Walking Your Own Camino: Casar de Caceres to Canaveral

 "The trail may be long, but the journey is worth it."

Via de la Plata Stage 14

Finding your Way, on the Way

With large blisters and sore feet from days of trudging in soaked shoes and boots, today’s walk was exactly what neither of us needed. Thirty-three kilometres is long but certainly possible under normal conditions, but in our current state, it felt, as Annie Lennox once sang, like we were “walking on broken glass.”

This was the longest in a string of extended stages on the Via de la Plata, a stretch made harder by the closure of an albergue around the 24–25 km mark. What might once have been a manageable day has been transformed into an endurance test. And, more than anything, it was yet another stage with no services along the way - a reality that has become almost routine on the VDLP.

Departing Casar de Caceres

Our alarm rang at 6:00 AM, and we started the day with a simple breakfast of chocolate–Nutella croissants, yogurt with nuts, and a quick cup of instant coffee. Within an hour were back on the trail, leaving behind an uninspiring town where no cafés had yet opened, though white vans already sped furiously along the narrow streets.

The path climbed steadily, taking us past the Ermita de Santiago, before turning into a dirt track that wove its way uphill. Trucks rumbled past in both directions, forcing us to keep to the edge of the road. Beyond the traditional stone walls, small horses and sheep grazed quietly in the fields, a gentler rhythm to contrast with the traffic.

As we walked, we were delighted to find a series of Roman mile markers, reminders that we were treading along the ancient Vía Pecuaria, a cattle road layered with centuries of history. The fields gradually opened, revealing misty mountains in the distance, scattered fog, and the iconic silhouette of lone trees dotting the horizon.

Yet even here, with so much beauty, the view was broken by the looming shape of a massive brick factory that dominated the far-off skyline.

Griffon Vultures 

The trail soon followed a wide dirt track, where the walking was easy and the landscape opened up. Overhead, we spotted Griffon Vultures circling, their massive wings catching the cool, slightly overcast air. It was perfect walking weather: gentle, calm, and kind to tired feet.

Around us, flocks of sheep moved across the pastures while herds of cows grazed nearby. The trees were alive with tits calling out, their quick movements adding to the sense of life along the way. We passed through farms where huge, but surprisingly friendly, dogs watched over the flocks of sheep, their presence both protective and reassuring.

Local residents have told us that the vultures are maintained in this region by farmers who deliberately leave out carcasses. In doing so, they ensure these birds remain in the area, where they serve a vital role in cleaning the landscape and maintaining a natural balance.

As the morning wore on, the wide path gradually narrowed, following the natural undulations of the land until we drew closer to a small roadway.

Pushing on along the Camino

By late morning, the Camino began to follow the route of GR 113, the Camino Natural del Tajo. Here, both the trail conditions and weather were wonderful, making for an easy stretch of hiking.  That was until we encountered a familiar face once again.   

There is no denying that on the Via de la Plata, a path etched by Roman sandals and dusted with olive trees, one does not expect to be overtaken by a wine bar on wheels. But today such was our fate.

Sitting at a trail rest area, exhausted and sore, I could hardly believe what my eyes were seeing. Across the path came an older British pilgrim we’d met earlier, striding down the hillside toward us. I nudged Sean with a muttered comment under my breath. He looked at me, puzzled. All I could say was, “Wait for it….you’ll know.”

Sure enough, right beside him was a younger man pushing a cart with visible effort. Every word from him seemed to circle around a desire to escape his situation.  Even if it meant leaving the trail altogether. Yet each attempt to extract himself politely was cut off, replaced by the older man’s self-assured insistence that he must continue, cart and all, along the Camino.

Begrudgingly, the young man continued to push the clinking cart down the narrow dirt path to the side of the picnic shelter.  Clearly, this unsuspecting and kind-hearted young man had been prompted to push the cart for the day.  We had heard this routine several times already.  “Go on,” he’d say, “try it for a stage. It'll change the way you think about pilgrimage!” Clearly, for all of those caught in this trap, it did. Mostly because pushing 60 kilograms of vino tinto uphill at midday in central Spain is the kind of spiritual awakening that leads one to question all life choices, including the invention of wheels.

