Reflecting on Pilgrimage along the Vía de la Plata

“The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.”

 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

 

A Camino from Seville to the Crossroads

 

The Vía de la Plata is frequently described as one of the longest, most isolated, and most challenging routes of the Camino de Santiago. Beginning in Seville, the historic route travels north through Andalucía, Extremadura, and Castilla y León before reaching Granja de Moreruela. Here, pilgrims must decide whether to continue north toward Astorga or turn west onto the Camino Sanabrés toward Santiago de Compostela.

 

Our walk along the Vía de la Plata took us approximately 620 kilometres over 25 stages, with rest days in Mérida, Salamanca, and Zamora. Before reaching Seville, we had already spent nine days walking more than 170 kilometres along the Via Augusta from Cádiz. By the time we arrived at the crossroads in Granja de Moreruela, we had travelled farther on foot than the entire length of the Camino Francés, yet Santiago remained hundreds of kilometres away.

 

While this town was not the completion of the historic Vía de la Plata to Astorga, nor was it the conclusion of our pilgrimage to Santiago. It was nevertheless a natural place to stop and reflect on the Camino we had just walked before turning toward whatever came next on the Camino Sanabrés. After 25 stages of Roman roads, flooded tracks, exposed plains, historic cities, uncertain services, crowded albergues, unexpected kindness, and difficult encounters, the Vía de la Plata had already given us more to consider than we had anticipated.

 

A Camino Shaped by History

 

More than any other Camino we have walked, the Vía de la Plata felt shaped by the sheer amount of history beneath our feet. Roman roads, bridges, miliarios, aqueducts, theatres, temples, and fragments of ancient infrastructure repeatedly appeared along the route. Even where the original road had disappeared beneath reservoirs, highways, agricultural tracks, and modern communities, its influence remained visible in the direction of the trail and the cities it connected.

 

Mérida left the strongest impression, with its Roman theatre, amphitheatre, aqueducts, bridges, and archaeological remains woven into the modern city. Yet the history of the route was not confined to its best-known destinations. Roman milestones could be found beside country paths, excavated sections of ancient road appeared outside small villages, and old bridges continued to carry people across waterways centuries after they were built.

 

The history encountered along the Vía de la Plata was also much broader than Rome. We passed medieval churches, Moorish architecture, ancient defensive walls, abandoned farms, wayside crosses, and villages whose buildings reflected generations of economic and social change. Seville, Mérida, Cáceres, Salamanca, and Zamora each offered enough to justify a much longer visit, while the smaller communities between them revealed another history - one of depopulation, changing agriculture, and local families working to keep villages alive.

 

In this respect, the Vía de la Plata often reminded us of the Via Podiensis or GR65 through France. Both routes carried us through landscapes where pilgrimage, trade, conflict, religion, and everyday life had accumulated over centuries. Walking slowly through these places allowed history to emerge - not as a collection of isolated monuments, but as something still present in the roads, buildings, fields, and communities through which we passed.

 

Landscapes We Did Not Expect

 

Before setting out, we repeatedly encountered descriptions of the Vía de la Plata as flat, empty, exposed, and monotonous. Some sections were certainly open and offered little protection from the weather, but our experience of the landscape was far more varied and beautiful than these descriptions suggested.  We walked through Andalucía’s olive groves and agricultural hills before entering the oak-dotted dehesas of Extremadura. Here Iberian pigs rooted beneath the trees, cattle grazed among wildflowers, and bells carried across the fields in the mornings.

 

Farther north, the trail climbed toward frost-covered mountain meadows before emerging onto the broad agricultural landscapes of Castilla y León.

 

Because we walked during spring, the countryside was alive with colour and sound. Red poppies, purple lavender, yellow broom, white rockroses, and countless other wildflowers bordered the trail. White Storks nested on church towers, vultures circled above the hills, cuckoos called from the trees, and raptors drifted over open fields. Black Storks rose unexpectedly from wetlands, while frogs, toads, lizards, snakes, butterflies, and grasshoppers reminded us how much life existed within landscapes sometimes dismissed as empty.

 

With that said, the same season that produced this abundance also brought difficult trail conditions. Heavy rain transformed agricultural tracks into mud, submerged Camino markers, flooded streams, and forced us to search for alternate crossings. On some days, water filled the ruts and turned paths into shallow rivers. On others, hail, wind, cold mornings, and intense afternoon sun occurred within the span of a few hours.  There is no denying that to step out onto the Vía de la Plata is to accept that much of the route is exposed, opening you up to shifting weather conditions and temperature extremes.

