bowers of white roses, lilies, and gladiola and born through the streets by just as many woman.

Day 5: Casar de Cáceres

The walk to Casar de Cáceres was pleasant and uneventful, but once there we had to trail through the length of the urbinizacion (suburbs) to reach the old part.  No big deal really as it is a tiny town, but typical of many tiny towns, the New Part had stretched out along the length of the only street.  The refuge was locked.  The Spanish Ladies had the keys, but where were they.  We went into both bars and asked for them, but it wasn't until hunger drove us into the nearest place that we found both lunch and the Spanish Ladies.  That night there was another procession.   Not anything like the polished ones of Cáceres, but everyone turned out to see it and we hung out the windows to watch it pass.

Walker's Note:
1) The new refuge is great - lots of hot water, lots of beds in two rooms.  They are sort of crowded and communal but who cares, they are there and it is so clean.
2) The restaurant with the key is very good.  It is immediately on your right hand side as you face the Casa Consistorial and it has three parts - a bar, a solarium and a dining room hidden in the back.  The proprietor opened for breakfast for us, although he seemed not to be a morning person.

Day 6: Miraltajo - Cañaveral - Grimaldo

Things began to fall apart going to The Embalse de Alcántara, 22 miles away.  We got lost, trying to follow the rodados - the tire tracks - through fields of wild flowers.  Fifteen hundred feet above the reservoir the view was great, but there was no obvious way down to the road.  After much back tracking and muttering we found our way (in three separate groups) to the bridge.

Walker's Note:
1) This part is VERY TRICKY.  About 12 km after Casar de Cáceres, you reach a gate in the middle of the back of the moon.   Just before it is the Primrose Path, going off to the right, enthusiastically marked with yellow arrows.  Whatever you do GO THROUGH THE GATE.  We didn't.  The Primrose path is fabulous - wild flowers everywhere and lots of tire tracks to follow.  Unfortunately, they lead to a precipice with a wonderful view of the bridge over the embalse.   We found another way down through bushes and over rocks higher than my head but this was just GOOD LUCK.  GO THROUGH THE GATE.  And then take the path to the right if you wish to avoid the highway.
2) The phone number for the Hostal at Miraltajo is in the Spanish guide to the Ruta de la Plata.  It was closed the day we wanted it because the owner was sick.  We took the train from Rio Tajo to Cañaveral.
3) The Highway above Rio Tajo where you come out onto the bridge (Or else walk through a railway tunnel on a still- used line) is fancy, with curves and narrow shoulders.  It is frankly an open invitation to get hit by a car.
At Cañaveral, a sleepy, dry, hot little White Village, the only hotel was full of workmen, and the promised refuge only a dream.  Next stop Grimaldo, 9 kilometres away, over some real hills.  Fortunately the Spanish women were still with us and more fortunately it was their second last day and they had retrieved their car from Merida.  We got a ride to Grimaldo, population ten houses, where thankfully there was a refuge.  In three small rooms were beds and mattresses for ten, we were eleven, but we managed.  The bar next door fed us supper and provided coffee and sandwiches the next day.

Walker's Note:
I can't offer many helpful hints because we arrived in a car.  But if you are walking this is another heads up.   As you come out of the woods at the crossroads before Grimaldo, nestled into the Northwest corner under some trees is the CLUB SOMETHING - I am sure it changes its name more often than some people change their underwear.  Immediately behind it and slightly to the right, also on the NW side of the road is a trail, marked with a yellow arrow on the gate, through The Bosque de Alcornoques (Cork Oaks).  About five or six km down there is a gate and a sign To Grimaldo*.  Take this trail instead of the road, which has no shoulders.  It brings you out into Grimaldo - ten houses, a bar and a refuge - the schoolteacher's house.  The guy in the bar has the key.

