Looking Backward, Looking Forward: Fuenteroble de Salvatierra to Morille

 “Oh, I could live a lifetime
Trying to understand and learn
But some things are too damn deep
To make sense of…”
Roo Panes, All These Walking Thoughts

Via de la Plata Stage 20

Mental Challenges of Camino Pilgrimage

Hiking the Camino is always a dual journey: while our feet traverse physical landscapes, our minds navigate equally challenging mental terrains. Today, the physical miles were not the true test; it was the mental effort that weighed heaviest. Exhaustion had settled deep in our bodies, while the frustrations of others seemed to ripple outward, catching up with us in ways we hadn’t anticipated.

So much of pilgrimage, and indeed of long-distance hiking in general, is about keeping your mind open - to new experiences, to unexpected challenges, to the people and places you encounter, while still moving forward. Yet as our alarms went off this morning, we had no idea that today would become one of the toughest trail stages we had ever faced on any hike or Camino.

Morning on the Via de la Plata

This morning, Sean woke up feeling rotten, low on energy, and clearly had the albergue cough that had been nagging us the past few days.  The lack of food last night was not doing him any good, and it looked like he was getting sick on top of it.  We had planned to walk to Morille today, which would make it a 32 km day if we took the most direct route or 36 km if we followed the alternate.  However, with the way he was feeling it was a question of whether we should take a rest day or try to walk 18.8 km to the albergue in Pedrosillo de los Aires.  We said goodbye to Flor and Edourado as they set off, and then decided to head out around 8:00 AM ourselves. 

The Way of St. James 

We followed the paved road out of town, past the horse that tried to eat my pants yesterday.  I didn't spot any frost on the ground this morning, but the air was chilly enough that we could see our breath, and everything was soaked with dew. The sky was cloudy, with the sun only managing a weak band of yellow near the horizon.  Rain was forecast for later, and we could already smell it in the air.

It felt like a long trudge down a paved track and then along the edge of the highway.  At least there was virtually no traffic at that time of morning, which was a small blessing.  Behind us, we could see the terra cotta roofs of the town tucked in between forested slopes. Beyond it, soft, puffy clouds were slowly pouring over the ridge down into the valley, seeming to creep up on it unawares. 

Muddy Tracks

A few minutes outside of town, the arrows pointed us off the highway and down a grassy track. 

Unfortunately, the muddy ruts were filled with water.  The prospect of slogging through soaking wet grass and having to painstakingly pick our way through mud was almost too much for Sean in his worn-down state.  Day after day of navigating flooded trails has become tiresome, and by this point, we are ready for at least one day of walking in dry shoes.  We had faced the same challenges in the past when hiking Wainwright's Coast to Coast Trail in England.  In that instance, after finishing the trail during two weeks of solid rain, we decided to travel north to Scotland to escape the lousy weather by hiking the West Highland Way and Great Glen Way. 

In the last few days on the Via de la Plata, we have also been seriously debating whether to continue on this route, presumably following sodden tracks all the way to Santiago, or to head north to Gijon down trails we know are less challenging from previous experiences walking the Camino Frances and Camino San Salvador.

Fortunately, the mud wasn't actually too bad to navigate, but the mental challenge it presented was tough.  We are both worn out and ready for a break, but if we want to 'finish' this trail, either by walking to Santiago or Gijon in the time we have left before our return to Canada, we will have to do even longer stages from now on.  We have been walking for one month now, with only one day off in Merida, and it is taking its toll.  It is important to listen to your body when doing a long hike, and for the past few days, we have been pushing on when perhaps we shouldn't have.  We were about to pay the price.

As we trekked, Sean kept looking back, wanting to return to last night’s accommodations.  With each step, he seemed to look worse and worse.  Ironically, at this time, a giant sign on a water tower in a nearby field dominated the skyline.  It said, “T.C.T. – You can’t go back!”  An apt commentary for both today and our 6 years spent trekking on the Trans Canada Trail, commonly referred to as the TCT.

As we walked through the damp, cold morning, we were surrounded on both sides by peaceful dehesas.  Many had grazing cows, the jangle of their bells floating across the fields.  Closer by the incessant calls of several cuckoos seemed to echo and reverberate.  Hearing the repeated 'cuckoo, cuckoo' call while you are questioning what you are doing, why you are out here, how far you should push, and where you should go next doesn't make anything any easier.  In fact, what sounds like constant mockery quickly becomes highly frustrating.

Roman Roads

A few kilometres later, we realized we were crossing a wide, perfectly flat open plain.  Behind us was a mountain range, and in the distance, gently rolling forested hills rose up towards the overcast skies.  The fields around us were open, with very short velvety grass.  They were dotted with small shrubs and piles of stones and divided by long curving fieldstone walls and the occasional stone shepherd's hut.  Some fields had cattle or sheep, while others held Iberian pigs. 