Arriving at the shelter, the young man introduced himself as a Hungarian pilgrim, and when he discovered that we knew his companion, he said his goodbyes and quickly walked ...no, ran off.  Clearly glad to be free of this morning’s burden.  

Sitting down to catch his breath, the familiar English pilgrim with great cheer offered us some wine and, just as before, asked if we might like to push his cart for the day.  To which we could only politely decline, explaining that we could hardly imagine managing such a heavy contraption on these steep and uneven hills. 

He waved off our concern, muttering that stages like this were bothersome anyway, since “no self-respecting pilgrim would climb these hills or wander about on trails like this.” His words hung in the air. The truth, of course, is that pilgrimage is anything but rational. The Camino routes were never designed for efficiency. They wind through detours, hills, and remote landscapes, often because those places carry deep spiritual or cultural meaning. In fact, countless “self-respecting pilgrims” before us have chosen precisely these hills.

Unconvinced, he returned to suggesting we take over his cart, but we soon made our excuses and shouldered our packs, eager to continue our own way forward....without the cart.

Hiking Hard

Then, for right or wrong, in a moment of collective desperation and panicked resolve, we made a break for it. It was a choice that, though made hastily, would end up shaping the next few days of our Via de la Plata. From that point forward, we pushed ourselves hard, almost running at times, determined to keep ahead. By then, it had become clear that his cart was less a burden he bore and more a contraption he persuaded others to push and pull on his behalf. Only later did we discover that he was also relying on fellow pilgrims to pay for his meals and drinks, scenarios he cheerfully referred to as “Camino miracles” and "pilgrim support".

Embalse de Alcantara

Beyond the rest area and the hillside descent, we faced a long stretch of road walking along the shoreline of the Alcántara Reservoir. Built in 1969, it was the second-largest reservoir in Europe at the time, and it still holds the distinction of being the second-largest in Spain today. Beneath these waters lies the original Roman road, a silent reminder of the layers of history in the region.

We covered about four kilometres along this road, occasionally catching sight of a small island in the reservoir with what appeared to be a solitary structure perched atop it. Along the way, the route required several bridge crossings, including the Tajo River, which we had previously crossed in Lisbon when leaving the Rota Vicentina to join the Camino Portugués. The combination of the waterway, Roman history, and natural beauty made this stretch surprisingly scenic.

Climbing Back to Nature 

No matter how fast we trekked or how hard we pushed, the cart-pushing pilgrim somehow never fell far behind - until we reached a fork in the trail. Here, we faced a choice: follow the Camino as marked, climbing up a steep hillside through scrubland, or stay on the flatter, paved road for a quicker route. Many pilgrims ahead of us had collectively chosen the easier path, staying on the road.

But we’ve always preferred to remain on the Camino as much as possible, immersed in nature. With that in mind, we tackled the nearly vertical ascent, our feet skidding on loose gravel as we slowly made our way up. What ensued (at least from our perspective) was the longest, sweatiest, most exhausting escape in Camino history. 

Our legs protested, our backs cursed, and our boots aged prematurely. In our desperate dash for freedom, we skipped Roman ruins, missed birding sights, and ignored the subtle wisdom of the land whispering, “Slow down, you fools, you are out here to find peace, not to run a race!”

Rest Stops and Railways

Once at the top, we found a small sheltered rest stop and soaked to the skin, took another break.  10 minutes later, we could hear the English pilgrim rolling by on the roadway, already trying to convince yet another pilgrim to push his cart. 

Rested, we continued on and – thankfully - afterwards the trail levelled somewhat, winding parallel to a railway track, which we eventually passed under, and across open cattle pastures. The climb was rough and demanding, but it felt like the right way to have taken. 

Crossing the exposed landscape, the Via de la Plata alternated between paralleling a regional train line and pasture fence lines on a dirt track that wove across the landscape.  Here, the track was easier, but both of us felt exhausted – either from the climb itself or the looming sense that the day’s stage was nowhere near its conclusion. 

Trekking this route in the 30s or 40s Celsius would have been punishing.  Today we were grateful for the moderate temperatures, occasional cloud cover and periodic cool breezes off the water in the reservoir.  By the time the Camino wove under the railway line, we took another break out of the sun. 