Day 7: Galisteo

Ten of us trailed back to the northwest corner of the crossroads to the CLUB SOMETHING (Isabel had gone on in the car) and followed the yellow arrows through the Bosque de Alcornoques.  Eventually we came to the cut off To Grimaldo*, but it was two hours too late and we were far too hot to be finding it.  We ambled along through more woods until we hit the road, which we probably could have found from the hostal.  A lady with a cow assured us that we had to go through the fence ahead, so we did.  Lots of dry plains and big rocks followed until three of us stopped by a barbed wire fence, to wait for the others to catch up - after yesterday being spread out didn't seem a good idea.  Suddenly we realized that we were not alone.  Five Toros Bravos (fighting bulls) had apperated silently out of miles of nothing and were gazing at us disdainfully from our side of the fence.  They weren't the biggest bulls I had ever seen close up, but the were bigger than us.  Their horns were enormous and they were, teenagers.  They chewed and looked; we looked back, but didn't breathe.  Eventually they wandered off, the others turned up, and we set out for the next fine mess - a 4" ledge with a 15 foot drop onto some sharp rocks on our right, and five strands of barbed wire on our left.  Intense discussion!  We decided Down There was better than Up Here, so into GULLY of BIG ROCKS we went, mostly on the seat of our pants.  We picked our way through very carefully until we came to a T-junction.  More discussion, we chose left scaled a cliff and there it was, the road to Rio Lobos.  And there was Isabel waiting for us with the car.   There were hugs, and lots of pictures and the four Spanish ladies headed for home and we went on towards Galisteo, a walled town with a refuge for four and a hotel which might or might not have any rooms for us.

Walker's Note:
1) There are lots of Toros Bravos in this neighbourhood.  This is where they raise them for the bullring.  Don't do anything stupid.  They seemed to be non-aggressive, but they are teenagers, and they run in herds.  Stay close to the fence (for obvious reasons), don't challenge them and don't decide it's a fine opportunity for a photo-op.
2) When you get to the N630.  Cross it.  A heads up here because they have been doing roadwork and the crossing is very confusing.  LOOK for a GATE on what I think will be the North side of the road just here and go through it, onto a marked but very exposed path with lots and lots of gates.  Close to the road to Rio Lobos, the path will probably still be washed away.  Be careful in the gully; the big rocks are not fun walking, and it could be very wet down there.   Keep going parallel to barbed wire, until you come to the T-junction.  Turn left, scale that cliff and the road to Rio Lobos will be there.
3) Go right at the road, and after what seem like an endless jaunt down new asphalt you get to a road leading off to the left.  It goes through a private finca, across a cow grate- a pasos canadienses - we loved this because we call them Texas gates here.  There is an endless wander around things - you can see a Roman bridge in the fields to your left but you aren't anywhere near it.  Still and all, someone is letting you wander across his land, so keep going until you see Galisteo in the distance - a walled city on a hill - with a fine wall and not much inside.

Walker's Note:
Hostal Emigrantes - the only hostal in Galisteo is outside the cities walls, the first thing you come to when you get there.  It has one double - ha!!- for midgets maybe - and another room at the top of a spiral staircase too narrow for you to get up or down with your backpack on.  One of the people in our party was 6'4" and weighed about 300 lbs.   He decided not to even bother trying.  Instead he and his Mother went to the refuge, which is on the far side of town, outside the city walls on the North end.  The refuge is big enough for an army and clean and has lots of hot water, but it has only 4 bunks and the old gorgon who runs it (has very blue eyes - lot of them along this route and I have heard things about Wellingtons troops, ahem!!!!) hates furriners.  He will only let 4 people stay, no matter what.   He won't let them have the key and he won't let them stay in the refuge until Bedtime.  Still and all there are stores and the Hostal Emigrantes serves a very nice supper in its dining room, and they provided breakfast and more sandwiches.

Day 8: Carcabosa - Plasencia

We walked to Carcaboso in 90°+F.  There is nothing on the way.  The Spanish guide says there is a bar in Aldehuela del Jerte, halfway to Carcabosa, but maybe someone should have asked Aldehuela or maybe it was closed and hidden for Easter Sunday.  Carcabosa is a very nice little town, but we now found ourselves faced with 39 kilometres of nothing-no people, no facilities, no water between here and Aldenueva del Camino.  Although we would pass under the Roman arches at Cáparra, there would also be stone walls to climb, rivers to wade and if there was irrigation we would have to walk 20 kilometres beside the N630, to get to a refuge which had room for four.  And after Aldenueva del Camino there was a guaranteed 12 kilometre hike along the N630 to Baños de Montemayor.  It was Easter Sunday; every car in Spain was on the road.  We capitulated.  We took a cab to Plascensia and a bus to Banos and we started over.