En route, we walked past several Roman mile markers, each post accompanied by an interpretation plaque.  About halfway across the plain, we also came to an exposed section of Roman road.  It was a bit overgrown by grass, but it was still solid and flat, and there were neither mud nor puddles. 

There were quite a few information plaques in this stretch, but we found ourselves missing the marble signs provided across Extremadura, as well as the granite blocks that mark the trail, which can also be used as stools. 

Interestingly, at least for us, we once again saw no other footprints or evidence of other pilgrims.  Once again, despite finding the albergues to be full each night, we rarely saw anyone else walking. 

By the time we reached the far edge of the plain, Sean was sweating with a fever and ready for a break. Thankfully, there was a convenient small rest area.  There was a very cute herd of Iberian pigs in the treed pasture beside the stone benches, and they gathered along the wire fence to investigate when we stopped. 

We petted their noses, which were very muddy and highly calloused from digging in the dirt.  As we watched them excavating with these incredibly flexible and agile noses, we realized they had made some quite large holes in the pasture, some of which had filled with water and now provided a place to wallow. 

It felt wonderful to take a break and sit down. It was also very peaceful watching the pigs.

Climbing the Camino

After the break, the trail began slowly but steadily climbing, which was tough going for Sean, who was feeling worse and worse.  We stopped for many breaks, taking in the view back out over the valley behind us and mustering the energy to keep moving forward. 

The small trees in the dehesas were filled with both birdhouses and bird life, including Eurasian Chaffinches, Blue Tits, European Robins, Common Linnets, shrikes and many other bird species. Apart from a military aircraft flying low over the valley, the only sounds were those of nature, which was a small blessing.

At the top of the hill, we passed through a farm with a large herd of reddish brown cows, many of whom stopped to stare at us.  Over the course of the morning, we also passed several small ponds which were full of Iberian Green Frogs, their calls sounding loud and urgent in the quiet air.  Romance was still clearly in the air for the frogs in this region.

Crossroads Decisions 

At 11.5 km into the hike, we faced a split in the trail.  The 'official' route went straight and needed to be taken by anyone wanting to stay in San Pedro de Rozados tonight.  The right fork passed through Pedrosillo de los Aires, where there was theoretically a bar, a store, and an albergue.  This fork also passed through Monterrubio de la Sierra, which also theoretically had a bar, and it was a slightly shorter route for anyone planning to stay in Morille tonight. 

One glance at Sean made it clear that he could not make it all the way to Morille.  It had already taken us 6-7 hours to get to this point, which was obviously far too long to walk a mere 20 km.  The choice was clear and so we continued straight to Pedrosillo de los Aires in the hopes of staying in the small municipal in the first town.  

Pedrosillo Spain

We headed towards Pedrosillo, dragging ourselves up the reddish dirt track, surrounded by trees and peaceful countryside. 

Here I should note that there comes a point on such a long trek that you are so tired, so physically exhausted and sore that you can no longer truly appreciate many of the wonders en route and don’t have the energy to deal with the challenges of the day.   Today we reached that point...long before we reached Pedrosillo de los Aires. 

When we finally reached the outskirts of Pedrosillo, we saw a sign for a bar and were greatly cheered by the prospect of a café con leche and an opportunity to sit down and rest.  The arrows entering town were a bit confusing, so we wandered around the maze-like streets for a bit, looking for the bar.  Not feeling well, Sean eventually found a bench outside the church, which had a gorgeous view over the valley below, and I went to investigate further.

Closed Bars, Small Store, No Supplies

To make a long story short, one bar in the town was permanently closed, and the other was firmly shut. I went in search of the shop, but while the lady was very nice and opened it up especially for me, it did not contain anything useful for a very hungry pair of pilgrims.  The 'store' was housed in the lady's garage, and the shelves were 99.5% empty, offering no bread, cheese, pasta, rice, fruits or veggies, tuna, chips, chocolate, or anything that could be made into a simple meal or a sandwich. There were 5 lb bags of onions, 1 lb sacks of flour, sugar, salt, and staples like soup broth.  She explained that bread was delivered on Mondays, veggies and fruit on Tuesdays, eggs and milk the next day, and so on.  While she didn't have much left today, I was welcome to buy whatever I needed.  Obviously, I had little desire to purchase or carry 5 lb bags of onions or potatoes.    The smallest item there was a very expensive wedge of cheese.  With nothing viable for us, I thanked her and left empty-handed.

