Culture Shock and Questions: Villafranca de los Barros to Torremejia

 "Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit."
Edward Abbey

Via de la Plata Stage 8

Camino Breakfast

After a quick breakfast of bread and jam, we set off around 6:45 AM into a day that was just beginning.  Walking downstairs to the hotel lobby, we noticed that on the reception desk were a dozen deposited room keys – a testament to how many people had already begun their day on the Via de la Plata.  

Stepping out into the city streets of Villafranca de los Barros, the sun was just starting to lighten the sky as we stepped out the door, but the streets were already busy with traffic that was seemingly driving in every direction at once. The cafes, bars, and shops were still closed, but the sidewalks were already busy with people.  This was a little unexpected, as today is Spanish Labour Day, which we had been warned was a holiday.

The Church was beautifully lit up as we walked past, as was the Sanctuario de Nuestra Señora de la Coronación.  Due to the rain, we hadn't done much exploring yesterday, but the town looked quite nice, with its black and white tiled promenades and sidewalks.  Some of the walkways had musical themes with instruments and notes worked into the patterns, and we passed through several treed central parks.

At the edge of town, we were treated to a spectacular sunrise.  The sky was turning golden yellow and pink, and as the sun rose up above the fields, it lit up the rain-soaked grasses.  In the distance, we could see the dark shape of the hills rising up out of a bank of very interestingly looking clouds. 

Departing Villafranca de los Barros 

We set out early to take advantage of the cooler morning temperatures, but as we left Villafranca de los Barros, the air felt distinctly cold - not just from the hour, but from the dampness that clung to everything. Brrr...

As the sun came up, we found ourselves following long straight country roads through fields of vineyards. Perfectly straight rows of grape vines, each planted exactly equidistant from its neighbours, stretched out in all directions.  The fresh green leaves of the vines, many of which were blooming with tiny white flowers, stood out in contrast to the bright red or rich brown soil.

To our amazement, we were soon enveloped by a thick bank of fog that was almost beyond description. It grew so cold we could see our own breath as we walked, and we watched as millions of droplets of water collected on the grasses, thistles, and other wildflowers on the edges of the road.  Sean also spotted a dew-covered spider's web, which surprisingly was the first of this Camino.  The transition from golden sunrise to mist-shrouded world was so sudden it took us by surprise.

Fields of Fog

The next few hours were magical.  The sun shone through the moving and swirling mist, lighting up the dew-covered vines and olive groves.  At times, we couldn't see more than a few meters ahead or behind, and it felt as though we were alone in the world.  At other times, the mist would shift and we could see out across the fields. Frequently, we could see long fingers of mist snaking across the soil in mesmerizing patterns.

We were supposedly following a Roman road today, but apart from the route being very straight, it mostly just looked like a farm track, and a pretty busy one at that.  A small white car or truck would pass us every few minutes, the owners presumably headed for their vineyards.

We saw lots of parked vehicles along the lane, and occasionally we could hear someone working in a field, but it was too foggy to see what work they were doing.   Regardless, it was flat terrain, which made for easy walking amid the open fields.

Pilgrim Sunrise

Around 9:30 AM, the sun began to burn through the fog, and patches of blue sky appeared above us.  It felt as though the world opened up, showing us the path ahead, and to our surprise, it was full of pilgrims! We were not alone on the track after all, but walking within sight of seven others!

About an hour after the fog was burned away, the dark, rich soil of the vineyards began to steam.  As the sun's warmth strengthened, white wisps of mist snaked across the soil, entertaining us with their patterns, but we also knew this was a sign of the rising temperatures, and were grateful that it was not yet hot.  There was no shade on this stage at all, and in the height of summer, it would likely be impossible to walk it without the risk of heat stroke.

Camino Logistics

Around 12 km into our walk, we came to a turnoff for the town of Almendralejo, which is located 4 km to the west of the Camino, on the far side of the highway.  Although it is off the Camino, this town has several hotels and places to stay, which can be important, as there is only one Albergue and one Hostel in Torremejía, at the end of this stage. 