Walker's Note:
1) Stay in Carcabosa for the night.  When you get to the highway at Carcabosa, turn left and walk until you get to the bars etc.  The first one on the south side of the road was very helpful.  Stay there.  Early in the morning, take lots of water and walk to Aldenueva.
2) If you decide to take a side trip into Plasencia, and it's worth it, DON"T WALK!  Unless you really think that the 10 km along a 4-lane divided highway is AUTHENTIC or SPIRITUAL or SOMETHING!!!  Eat in Carcabosa.
3) From Aldenueva take a bus to Hervás.  Spend two hours looking at this worthwhile little town, then catch another bus to Baños.  Take the waters and spend the night, or walk to Calzada de Béjar.

Day 9: Calzada de Béjar

Walker's Note:
1) Walk UP the main street, and onto the switchback that is the highway, until you get to the first loop.  In front of you will be a shed with a sign that says "NO Bicycles".  On your left, across the road is a stone fence about 4' high, and a row of buildings.  Behind the stone fence, carefully hidden is the yellow arrow - painted onto the side of the buildings, and not visible to anyone less than 6' tall.  But this puts you on another Roman road - the good kind with The Big Stones.  Take it up onto the highway at the top.
2) Just after you come out of this valley there is a scaly bit on the road, but no traffic, and there is a sort of service road that you can use, past some farmhouses and buildings.  Walk along the N630 to the petrol station etc on the left hand side at Puerto de Béjar and then you can get back onto the Camino.  There is a shed with a sign Ruta de la Plata, and after it some construction in a posted zone (we pretended we couldn't read the signs, and waved at everyone who yelled at us).
The route down to Rio Cuerpo de Hombre is an idyllic jaunt amongst stone walled pastures where more toros bravos were being raised for the bullring.  There is a Roman bridge at Rio Cuerpe de Hombre and more there are millarios.  At Calzada de Bejar we entered the southern reaches of Castile-Leon.  Coming round a corner was a tiny lady with great twigs under her arm and a brown cow and a small dog bringing up the rear.  It was one of the photos that got away, one of the ones you ever after regret.

Walker's Note:
The refuge in the Casa Consistorial is strictly hard floors, and the two brand new bathrooms have cold water only.   There are no showers.  BUT the Mayor who arrived on his Official Bicycle and town itself treated us like kings.   While we were waiting for the mayor, two more pilgrims showed up.  We had already met them in Baños (the only others since the four Spanish ladies went home before Galisteo).  They had accosted us as we got off the bus, moved right in for the kill.  We weren't real pilgrims and they were.  They had walked from Carcaboso - so hard.  Their faces became pious and smug.  All I said was, "Izzat so?".  They sat for a while and a cab arrived to take them to Fuenterroble and guess what he had with him?  The pizza that they had ordered with the cab.  We smirked virtuously as they got in.  We saw them no more.  It poured that night and the whole town was in the bar with us.   We had our dinner surrounded by gaggles of children playing games and doing their homework.  The men were all at the bar, smoking, laughing and yelling at the television set.  Soccer is serious business, to be watched en masse.   ( I also suspect it was the only TV in the town.)  The kids were doing their homework, the adults were yelling at the soccer game and we were pigging out on fried chicken.  My friend Helen had five pieces.  I think that would about double her lifetime consumption of fried chicken.

Day 10: Fuenterroble de Salvatierra

The morning was misty and cool, and the road out of Calzada was mushy, very mushy, parts of it completely under water, so we crawled over the stone fence to our left, and waded through soppy grass to the end of the pasture where there was a BIG GATE.  It took us 10 minutes to undo the wires and redo them.