Feeling very discouraged, I found and talked to the lady who ran the donativo albergue.  She was also very nice, and when I asked if there was anything to eat, she produced a couple of scoops of coffee, a can of milk, and a tiny jar of pasta.  It was a kind gesture, but after not having eaten much over the past couple of days, we were simply too hungry to stay in a town with nothing to eat, yet I didn’t think that Sean could go on.  Giving 50 Euros for admission to the donativo, here I got the key and begrudgingly returned to Sean. 

Unfortunately, this news was too much for Sean, and he broke.  Furious, sick and exhausted with the lack of support and amenities on the trail, he threw the guidebook across the pavement....

Assault on the Camino

Standing there arguing, which admittedly was not the most pilgrim of thing to be doing. It was not long before I was in tears, and Sean demanded to walk on.  I thought it was better to stop and rest until he felt better, but he was too hungry and too frustrated to concede. 

Amid this, another trekker, the same hippie from yesterday in his orange hiking shorts and brown fedora, who had hand danced in front of cars and asked me to come with him to the albergue yesterday, walked up.  And as Sean stood up to walk away, the pilgrim hippie marched up and yelled at us that we were “anti-social assholes who were ruining his vibe on the Camino.”

Stunned, I tried to explain the situation, that we were sorry but that neither of us had eaten a full meal in a couple of days.  However, as I stammered a reply, he lifted his wooden hiking stick and cracked Sean across the face, telling Sean that he was “a piece of shit, not a real pilgrim”.  After which - amazingly - he walked off happily whistling.  

As I write this, I still have no words for what happened or why it happened. 

I can't wrap my head around how someone who clearly was on pilgrimage could imagine that physical violence was an acceptable way to restore his 'vibe.'  Just as he had no idea what we were going through, we had no idea what his story was, but in my view, nothing makes physical violence acceptable, and when it comes from a fellow pilgrim, somehow it hits twice as hard.  I do believe there is a lesson in everything that happens on the Camino, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what this one is.      

Walking off, Walking Alone

Staggered and utterly shocked, Sean picked up his backpack and walked off.  I quickly gathered everything and ran back to return the albergue key.  Unfortunately, the hippie was also at the albergue.  Here I was again subjected to his advances, commentary and questions.  By this point, however, I was disgusted by his actions and tired of his attitude, and so, unable to find the hospitalario again, I simply left the albergue key on the table of the donativo and walked out. 

Afterward, I ran back to the courtyard where we had been seated, but I could not find Sean. As such, for the first time in more than 20,000 km of hiking over the past few years, we walked apart.   

Fate and Fortune on Camino

“What takes place, what does not: so many forks and branches along the

twisting roads of time, so many wheels of fate turning, turning, lifting,

and lowering, one person, another, into light, into darkness.”

Guy Gavriel Kay, Written on the Dark

It always amazes me – after so many years walking, hiking and on pilgrimage, how much fate, fortune, and misfortune play a role in our lives.  

Had we started our pilgrimage directly out of Seville rather than walking on the Via Augusta first, we would never have met these people, possibly not have had our money stolen, possibly not have had our backpacks rummaged through, and possibly not have been assaulted by a pilgrim today.  We would have been on an entirely different journey with different people in different circumstances.  

Perhaps all of this would have led to it being a better undertaking; perhaps it would have ended in a worse disaster. Who knows.  The what-ifs in life become a game for the mind, leading to puzzles and questions that cannot be answered.  

The randomness of life and events can be astonishing at times.  Today, however, for the first time ever on pilgrimage, the challenges of the road were too much for either of us.  Sometimes all you can do is walk on and hope that things work out. 

Monterubbio de la Sierra

Picking up my backpack to catch up with Sean, I soon got lost in the maze of streets inside the town.  In the end, I had to backtrack to the church and begin again, but by this point, Sean had a good 20-minute start on me.   His legs are a lot longer than mine, and when he is mad and walking at full speed, I can't keep up with him.  Trust me, I struggle to do so even at the best of times.   So, we walked our separate ways on the shoulder of the paved highway to the next town, some 5 km later.

When I finally reached Monterubbio de la Sierra, the Camino took me along the edge of town.  I don't have a cell phone with a map, so I didn't know where the bar was located.  Walking on, I was relieved to see a sign for the Peregrino Bar along the highway, and stepped inside the gate, thinking Sean might still be inside.  He wasn't, and after crunching over the piles of bird droppings under the archway into the very weedy and overgrown courtyard, I realized that this bar was very closed. There was an old man wearing blue coveralls asleep in a chair outside, a grubby, cracked, and half-empty whisky glass on the table in front of him, but nothing else was stirring. 