 

These experiences make it difficult to speak of the Vía de la Plata as though it had one defining landscape or condition. The route we encountered in spring would be profoundly different during the heat of summer or the dryness of autumn. Our Vía de la Plata was green, flooded, muddy, flower-filled, and alive - but primarily it was exposed enough to demonstrate why the season in which someone walks can determine much of their experience.

 

Long Stages and Uncertain Services

 

The physical demands of the Vía de la Plata were also a huge factor in our experiences and understanding of the route. Stages of 30 kilometres or more were common, and the distance between communities frequently left few opportunities to shorten the day. Even when a village appeared on the map, there was no guarantee it would provide food, water, accommodation, or an open place to rest.

 

Guidebooks and apps might indicate the presence of a bar, grocery store, restaurant, gas station, or albergue, but these listings did not always reflect conditions on the ground. Some businesses had permanently closed, while others followed schedules that seemed to change from one day to the next. Sundays, Mondays, religious holidays, local festivals, afternoon closures, and personal decisions by owners could all determine whether something was available when we arrived.  This can be a tough reality after spending 6 or 7 hours trekking 35 km only to realize that you had to continue on.

 

At Riego del Camino, for example, we completed approximately 36 kilometres expecting that the village bar would reopen later in the afternoon. Instead, the bartender decided not to open, leaving us without lunch or dinner. Paco, the hospitalero, returned to ensure we were all right and offered us tins of meatballs from an emergency supply he kept for stranded pilgrims. As vegetarians, we declined, but his thoughtfulness - and the fact that he maintained such a supply - said much about the uncertainty pilgrims regularly faced.

 

We were not alone in these types of situations; in Riego del Camino, several other pilgrims arrived soon afterward, only to discover that there was no food available in town. Having already walked the long stage from Zamora, they continued toward Granja de Moreruela. One young woman, exhausted, muddy, and sunburned, walked away crying at the prospect of covering still more kilometres simply to find something to eat.  As such, being prepared for such situations is a must on the Via de la Plata.

 

Experiences such as this meant we carried more food and water than we generally needed on other Caminos. Trail mix, chocolate bars, bread, and dehydrated camping meals became essential reserves rather than occasional snacks. Even with this preparation, there were evenings when we went to bed hungry or discovered that something we had purchased with our limited Spanish was not quite what we thought it was.

 

The challenge was not simply that services were limited. It was that their availability was unpredictable, making it difficult to know when carrying extra supplies was necessary and when it was merely adding weight to already heavy backpacks. Walking the Vía de la Plata required flexibility, self-reliance, and an acceptance that careful planning could reduce uncertainty but never entirely remove it.

 

The Hardest Part of the Vía de la Plata

 

Before beginning the Vía de la Plata, we assumed its greatest challenges would be its total length, exposed landscapes, and long stages. And there is no denying that all of these proved demanding. Yet looking back, none was the single hardest part of our journey.

 

The greater challenge was that the Vía de la Plata no longer appears equipped for the number of pilgrims attempting to walk it. Although it continues to be described as a quiet Camino with fewer pilgrims, we frequently found ourselves among a cohort of 30–50 people moving through towns where the municipal albergue might contain only six, ten, twelve, or twenty beds. Hospitaleros and local hosts repeatedly told us that pilgrim numbers now exceeded what the existing infrastructure could comfortably support in the coming days.  More than once we were advised to know the phone numbers for local taxis or be prepared to walk much further than planned.

 

On a route where the next accommodation might be many kilometres away, this created an ongoing race for beds. Pilgrims left earlier, walked faster, shortened their breaks, and passed through places without pausing because they were worried that the albergue would be full. Those who arrived after completing an entire 30- or 35-kilometre stage sometimes discovered that the available beds had already been claimed, leaving them to search for a private room or continue walking.

 

We had encountered busy albergues on other Caminos, but the consequences felt greater here. On the Camino Francés, another village, albergue, café, or hotel was often located a few kilometres farther along. On the Vía de la Plata, the next realistic option might be considerably farther away, and there was no guarantee it would have space, food, or even be open when we arrived. 

 

This pressure also contributed to two different daily rhythms developing along the route. Many pilgrims used, or began to use, taxis or buses to avoid long road walks, exposed sections, difficult terrain, or portions of stages without services. That was their decision, and we do not believe there is only one legitimate way to undertake a Camino. Age, health, time, injury, and personal intention shape every pilgrimage differently. However, those using transportation often reached the albergues hours before pilgrims who walked the full stage. By the time we arrived, they had showered, completed their laundry, eaten, and settled down for afternoon naps. We entered needing to unpack, shower, wash our clothes, organize equipment, and find food – the result was that many of us hiking the full stages were told to remain quiet because those who arrived earlier were already taking afternoon naps.