Walker's Note:
Do stop to look around when you come out onto the road to Béjar.  Real Mountains appear, as if by magic, to your right.  They are there for a while and then there is nothing really exciting until you arrive in Fuenterroble.
In Valdelacasa a nice lady dried my boots with her hair dryer.  They were soaking wet from the walk through the pasture.  Then she yelled up the barkeeper and made him open up just for us.  Ten minutes later every man in town was in there with us.

Walker's Note:
The refuge in Fuenterroble is in the Parish House.  It is big and has a kitchen and hot water in the showers.  It also has fleas in some of the bedding.  There is a store in the bar.  The key is in the house across from the refuge on the main street.  The Little Old Lady who guards it has to stand on her tiptoes to open the door.
The sacerdote Don Blas is young and popular.  He is the local camino association and has been known to take on a string of bulls if it helped him to raise money for something.  When he arrived to make us welcome and to collect his messages, Anthony had already taken two for him.

Day 11:San Pedro de Rozados

Coming out of Fuenterroble is confusing, and the road is endless and rather boring.  For variety it snowed.  There is nothing until San Pedro, and the last 14 km is along a very hard highway.  Getting into the town is confusing.   You can see it, but some to-ing and fro-ing is required.  Just ask for the bar.

Walker's Note:
As well as a small refuge across from her bar, which does good meals, Maricarmen has a small house that we rented for the night.  It is good for groups and has everything including television.  She will arrange for your bags to go on to Salamanca, if you know where you are going in Salamanca.

Day 12/13: Salamanca

The walk to Salamanca is brilliant, although there is nothing between it and San Pedro.  The first part is idyllic - fields, cows, blacklegged pigs that come looking for food - everything a middle-aged city person would find romantic.   Halfway there you are on a ridge overlooking the spires of Salamanca, sharing the view that every walker has seen since Salamanca was.  The last bit is drastic - a moonscape of equal brilliance.

You have to stop in Salamanca.   The cathedral is there, the Plaza Mayor deserves a couple hours of your time, the university is one of the oldest in Europe, and the library is covered in cockleshells.

Day 14: Zamora

We got there on the bus, and waited a day for a friend to arrive to walk the rest of the way to Santiago.  Zamora was once a great city full of churches.  It has The Samana Santa Museum, a storage place for the tableau carried through Zamora at Easter and further decorated with mannequins wearing the robes and hoods of the local societies.  Dozens of hooded figures stare at you in the gloom, their eyes follow you around.  In less than three minutes we were all out in the street again.

Walker's Note:
Leave at noon or early afternoon of your second day in Salamanca.  Walk to Calzada de Valdunciel, which has a small refuge and is only 15 kilometres away, so you can take a cab back to Salamanca if it is closed or full.  From there, walk to either El Cubo de la Tierra del Vino or to Villanueva de Campéan, and from there to Zamora.

