A Different Camino Everyday: Zafra to Villafranca de los Barros

 "Slow travel is an invitation to connect, reflect, and appreciate the moment."

Via de la Plata Stage 7

Gaining Perspective on the Via de la Plata

No two days on the Camino are the same. Each section of the trail presents a different stage length, a new set of weather and temperature conditions, and a body that feels differently - sometimes heavier, sometimes lighter, sometimes more comfortable, sometimes less so. How we feel, our mood, and our perspective can shape how we engage with the Camino each day.

Just as circumstances differ from person to person, one pilgrim’s experience on a particular stage can be entirely different from another’s. Last night, as we spoke with pilgrims who had trekked the GR65 / Via Podiensis and the Camino Francés in recent years, it was striking to hear how differently each person experienced the same trail. Places and towns that were life-changing or deeply positive for one person were, for another, utterly miserable.

These conversations put many of the challenges we have faced on this pilgrimage into perspective. They reminded us that each moment and each viewpoint is unique, and each deserves to be appreciated as such.

Yet seeing that everyone has a different perspective and context for those perspectives does not necessarily mean that we can understand them.  Appreciate them, yes, understand them ... not necessarily.  This simple truth would be at the heart of many of our experiences today on the Via de la Plata. 

Breakfast in Zafra 

It was a relatively peaceful night, and since it was only a 20 km stage today, we decided to sleep in and have breakfast at the hotel.  When we headed downstairs around 7:30 AM, Coreen and her husband were already enjoying their buffet breakfast, and they kindly showed us how to use the coffee machine, meaning we had a breakfast of croissants, yogurt, orange juice, and much-appreciated coffee. 

Just as we were getting ready to head out, the skies opened up and it began to pour.  As a result, we had a slow start, opting to stay indoors to see if the weather would improve.  Half an hour later, we headed out into a cool, rain-soaked square under a heavy sky, but it wasn't actually raining on us, for which we were very grateful.

Return to the Camino

We followed the Camino arrows past the Church and out to the edge of town.  Sean stopped to photograph some interesting street art along the way, the first of several exhibits we would pass today.  His interest in the artwork immediately attracted a crowd of elderly Spanish onlookers whose attention had suddenly been drawn to a sight they must see almost every day. 

We were soon shuffled out of the way as several elderly Spaniards elbowed and jostled to stand in front of us to inspect the graffiti closely.   It made us wonder where the line between curiosity and nosiness lies, but we decided that it is always good to spark an interest in local landmarks that are easy for us all to take for granted.

When we reached the edge of town, we came to the tall stone Torre de San Francisco.  It looked like a watch tower, and it made us wonder who might have stood guard there, when, and what they might have seen.  When we looked inside, we were surprised to see that the floor was covered in several inches of bird droppings and broken eggshells.  An active community of Rock Doves was clearly roosting in the top of the tower, but curiously, none of them were present when we passed by.  

Country Roads

The first 4 km of the walk were along a gravel road that took us out into the countryside.  The road was lined with small homes, gardens, olive groves, and fields of tall, lush, green grass. For us, even though we are on the same trail as yesterday, there are variations that make each day unique.  The species of birds we spot are shifting, and the flowers are changing as we head north.  With that said, today on the Camino.  It had a completely different feel than the landscape we traversed yesterday, which had large fields stretching out to the horizon, clearly part of a thriving agricultural business.  This landscape had the gentler, more haphazard, wilder and more overgrown feel of private enterprise.  Above us, we caught a glimpse of a Booted Eagle circling in the overcast skies, which was a nice highlight of the morning.

Almost right away, the trail began climbing, and soon we reached the Alto de Sierra de los Olivos. From this ridge, we could look out on the fields and hills stretching out in all directions.  In front of us, we could see the roofs of Los Santos de Maimona, and behind us, we could still see the outskirts of Zafra.

To our right, a large factory was spewing out smoke or steam that trailed across the landscape in a large blue-grey plume. Strangely, although we were now quite some distance from the town, we were passed by a local out for his daily exercise, who seemed quite hesitant to pass us, preferring to follow oddly close behind rather than passing on the wide, gravel road.

We descended on the far side of the hill on a wide, paved concrete trail that curved down through a beautiful forest.  As it was spitting rain again, we were very grateful that the descent was not a slippery or muddy track.  Soon, we were entering the outskirts of Los Santos de Maimona, a tiny self-contained town sitting by itself among the fields.