 

Later, the routines frequently reversed. Those of us who had walked 30 kilometres or more were exhausted and ready for bed, while some pilgrims who had rested through the afternoon were suddenly up and awake talking or reading beneath the bright glow of their cellphones and Kindles. Neither routine was inherently unreasonable, but they did not always coexist comfortably inside small dormitories with limited washrooms, laundry facilities, and shared living spaces.

 

The issue was therefore not whether someone walked every kilometre or used transportation. It was that a route developed for a relatively small number of pilgrims moving according to a similar rhythm was now accommodating more people travelling in very different ways. Limited infrastructure magnified those differences and changed the atmosphere of the Camino, replacing some of its expected spaciousness with competition, uncertainty, and the need to plan several stages ahead.

 

Pilgrims We Encountered

 

The Vía de la Plata attracted many experienced pilgrims. We met people who had already completed ten, twenty, or even thirty Caminos and who approached the route with a pragmatic understanding of what long-distance pilgrimage could involve. Their goal was not always to claim another Compostela or prove that every kilometre had been walked. Many were simply returning to a routine and way of travelling that had become important in their lives.  Their presence also demonstrated why official Camino statistics do not necessarily represent everyone on the trail. Compostela numbers record those who reach Santiago and request the certificate, but they do not account for people who stop elsewhere, walk individual sections, change routes, or no longer feel the need to collect another document. A seemingly small percentage of a rapidly growing total number of pilgrims across every Camino route in Europe can therefore still produce more pilgrims than the Vía de la Plata’s communities and albergues were designed to accommodate.

 

Despite the challenges of rising pilgrim numbers in the evenings, it oddly / ironically / mysteriously often felt strangely empty during the day. We sometimes saw only one or two sets of footprints through long stretches of mud, yet arrived at an albergue to find it full. On other mornings, taxis passed us carrying pilgrims who later appeared farther along the trail. As a result, the number of people seen in accommodations did not necessarily correspond with the number encountered walking between them.

 

The Vía de la Plata was therefore neither the solitary Camino we had expected nor a consistently social one. We often walked alone and spent long periods surrounded only by fields, birdsong, livestock, and the sound of our own footsteps. Yet each afternoon and evening brought us back into a compressed community in which beds, showers, food, laundry, rest, and personal space had to be negotiated among more pilgrims than many villages could comfortably support.

 

When Trust Was Tested

 

Unfortunately, our journey was also shaped by two incidents unlike anything we had previously experienced during thousands of kilometres of pilgrimage in France, Portugal, and Spain. Early on the Vía de la Plata, money was stolen from our backpacks. Later along the way, another pilgrim struck Sean across the face with a walking staff, leaving him with a black eye and leading him to lose a tooth.

 

These incidents were deeply unsettling because pilgrimage depends on a degree of shared trust. Packs are left beside café tables, personal belongings are stored in communal rooms, and strangers sleep within a few feet of one another. The assumption that everyone is participating in the same spirit of mutual respect allows albergues and the larger Camino community to function.

 

Though we debated not mentioning these incidents at all, we ultimately did, but not so as to suggest that the Vía de la Plata is unsafe or to discourage others from walking it. They remain the first and only incidents of their kind that we have experienced across many years of pilgrimage. The overwhelming majority of people we encountered were thoughtful, welcoming, generous, or simply trying to make their own way through a difficult journey.  Nevertheless, both experiences reminded us that putting on a backpack or carrying a pilgrim’s credential does not remove the complexities people bring with them. Exhaustion, frustration, anger, entitlement, and unresolved difficulties still travel along the Camino. Pilgrimage can encourage reflection and change, but it does not automatically make every person considerate, peaceful, or trustworthy.

 

In the wake of these incidents, our challenge was to continue without allowing two troubling encounters to define the entire route. That did not mean ignoring what happened or pretending it did not matter. It meant remaining aware while also recognizing the many people whose kindness repeatedly restored our faith in the Way.

 

Kindness Along the Way

 

Indeed, when we think back on the Vía de la Plata, some of its strongest memories are not of hardship but of the people who helped us when the route felt most difficult. There were hosts who found us rooms when our limited Spanish failed, hospitaleros who shared current information, residents who offered directions, and strangers who helped us navigate unfamiliar schedules and services.