6.5 KM that would not End

Some kilometres pass quickly, while others seem to stretch on forever. Sometimes it is exhaustion, sometimes the topography or the heat, and sometimes it simply is. According to the signs, we had just 6.5 kilometres to go. Yet after more than an hour of steady walking, the next sign and Google Maps indicated we still had 5 kilometres remaining. The Garmin InReach confirmed we had covered 4 kilometres since the last marker, but progress felt almost imperceptible.

The trail wove back and forth across the landscape, with the town tantalizingly close, only a kilometre or so ahead, yet hidden by hills and scrub. Countless side trails tempted us down to the road and straight into town, but we stayed true to the Camino. Finally, a sign announced that we were just 1 kilometre from our destination. Even then, it took another hour to reach the albergue.  I still have no idea why or how.

While we inevitably passed through an amazing landscape, much of it passed by in a blur. What stands out most in my memory from this stretch, however, is the incredible wildlife we encountered along the way.

We saw huge Eurasian Griffon Vultures soaring overhead, Common Buzzards patrolling the fields, Thekla's Larks flitting across the scrub, and Western House Martins darting above. White Storks wandered the pastures, and we even spotted footprints of the elusive Egyptian Mongoose. Among the more unusual finds was a massive Egyptian bird Grasshopper, an unexpected reminder of the diversity of life in this region.

The trail dove downhill, zigzagging into the bottom of the regional ravine. Our legs were spent, and we were utterly exhausted from the day’s effort. Every step carried the weight of the 33 kilometres we had already traversed, a reminder of the endurance required along the Via de la Plata.  It was late in the afternoon when we walked into town - not into the albergue, into town.

Around us, unsurprisingly, predictably, frustratingly, laughingly, everything was closed. 

Hostel Canaveral 

Upon locating the hostel, we were warmly greeted by the host, who promptly showed us around and led us to our room. Tonight, we would be sharing a small dorm with a German gentleman we had never seen before, the familiar Norwegian hiker who had only been a few minutes ahead of us, and the very familiar French couple who had arrived several hours earlier.

As soon as we stepped into the room, the host immediately addressed the French duo. They had spread their gear across the room, each claiming two beds, and were instructed to consolidate and share a single bunk between them.

Amid all this, the French couple chatted animatedly about how amazing the day’s walk had been, clearly proud of their effort. As their commentary continued, the Norwegian could not let it go. Knowing that these two had stopped two stages ago as we all walked on, and knowing that they usually left well after everyone else yet arrived hours ahead of all of us, he began questioning them about the details of their day. Eventually, they exploded, admitting they took taxis across stages longer than 25 kilometres, exclaiming, “We are 70! Besides, the sections on roads do not count as Camino!”

Satisfied, or perhaps resigned, the Norwegian finally gave up and went to take a shower, leaving the room to its unusual mix of personalities and energy.

Showers, Laundry and Drafts

Tired and wanting no part of the looming argument, I took a shower while Sean changed. The French couple, upset that four other pilgrims had been added to the six-person room, insisted they were supposed to have a private space and were about to take a nap. I opened the window for some fresh air as the room was quickly filling with the smell of sweaty backpacks and unwashed clothing. Not long after, the French duo bundled into sweaters and left, declaring it “tres froid” or too cold.  Afterwards, we hung our clothes outside to air out, only to return to the room to discover that the windows had been reclosed, the curtains had been pulled shut, as the French couple settled in for another nap. 

Though tired, we did not have the energy to stay in the sealed dorm for the afternoon, and so we set out to explore town in search of a bar with cold beer, where we could rest while making plans for the next two days.  However, almost the moment we stepped out the door, we were spotted by the English gentleman pushing his rolling wine cellar.

It now seemed that each night, like a well-rehearsed ritual, he would arrive at the albergue mere minutes after we did. Within moments of spotting familiar faces, he would insist on joining in on others’ plans, ultimately announcing, “A little wine never hurt a soul.”  After which, we would either be followed or directed to the nearest bar. Where indeed, the wine flowed… mostly into his glass. But when the bill arrived, he'd invariably and mysteriously vanish - either behind a shrub or into deep conversation about places he had visited or great wines he had enjoyed.   This being the third day of this, both our patience and bankroll were wearing thin. 