The Odd Nature of Los Santos de Maimona

We wandered soggily into Los Santos de Maimona, greeted by a welcoming Camino sign that promised more than just another sleepy Extremaduran town. A noble start, we thought – until the heavens opened with the sort of enthusiasm one only typically sees in biblical epics.

Our primary mission became one of survival, or at least dryness.  And so we set off with the goal of finding a place to step into in order to get out of the rain.  Thankfully, fortune favours the damp, and we spotted a bar with outdoor seating tucked under a generous veranda. With no sign of the rain easing (and with morale gently dripping through our socks), we ordered a café con leche and settled in to edit photos and write our travel journals.

The quiet joys of the digital nomad – sitting in the rain working. 

Soon after sitting down, opening up our jackets and beginning our work as we waited for the rain to abate, an elderly Spanish gentleman began orbiting our table in ever-tighter circles.  He seemed to have the single-mindedness of a hawk eyeing prey. That is, if the prey were two soggy pilgrims with a laptop and a guidebook.   His focus seemed to be on the computer screen that Sean was looking at.   Then, after several circuits around our table during which he kept stumbling over our backpack straps, and with all the delicacy of a dump truck, he elbowed Sean squarely in the back.  When Sean jumped, with surprising speed and without a word, he reached out and spun the laptop around to examine the photo onscreen. One might say he was curious. Others might say criminally nosy. Then, without a single word, only a noncommittal grunt, he walked away.  

Once again, we were left wondering where the line between nosiness and curiosity lies.

Then, a few minutes later a young man emerged from the bar in high theatrical style, pacing dramatically and bellowing into his mobile, “I am mucco importanto!  I am mucco important!” in what must have been an important message for everyone in the square, repeated with gusto in Spanglish until he ran out of breath or battery and retreated back inside. 

Once the rain began to show signs of slowing, we packed up and prepared to return to the trail. But not before poking our heads into the Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de los Ángeles. The history of the town is linked to the Order of Santiago, and there were signs of this throughout.  At its center sits a 16th-century Gothic-Renaissance Parish Church of the Lady of Los Angeles.  Unusually, its doors were standing open, and we happily stepped inside.  A few rows of wooden pews were divided from the rest of the church by a thick iron grill, and beyond these gates, most of the church lay in complete darkness, except for the golden altar, which was lit up and glowing softly in the distance.  We spent a few very short moments in the cool, dark sanctuary, marvelling at the imagery created by that golden altar, shining like a guiding light through the complete darkness, but safely locked away behind its thick iron bars, far away and unreachable to the likes of us.

We had barely crossed the threshold of the Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de los Ángeles when two elderly ladies scurried in behind us like latecomers to a bake sale.  The first cleared her throat pointedly and quite unnecessarily moved to stand directly in front of me.  In short order, the second aged woman proceeded to do the same to Sean, striving to block any views of the altar, both making it clear that they were the protectors of the holy space and wished for pilgrims to leave it alone.  To emphasize this point, they both turned around and, without a word said (and possibly without even blinking) just stood and stared at us. Meanwhile, a rather large man marched in and proceeded to shuffle closer and closer and closer to Sean until he literally slid himself in front of us in the same pew!  

Despite the sanctuary being otherwise empty, all three local residents seemingly felt compelled to either watch us very closely or block our attempt to see the church. Either we smelled particularly divine, or this was some obscure local church custom involving personal space invasion.

Feeling that it was time to leave (as there was little point in remaining), the odd behaviour continued.  As we sought to make a polite retreat, this trio once again hustled to get in front of us, ultimately blocking the door as they began a conversation pretending to be oblivious to our presence.  15 minutes later, they concluded their chat and left – allowing us to also depart the church. 

Each Day is Unique on the Way

Rejoining the Camino, we followed the arrows through town and back out into the countryside. We found ourselves following another dirt track through olive groves and vineyards.  The soil had taken on an incredibly red hue, and it seemed to glow in the dim light.  This made a colourful background to the dark olive trees, bright green grape vines, and usual array of white, yellow, purple, and red wildflowers.  In the background, we could see layers of blue hills receding into the distance as showers swept across them, obscuring their outlines in shifting curtains of white rain.

Perhaps it was the weather, but today felt like a strong reminder that each day on the Camino is different.  We were still walking through an agricultural landscape dominated by olive groves and vineyards, but it felt lush, green, and much wilder than yesterday's walk.   It was also, to be entirely honest, a lot muddier and much more slippery than yesterday on the trail.

As the morning progressed, we passed fields that had cows, horses, or very large brown pigs grazing happily in them.  Other vineyards had the ruins of old stone buildings scattered among the vines, which made for interesting highlights. 