 

At Riego del Camino, Paco did more than open the albergue and offer food from his emergency supply. The following morning, he returned while we were preparing to leave and walked with us through the village. He showed us places that mattered to him, led us back to the Camino, stopped at the gate of his home, shook our hands, and wished us a heartfelt “Buen Camino.”  It was the first time anyone had escorted us out of a town in this way. After a hungry and largely sleepless night spent questioning whether we had the energy or faith to continue, his simple gesture felt like a reminder that the Camino was still filled with people quietly helping others move forward.

 

A few kilometres later, we stopped at a truck stop hoping only to find coffee after having eaten almost nothing the previous day. Although breakfast was not being served, a woman went into the kitchen and returned with hot buttered toast and marmalade. It was a small act, but at that moment it felt enormous and as though it was a reassuring gift.

 

These encounters did not erase the difficulties of the route. Instead, they demonstrated how pilgrimage is rarely one thing at a time. Frustration and generosity, exhaustion and wonder, disappointment and hope frequently occupied the same day and along the same route.

 

Lessons from the Vía de la Plata

 

The Vía de la Plata taught us that self-reliance does not mean refusing help. It means preparing carefully, carrying what is necessary, recognizing when plans must change, and remaining open to the kindness of others. Guidebooks, apps, and online accounts were useful, but none could replace current local knowledge or guarantee what we would find upon reaching the next village.

 

The route also reminded us that physical and mental endurance are not the same. We could walk a long stage, but the uncertainty of whether we would find food, accommodation, or another unexpected difficulty sometimes made things tougher than the kilometres we had covered. Repeatedly adjusting expectations required its own kind of energy.

 

Rest became essential rather than indulgent. By the time we approached Salamanca, we had walked for a month with only one day off in Mérida, and the accumulated tiredness and stress were obvious. Illness, poor sleep, long distances, hunger, muddy trails, crowded accommodations, and emotional stress could not be overcome indefinitely through determination alone.

 

Perhaps most importantly, the Vía de la Plata challenged the idea that pilgrimage is meaningful only when everything unfolds as expected and as planned. Some of its lessons came through history, nature, solitude, and kindness. Others emerged from hunger, uncertainty, challenges, conflict, and the need to decide how we would respond when the experience differed dramatically from what we had imagined.  All of which is a long way of saying that no two Pilgrimages and indeed no two days on a Camino are the same.

 

Final Reflections at the Crossroads

 

Our final morning on the Vía de la Plata, as already noted, began with uncertainty. We left Riego del Camino knowing that six kilometres ahead, at Granja de Moreruela, we would have to choose between continuing north toward Astorga or turning west onto the Camino Sanabrés.

 

Neither of us had slept well. After weeks of long stages, unreliable services, flooded paths, crowded albergues, and difficult encounters, continuing along a similarly uncertain route toward Santiago felt daunting. The familiar infrastructure of the Camino Francés – not far away - offered an appealing alternative, as did the possibility of returning to routes we already knew.  Yet the morning also seemed filled with encouragement. Paco walked us out of town. A stranger made us an unexpected breakfast. The rising sun cast a column of golden light above fields of red poppies, and a silver fox crossed the path ahead of us before running west. None of these moments made the decision for us, but together they shifted the exhaustion and uncertainty with which we had begun the day.

 

At Granja de Moreruela, two weathered blue signs waited beside the trail. One pointed north “por Astorga,” while the other pointed west toward Ourense. By then, we had walked more than 790 kilometres from Cádiz along the Via Augusta and Vía de la Plata, yet we still could not decide which direction to take.  We stood before those signs for several minutes, thinking about the route behind us and everything that might lie ahead. Eventually, Sean ended the debate with a simple observation: “Well, we’ve never been this way before.” With that, he turned west, and I followed.

 

Our walk along the Vía de la Plata had reached its end, not at a cathedral or celebrated destination, but at a crossroads in rural Spain. There was no ceremony, certificate, or finish line - only two signs, an uncertain choice, and another path waiting to be walked.

 

Continue the Journey

 

If you enjoyed following our experiences along the Vía de la Plata, the pilgrimage continues with Our Walk Along the Camino Sanabrés. Beginning at the crossroads in Granja de Moreruela, this route carried us west toward Ourense and Santiago through new landscapes, communities, and challenges. It was not a separate undertaking so much as the next chapter of the same continuous journey that had begun hundreds of kilometres earlier in Cádiz.

Readers drawn to the Vía de la Plata’s historical depth, rural landscapes, demanding stages, and quieter style of pilgrimage might also enjoy Our Walk Along the Via Podiensis or GR65 through France. Although the two routes cross very different countries and cultures, both revealed their character gradually through ancient communities, long days on foot, encounters with strangers, and the experience of moving through layers of European history one step at a time.

 

See you on the Way!