For pilgrims setting out from Vilafranco de los Barros, the options are Almendralejo (10 km + 4 km off the Camino), Torremejía (27 km away), or Merida (41 km).  When we set off this morning, all the accommodations in Torremejía appeared to be fully booked, leaving us with the prospect of a very long stage, or a very short one.

The dirt track to Almendralejo was quite busy with cyclists and walkers.  However, since it was only 10:30 AM, we decided to continue walking on, reluctantly accepting that today might be a 41 km stage if indeed there was nothing available at Torremejia.  Continuing on, we passed a group of pilgrims sitting at a stone picnic table at the crossroads, having a break. 

This was one of two rest areas we spotted along this stage, although we also saw others sitting on the large square trail markers that are used in this section.  Sadly, a lot of the granite cube markers were placed down in the ditch and a bit overgrown, making it difficult to use them as stools without getting soaked.

Hope and Faith

When we set out this morning, we weren’t sure how far we would walk or where we would sleep that night. We had listened as other pilgrims departed the hotel at 4:30 AM, presumably aiming to get to Mérida. For a moment, we considered doing the same: with good weather and a bit of luck, we could have covered the 41 kilometres to the city in one day. But as the sunrise illuminated the landscape and nature unfolded around us, we slowed our pace, choosing instead to savour the journey.

The structure of this Camino, with its long stages and choke points where beds are scarce, has forced us to ask ourselves what we truly want from this pilgrimage. Some in our group consistently leave around 5:00 AM, walking fast to ensure they have bunks at the municipal albergues.  Another lady has decided that she will only stay in donativos, not private albergues or in hotels, believing that each of these is, for her, not part of pilgrimage and ‘off the Camino’.  For her, these decisions have given way to some very long and very tough stages. An admirable, though challenging approach. For our own part, we desire neither to rush through each stage nor make each day a gruelling undertaking.  

Walking our own Camino

So what sort of Camino do we want?

Well, to start, we have no desire to race from point A to point B.  Our Camino is about the journey itself:  we want to enjoy the landscapes, see the natural world, and of course, bird watch as we trek.  Unless the heat becomes overwhelming, we don’t want to leave hours before dawn and miss the beauty around us. Why rush through an amazing sunrise?

With this in mind, we slowed our pace and decided not to push all the way to Mérida today. Instead, we would walk the 28 kilometres into Torremejía and complete the remaining 15 kilometres tomorrow. We would leave at a reasonable hour, take photographs, and simply enjoy the walk.

Each time we walk a Camino, we find ourselves reminding ourselves why we are here and what our goals are. This has never felt more true than on the Via de la Plata, where the logistics of balancing stage lengths with available accommodations and amenities can easily dominate one’s decisions. 

Today, we resolved to prioritize putting the journey first and, in doing so and in doing so have faith as well as hope that everything will work out. 

Approaching Torremejia

As we approached Torremejía, we began to see a new mountain range rising up in front of us, the rocky slopes sitting at right angles to the hills we've been paralleling for the past few days.  At the edge of the town, the vineyards and olive groves gave way to wheat fields, making us feel as though we'd crossed some kind of invisible boundary.

As Torremejía grew larger, the hills above it also became more defined and three-dimensional, the rocky slopes rising straight up off the flat agricultural plain at their feet. A large Common Raven appeared to be escorting us during the final push in today's stage.

As often happens, the final kilometres into town felt long.  The heat was beginning to rise, and we were ready for a break.  We could see the white buildings and the church steeple ahead of us, and although the map indicated the trail was straight, it felt like we curved away from the town before coming back in.  Then we were separated from it by raised train tracks, so we walked along the edge until we came to a muddy culvert that took us underneath.  We saw a row of pilgrims ahead who had kept going straight, heading for an overpass in the distance.  However, we ducked underneath the tracks, and from there it was a short walk on an overgrown track across a field, and we finally reached the outskirts of Torremejia.