Day 16: Granja de Moreruela

After Zamora the real fun started.  At Montamarta (19 k), the town hall was only a hole in the ground - no refuge, not even a floor.  On to Riego del Campo, another 15 kilometres along the road and through the Embalse de Ricobayo which has been dry for the last few years although not quite dry enough when we arrived.  You have two choices; either walk miles out of your way or wade right in - embalse mud is really gooey.  The sides were stony and steep, but at the top we found the ruined walls of Castrotorafe, once a mighty fortress belonging to the Knights of Santiago.  At Riego there was only a surly waitress and an attic with no windows, no bathrooms and the dust of ages.  There was also pigeon poop.  Two of us muttered about psittacosis and all of us fled.  Back on the highway we tried to touch what turned out to be a Guardia Civil speed trap for a ride.  He was amused.  He said there was a bus, he said we could ask junkyard dog in the bar to phone for a taxi.  Antoine grunted and chewed his moustache, the Guardia laughed,
"I'll ask her for you."
We stood by the side of the road.  In the fading light, anticipating the bus from Zamora.  One was coming, we jumped up to ponga la mano as we had been told to do.  The bus passed, the passengers all ponga-ed back.  Another one came, same thing.  A third drove into site, the driver responding to our now desperate ponga-ing by waggling his forefinger in front of his nose, a gesture I loath.  The fourth arrived, we tried again and he stopped.
"Six kilometers?" said the driver.
"Si senor, por seis."
He shook his head, the old ladies all smiled at us as we stood in the aisles.  At Granja de Moreruela, an ugly little town with a drainage ditch running down the main street, the Ruta de la Plata splits in two.  To your left lies Orense and the wilds of Portugal, to your right the road to Astorga.  It has a real refuge, or so it said, but it was the worst place I have ever seen, although better than the attic.  The plumbing was broken - not just not-working, it was smashed.  The floors were dirty, the toilet only flushed if you filled a bucket from the shower hose which was leaking and threw it in the toilet.  The old boy with the THE KEY and the SELLO asked us so many questions, I thought he thought we wanted to immigrate.  He assured us that there was NO FOOD; it seemed to be a point of pride, that there was NO FOOD; but the owners of the Bar Peregrino, who were just coming home from a Romero, made us supper.  The soup and fried eggs were ever so good, and the night turned into a party as these things often do.  There was wine, there was lots of brandy, there were toasts made by and to all and sundry with home made Uruxu from under the bar.  Some of the more abstemious of us took the opportunity to embrace the medicinal value of alchol.  No one wanted to go back to the cold and dark that was the REFUGE, certainly not stone cold sober, so we staggered back, well fortified against the anticipated terrors of the night.  The candles we had left burning hadn't warmed a thing; it was perishing cold.   We went to bed in or under all of our clothes.

Walker's Hints:
1) Getting out of Zamora is exciting, and requires a small detour through what appears to be the town garbage dump.   I believe it is highlighted on the Spanish maps provided.
2) Eventually you get to Roales de Pan, where once again the purported bar is well hidden, and was probably not open.
3) The next stop is Montamarta where there is no Casa Consistorial - it is presently a hole in the ground with a crane hovering over it - and subsequently no refuge.  And while there are three bars, they were all closed at 1pm.   After this there is NOTHING until Riego del Camino.
4) Riego del Camino should be avoided like the plague; there is a very dirty bar on the highway, manned by a woman with the personality of a junkyard dog.
5) To get there you have to walk across two wings of the Embalse de Ricobayo - a vast reservoir that takes up most of the map for this part of the route.  The first wing was dry, fortunately, as it is just an enormous basin, and I am not sure what you would do if it were full.  After endless prairie you come to the second wing.  In this case we were under the bridge, not over it, but again the embalse was down so we were able to wade across one end.  HEADS UP again.   The mud sucked Thomas (who had joined us in Zamora) right in up to his boot tops.  We had to pull him out.  Aside from the ruins of Castrotorafe, there is nothing after.
6) NEVER SLEEP UNDER YOUR PONCHO unless you want to wake up soaking wet!
7) At Granja de Moreruela there is NO REFUGE, unless you are desperate and you just might be by the time you get here.
8) The Bar Peregrino - up the hill from the main drag and in the street to the right, just after the Ruta splits - should get a medal.

Day 17: Benavente

We started off to Benavente, full of coffee and doughnuts and more home made Uruxu.  How can you possibly say no to such perfect hospitality ,even at 7 in the morning.  It was 26 kilometres, including a 7 kilometre stretch down a deserted railway track.  Santovenia del Esla I don't remember, Villaveza del Augua I don't remember.  At Barcial del Barco we lost half the regiment.  Thomas had a blister bigger than his toe, Susanne was exhausted, and Cathy had sore feet.  The rest of us walked the rails to Villanueva del Azoague, which has a bar and very interested locals.   It was high adventure but bad walking.  Railroad tracks have an appeal that I can't explain, although I kept thinking a train would come, and it wasn't until we were far down the line where small trees grew between the ties that I really believed that we were safe.  Crossing the bridge over the Orbigo isn't a treat if you are afraid of heights, because the plates on the decommissioned railroad bridge are loose.  The creak, they give beneath your feet making a disconcerting BONG, followed by a louder BING when you move to the next piece.
The old part of Benavente is unattractive.  Dark and lugubrious and on a hill, it wasn't glad to see us.  It was the only place on the camino that I have ever felt foreign, unwanted, strange.  There is no refuge - we stayed at Hostal Raoul - where dinner is very late.  The only other choices were the Bar Galego, full of locals and smoke and an empty restaurant where the menu del dia transformed mysteriously into menu a la carte with Madrid prices, as soon as we sat down.  Benavente is not a highlight of this route.