At one point, the road gave way to a two-track laneway that was partially flooded.  As we picked our way among the puddles, we were grateful that the sticky red mud wasn't actually that slippery.

A couple of hours after leaving Los Santos de Maimona, we caught our first glimpse of Vilafranca de los Barros.  It was still around 5 km away, and we had to cross the railway tracks and dash across a very busy highway to reach it.  This was an unpleasant experience, but luckily we made it across without incident, as we have done repeatedly on this Camino and the Via Augusta before it.

Vilafranca de Los Barros

From there, it was a pretty straight run into town.  Just as we reached the other side of the highway, it began to pour, and the rain continued without letting up until we reached our accommodations.  At the roundabout on the edge of town was a large double sign welcoming us to Fabrica de Musica and Vilafranca de los Barros.  

Villafranca de los Barros is a city with a rich history and vibrant culture. Originally named Moncovil, the region was repopulated during the 13th century, at a time when the Masters of the Order of Santiago resided in the province. By the mid-14th century, the settlement had been granted city status and took on the name Villafranca de los Barros.  Today, the city is known for its artistic and musical culture.  A fact that became immediately evident as we wandered into a park adorned with several benches covered in music-themed street art. It was a delightful and unexpected touch, a playful reminder of the creativity and expression woven into the fabric of this historic town.

As we followed the road into the center of the community, we discovered that we were still on the Wine Trail. We didn't stop much on the way through town due to the downpour, but luckily, we found the place we were staying without much trouble!

Checking in, Drying out

As we entered, we noticed that there was a bar downstairs, and so we stepped in, sat down and stripped off our soaked rain jackets. Grateful to be done with the day's stage, and before heading up to our room to do the usual daily chores, we sought to enjoy a cold beer.   The place was only partially full, and we had seated ourselves on two stools at the end of the bar. 

As we settled in for a beer before checking into our lodging, a friendly waitress approached to take our order. But before we could respond, chaos erupted. Two men jumped up from their seats - one shouting his order from across the room, the other deciding it was necessary to rush over, step over our packs, push between us, and reach around Sean’s camera, which was drying on the bar, all to grab a napkin while demanding another beer.

In the process, he also moved Sean’s camera, as if it were some irresistible curiosity that must be touched. Pointedly, there were napkin dispensers on every table, including his own, as well as down the length of the bar. The waitress, rolling her eyes, obliged them before returning to us.

No sooner had she come back than another pair of men attempted the same stunt - this time she barked at them to sit down. Not before one of them again brushed and moved Sean’s camera. Frustrated, Sean picked up his camera and moved to another table, leaving both men looking mortally offended.

Finally seated and with the Spanish clientele momentarily silenced, the waitress returned to our table with a warm smile and took our order - two cold cervezas and two cheese sandwiches.  Thankful we enjoyed this meal at the end of a rainy day on the trail.  

Checked in and Cleaned up

Half an hour later, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the ever-curious crowds and still soaked from walking in the rain, we paid our bar bill and checked into our accommodations.  Here we discovered that the hotel was full of lots of pilgrims staying in the hopes of having a peaceful and restful night.  

After finishing our laundry, we braved the rain to see the Church of Our Lady of the Valley. Though it was closed and the downpour showed no signs of easing, it was easy to imagine that this would have been a charming town to explore under sunnier skies.

Later, we walked to the Spar to pick up salad, bread, and cheese for dinner. We returned to our room to write and edit photos, hoping the weather might give us a break later on. While most of the pilgrims at the hotel were busy trying to dry out, we couldn’t really feel sorry for ourselves. Rumours and emails from pilgrims on the Camino Norte and the Camino Frances in northern Spain suggested they had endured almost two weeks of nonstop deluges - a very different experience from our own.

With the growing number of people on the Via de la Plata, we began looking ahead to make reservations, only to find that many places were already fully booked. The logistical realities of this trail - planning ahead, finding accommodations, and navigating a busy route - continue to be the largest regular challenges we face each day.

Reflecting on the Via de la Plata Pilgrimage

Pilgrimage isn’t just about the landscapes and cathedrals.   As today’s events revealed, it’s also about patience, humour, and embracing the unpredictable dance of human connection, however odd it may seem. Not every encounter will be peaceful or profound – some will simply be loud, awkward, or baffling. But each one reminds us that the Camino, like life, rarely unfolds according to plan – and that the best thing we can carry isn’t our gear, but grace and an open mind to experience different cultures.

See you on the Way!