Torremejia Spain

As we made our way through town, we couldn’t help but feel as though we had stepped onto the set of a Western. It would not have surprised us in the least to see a tumbleweed roll down the main street. I can’t quite put my finger on what gave us that impression, but when we crossed paths with Coreen later, she made the exact same comment.

Torremejía itself carries a long history. Founded in 1370, it was later rebuilt in 1808 after being burned by the French. Today, the modern town is centred around its historical quarter, where a 16th-century church and a 15th-century palace still anchor the community and hint at its deep past.

Spanish Bar Culture 

Having traversed town, we found an open bar and gratefully sat down with two glasses of ice-cold Aquarius.  Pointedly, when we had entered, the few patrons inside were standing at the bar, and most of the room was empty. We took a seat in the back of the room where our mud-caked backpacks and sweaty clothes would be both out of the way and offend the least.  More simply put, as always, we strove to be out of the way while we took our break. Yet within minutes, it seemed that the entire clientele and half of the local residents had migrated en masse to stand around our table.  In short order, we were jostled, people shuffled around our seats and backpacks, while patrons held intense discussions inches from us at extraordinarily high volume.  

Several men nearly ended up in our laps while trying to gesticulate about whatever topic was at hand.  As the conversations (there were many simultaneous ones) ensued, this group also seemed to go out of their way to continually step onto our backpacks and their hip belts – almost, almost, almost repeatedly tripping – as though this was their goal.   Either the back of the bar is a secret vortex of community energy, or we had unwittingly chosen the exact coordinates of the village’s social epicentre. Either way, it was like being adopted by a very animated, alcohol-fuelled flash mob that could not decide whether to eject us from town or invite us into the community. 

While this is hardly the first time that this sort of thing has happened to us, the fact that it always seems to occur shocks us.  Seeing that we were cornered, confused, and somewhat out of our depth, several other pilgrims came over and joined us at our table, which spaced out the local clientele.

Perspectives on Personal Space

What followed was a lively exchange shaped by Nordic, German, British, and Commonwealth perspectives. While everyone acknowledged that cultural notions of personal space vary, it was striking how often those around the table described experiencing similar “encroachments” in southern Spain - whether sitting in a church pew, pausing in a town square, or sharing a seat at a community bar.

One pilgrim suggested that what we were experiencing was less rudeness and more a reflection of cultural and social behaviour. In Spain, he argued, the bar is very much the center of the community, a place where people stand together to chat and exchange gossip. Locals often know everything about their town and everyone in it, but when pilgrims, who are unknowns, walk into that space, curiosity naturally gravitates toward us. We become, for a brief moment, the new focus of the room. No one wants to miss out on the latest bit of news or commentary, and so they move closer, eager to take part.

In contrast, another pilgrim suggested that while locals may feel most comfortable gathered at the bar, our instinct as Canadians, or as pilgrims seeking quiet, to sit in the empty back of the room, might unintentionally make them uneasy. In Spain, where being social and finding safety in numbers is the norm, those who sit apart can appear distant or even unfriendly. To avoid feeling excluded themselves, locals may cluster around us, simply doing what they would hope others might do for them.

Seen in this way, it could be understood as a form of acceptance, even a kind of welcome into the community. Which is why, perhaps, they are often shocked when we react by pulling away or tugging our backpacks closer. For them, it feels like a personal rejection, a negative comment on their intentions - something they do not understand, just as we have trouble understanding large parts of Spanish culture. 

Yet another pilgrim advised us not to overthink the matter at all. In her view, most people today are simply oblivious, moving through the modern world without much awareness of how they sound or how their actions appear to others. So many live on their phones, in their heads, or in their cups.  She argued that today, people living on their phones and distracted simply drift on autopilot rather than acting with intention.