Walker's Note:
Hostal Raoul was newly opened, but not new and he was glad to see us.  The only problem is his dining room opens late, but not for Spain, and he is down a lane near the church that is a bit hard to find.

Day 18: Alija del Infantado/ Puente de la Vizana

Coming out of Benavente is very tricky.  We got lost first thing.  A little map or some better directions would have helped.  At Villabrazara the store had no bread, at Maire de Castroponce there was nothing.  Anthony ran down a bread truck.  We bought bread and were given a bag of Madeleine's.  We dined a l'herbe on little cans of tuna and the oranges that had been carried grudgingly, all the way from Mérida, and the Madeleines which tasted great for this one and only time.
Then we came to Puente de la Vizana, and fell in love.  We were going to Alija del Infantado which promised nothing but a floor.  As we crossed the Puente de la Vizana, where Napoleon himself had come to take on the English troops who were advancing through Spain, it started to pour.  We stopped for a drink.  We asked if he would let us stay.   There were only two rooms - one for four and one for two.  It sounded good to us, men in one room, ladies in the other - six in beds and two on the floor.  At least it was clean, and dry.  There was hot water and a bar and food.  What else is there?  He asked us to take our showers before his regulars came home.  He fed us one of the best dinners I have had, hiking.  He got up and made our breakfast.  Another medal candidate!!  I wish I could have his recipe for frogs' legs.

Day 19: La Bañeza

La Nora del Rio is off the road.  After it we weren't sure which of the two possible routes we were on because there was nothing.  I was perfecting a really bad respiratory condition and Helen and Thomas were both limping; it was raining, and freezing cold.  At La Bañeza we met two men travelling together, from where we weren't sure.  There were hot showers, there was a kitchen, and a nice little town down the hill from the refuge; there were real beds and we were welcome.  We made supper at the refuge and went to bed early, resorting once again to Brandy for its anaesthetic properties.  It was still raining, we were still freezing.  By this time I had full blown something or other so I stayed in the sitting room, next to the heater - the hospitalera turned it on just to keep me warm.  One of the new guys stayed up late watching Rambo movies on the colour TV.  I kept him company, propped up on a sofa, coughing my lungs out and blowing my nose.  It was cosy.

Walker's Note:
1)Make sure you have lots of food and water coming out of Benavente, because it is the last place until La Bañeza to buy stuff.  The truly macho walk the whole thing in one day.
2) If it is cold, don't sleep on the window side of the dormitory, the windows aren't double-glazed and it is perishing in the draft.
3) Make sure you have lots of supplies for the next day going to Astorga.  There is NOTHING, whatever it says in whatever guide you are carrying.

Day 20: Astorga

Nothing along the route.  Half of it along the highway.

Walker's Note:
"Would I recommend this route?", I have been asked.
My initial reaction was "NO".
It is hard, there is almost no place to stay, and some bits really are un-walkable unless you are extremely hardy or foolhardy.  BUT now that I am home, and looking at the pictures, I realize that I must have had a good time.
How could I not have?  The countryside is magnificent.  It includes two great cities and one sort of cute one.   It has pigs and cows and sheep and even bulls popping up here and there and it has the romance of history.  Would I do it again?  Probably, given the opportunity.  And if it appeals, you should too.
BUT  1) DON"T go alone.  There are too many places to get lost, and too many stretches of nothing and nobody.
2) YOU CAN'T GO in July or August; Go early in the year.  Walking some of these stretches would be suicidal in the heat of summer.
3) Be prepared to make some adjustments.  You can't always have your own way; nothing will fall off and adjustments are part of the learning curve.
4) You need two more days (22).  During the initial planning, I erased a day from the schedule.  Bad keyboarding.   Nobody noticed.