Pilgrim Perspectives

Tonight was no different. Bottles of wine were ordered to a table full of pilgrims and promptly emptied, while our cart-pushing friend launched into one of his familiar monologues. He spoke of how coming to Spain made him feel special and important, because here everyone recognized that he was a pilgrim, and that as a pilgrim, he was respected. “Here I am someone,” he said, “and everyone treats me with honour and takes care of me. At home, I am just another old codger waiting to die.”

Moments like this are a reminder that the Camino is about far more than physical walking. It is a journey that reveals both vulnerability and the human desire for recognition, acknowledgement and connection. While his behaviour can be frustrating, it also illustrates the profound ways that pilgrimage can transform ordinary lives, giving purpose, identity, and a sense of belonging even if only temporarily. On the Camino, everyone carries their own burdens, whether visible or hidden, and the shared path offers a rare space where even the most self-conscious or overlooked individuals can feel seen.

It is precisely these contrasts and needs that make pilgrimage in the modern world, where so much occurs from behind screens and over social media that makes the personal interactions of Camino so compelling.  We are reminded that the Way is not only about the kilometres travelled and stages completed but about the encounters and experiences along the route. 

Choosing an American Pope

As the sky began to darken, the focus of both pilgrims and bartenders was on the events in Rome as the conclave chose a new Pope.   It was only recently, in our final days on the Via Augusta, that Pope Francis had passed away, and now, 16 days later, a successor was being chosen.

Vatican Image

Around us, speculation as to who the next head of the Catholic church would be.  Late into the evening, TVs in the bar announced that white smoke was coming out of the Vatican, indicating that a choice had been made.  It was soon announced that the choice was for the first American pope, who had chosen the name Leo XIV.  Around the courtyard, it was almost immediately evident that most Europeans were disappointed by the decision.  Even the bartenders opened up wine and sat outside muttering about the choice. The excitement of the night quickly faded away. 

Dinner and Drinks

Not long after the Norwegian pilgrim excused himself to find a meal, and another companion announced he too was off to the albergue to prepare food.  As we went to explore the town in the hopes of also finding a restaurant, we discovered that we had once again been stuck with a bar bill, this time for three glasses of wine.  

Sigh…

Wandering off to find our own dinner, the English pilgrim reappeared and immediately called us into a nearby establishment where he had followed everyone to.  Stepping in, we watched as he plopped down at a table with several pilgrims and immediately began ordering bottles of wine – announcing, without so much as a pause, that everyone would split the cost.  His sudden presence and insistence on joining the common table left the other pilgrims quietly shaking their heads and growing steadily more exasperated.

Uncertain, we too sat at a table beside theirs and ordered a salad, grateful for the chance to enjoy an evening meal.  By nine o'clock, dinner was finished, and as people set off for bed, we again found ourselves paying for this pilgrim.  The bill for our meals was eleven euros, as well as a fourteen-euro tab for the wine.  

Exasperated, we returned to the albergue along with the Norwegian pilgrim and found almost everyone asleep.  As we stepped inside, the two French pilgrims jumped up to shush everyone, leaving us with no option but to collapse on our beds in our hiking clothes, grateful just to lie down.

Reflecting on the Via de la Plata

Lying on top of our sleeping bags in the dark, we reflected on the day’s stage on the Via de la Plata. 

For me, it was clear that today, rather than walking our own trail and doing the things we enjoy, we had instead literally run and ignored places that we would have stopped at.  As a result, we were...once again walking someone else’s Camino rather than our own.  By the end of the day, we realized that it was time to change how we were reacting and set off on our own stages once again to stay connected to nature and to distance ourselves from those whose approach to the Way of St. James was undermining our ability to walk our own Camino.

More simply put, the moral of today’s story is that, on pilgrimage, as in life, beware of the things and people – as well as your own reactions - that take away from the peace and slow travel journey you were hoping for. 

The path is not just a line on the map, it is a tapestry of moments in nature, landscapes and intersecting histories.  To begin with intention, we each need to remember to always walk it at our own pace and in our own way.

Perhaps the best advice, as the Norwegian pilgrim’s arm tattoo observed:

“One step at a time, and love every step”

See you on the Way!