Perhaps they think where we are sitting is the right place to be. Perhaps they are just curious, worried they might be missing out on something, or perhaps they aren’t thinking about anything at all. Some things simply defy explanation, and “sometimes a dogfight in a cheese farm is just a dogfight.”  As she put it, for certain questions there may be answers, but for others there are only more questions. She advised us that it was best not to dwell too long on it.  Noting that sometimes the wisest choice is simply to let it go.

In the end, three very different explanations emerged: curiosity rooted in culture, a preference for safety in numbers, and the simple obliviousness of modern life. Each made sense in its own way, yet none provided a definitive answer. Whatever the reason, we were still left unsure. What we did know, however, was that the practical realities of the Camino remained: decisions about where to sleep tonight still had to be made.

Lodging Choices

We were just beginning to debate the merits of staying at the truck stop 10 km farther down the highway rather than continuing all the way to Merida in the growing heat of the afternoon when Marcel, another Canadian pilgrim, wandered over and asked if we were staying at the hostel across the street.  He said it was nice and that he had just gotten a room there without a reservation, so I headed over to try our luck.

Although the albergue appeared to be fully booked online, happily, we were able to get a room with no problem.  Online reviews had not been positive about the establishment, but we found it to be clean, relatively quiet upstairs, and the staff were very friendly to us. 

We also received one of the nicest and most artistic stamps of this Camino from the young lady at the desk, who used melted wax, sprigs of flowers and ribbon, and a stamp to create a small work of art in each of our Camino passports.

Checked in, we deposited our backpacks, took showers and hand-washed our clothes before hanging them up around our room.  Once again, I utilized my hiking poles as makeshift clothing lines.  

Are you enjoying this Camino?

Refreshed, we set off to explore the town and perhaps share a drink with other pilgrims.   Overall, Torremejía had the feel of being a suburb of Mérida.  With our short tour completed, we soon looked for a local bar where we could sit in the shade and escape the blazing afternoon sun while enjoying a plate of tapas.

Seated with several pilgrims, a conversation arose that was unexpected for us.  Rather than the usual Camino pleasantries, the evening discussion revealed that not everyone was enjoying their time on the Via de la Plata. Around the dinner table, familiar questions echoed: “Are you enjoying this Camino?” “Is it what you thought it would be?” “How does it compare to your other treks?” Some were even considering leaving the VDLP altogether for a quieter route, hoping to escape tourist prices in towns like Mérida and the high costs of the limited supplies found along the way.

Many seemed to be struggling. Some lamented the repetitive stretches of track, while others found the sheer number of people and the difficulty of finding space in the municipal albergues disheartening. Theft, too, was still an ongoing concern in several towns. For many, the need to double up on stages to reach municipal accommodations, or else stay in costly hotels, had stripped away the sense of community they sought. Without communal meals or regular shared spaces, the cherished “Camino family” that so many speak of felt noticeably absent. Nights often seemed dominated by logistics, leaving little room for the spontaneous joy people had hoped to find.

Giving Back on the Way 

Amidst these weighty reflections, a moment of camaraderie emerged. Another pilgrim’s backpack had begun to pull apart, and she was unsure what to do.

As a related aside, the fact is that Sean carries a small repair kit tucked into his backpack, a habit born from the many kilometres we’ve walked across the Trans Canada Trail, National Trails across the UK, and on other Caminos.   These days, our own gear, increasingly threadbare, requires regular attention, making us prepared for such emergencies.   Volunteering to help, we were able to sit outside our hostel, stitching seams and sharing stories, grateful to be able to give back in a small but practical way.

As the evening wound down, we couldn’t help but reflect on the mixture of challenges and connections the Camino always seems to provide. Tomorrow we will reach Mérida, a city rich with history and culture, and we look forward to seeing what awaits us there. Whatever doubts and difficulties today revealed, we remain committed to walking with open eyes and open hearts - trusting that each step, each encounter, and each day holds something worth savouring.

See you on the Way!