Witnessing an Accident

Half disappointed, half glad that Sean was not there, I walked on, unsure if there were any other bars in town or not, but still hoping to catch up with him.  There is a rather steep hill on the far side of town, and as I was climbing it I watched in disbelief as an accident occurred.  An elderly lady was walking down the hill towards me on the opposite side of the road, and as I approached the top of the hill, a cyclist came shooting over the top on my side.  A car was right behind him, and it came over the hill on the wrong side of the road, clearly trying to avoid the man on the bike.  The car didn't quite hit the old lady, but it knocked her bag of goods out of her hand, and startled her so much she toppled into the ditch and began dramatically screaming.  The car screeched to a halt, and the drivers got out, leaving the car with both doors open in the middle of the road, just over the crest of the hill. 

I wanted nothing more than to continue on and talk to Sean, whom I knew would have gotten even more upset by yet another bar that held the promise of food and coffee but failed to deliver.  However, instead, I spent the next forty minutes at the side of the road, helping the extremely upset woman up out of the ditch, gathering her things, and then waiting until the police arrived at the scene because the cyclist said all witnesses had to remain.  In the end, the police had no interest in me and gruffly sent me packing, so the long wait was unnecessary.

Storm Clouds

By this time, an extremely dark cloud was chasing me across the countryside.  Trying to outrun it and concerned about Sean, I walked as fast as I could, paying little attention to what I'm sure was a beautiful landscape.  I passed a skeletal white horse at the edge of town as thunder rumbled behind me, and I dashed towards the center of town.  I spotted two other pilgrims wandering around, looking lost and staring down at their phones. Not a good sign. With a sigh of relief, I spotted the bar, only to realize with a sinking feeling it was closed today as well.  Unless there was a second bar or restaurant somewhere in the town, I assumed Sean would have gotten a taxi into Salamanca, at which point I had no idea how I would find him.

Arriving in Morille 

There he was sitting on a bench under a large willow tree, outside the albergue.  He looked awful.  Arriving, I learned from him that the six beds in the albergue were full for the night, so we quickly booked an apartment just after completing the reservation, my phone turned off as it was out of power.  At this point, we didn't have a working cell phone, but luckily Sean had walked around town while he was waiting for me and knew where to go. 

With the storm cloud now overhead and the thunder ringing loud in our ears, we hurried to the very modern-looking apartment complex on the edge of the tiny town.  As the first raindrops fell, we were greeted with a locked metal gate and a PIN pad, the combination to which was likely in an email account we couldn't access.  

Digital Codes and Remote Check In

Exhausted, we finally arrived at Walden Apartamentos at 4 PM - only to discover that entry required digital key codes, followed by a registration process before we could even reach our room. With no charged phones and no internet, the process quickly became tricky. In the end, we had to sit outside, patiently waiting as our battery packs slowly revived our devices. It wasn’t until nearly 5 PM that we were finally able to complete the online process and access our room.

These days, so much of travel is reduced to automation and self-check-in. The result is that you rarely see or talk to anyone, and the experience feels impersonal.  For pilgrims seeking connection, this is a real loss. In a world increasingly defined by loneliness, pilgrimage offers a rare chance to engage directly with people and place - but remote codes and texted instructions that reduce everything to automation remove from the experience and eliminate the human element.

Finding Supplies and Food

After everything today, I think that this evening we are both glad to stop moving, be able to take long showers and hand-wash our clothes.  A little refreshed, we set out to find a store that we had passed on the way to our accommodations. 

Not far from our rooms, we soon located the Ultramarinos El Lagarto de Morille – a place which turned out to be a blessing tonight.  This shop has everything that a pilgrim could want: a huge variety of foods, and an amazing owner who offers great suggestions.  This shop was for us an oasis after several stages of frustration.  Here we bought (at reasonable prices) fresh bread, cheese, tortilla and a bottle of wine.  

Saying our thanks, it was not long before we were back in our room, enjoying the largest meal that we had had in days!   

Reflecting on Today

By night’s end, Sean had a large black eye and a loose tooth, which would fall out later as a result of him getting hit by the pilgrim’s walking staff.  Both of us are devastated by today’s events and cannot make sense of them. 

I think more than ever, both of us are glad to lie down tonight and pray that tomorrow will be more peaceful on the trail.

Tonight, I am keenly aware that neither of us said a single thing nor did anything to antagonize this gentleman before he struck Sean. Yet in the words of one of my favourite writers, Christiana Ritter, “we only find and experience that which we have ourselves brought to a place.”   This remembered quote gives me much to reflect upon tonight as I struggle to figure out why we are having such a hard time on Camino and on the trail this time.

See you on the Way!