Part 15: To be a Pilgrim

Our little village is on the pilgrims` trail to Santiago de Compostela in Galicia. This southern route is known as El Camino de La Vía de La Plata and in Roman times was the road that linked Sevilla with Gijón on the northern coast in Asturias.

Constant contact with pilgrims has led the villagers to be totally used to the presence of strangers, some of whom must seem very strange indeed to the populace of a village in which, to a large extent, the old ways still dominate.

Cheryl and I often find ourselves acting as informal interpreters for these hardy souls, and this initial contact usual ends up with us having a beer or two together on the patio of Vicente´s bar. They nearly always have an interesting story to tell and we have enjoyed the company of quite a few.

In October we sat and talked for hours with two Basque women, who had taken a week off work and were just doing a hundred and fifty kilometres or so before returning to their office jobs. Many people don’t feel the need to rise to a massive physical challenge, doing the whole lot in three weeks, preferring instead to walk for a week or ten days and then come back the next year to carry on where they left off.

You might think that these keen hikers would have that lean greyhound look of the enthusiastic rambler, but quite a few of them, especially those from northern Europe are carrying quite a few kilos around their waists as well as on their backs.

Some of them are stern and serious, barely pausing for breath as they press on towards the next town of Alcúescar. From Mérida to our village is a three-hour stroll, but for those who choose not to spend the night in the pilgrims` hostel, it is a six-hour route march to Alcúescar. I think these hardy souls are missing the point. If you can’t take the time to stop and talk to people, to take in the scenery and maybe just to sit on a rock and daydream, the experience must be somehow diminished.

The camaraderie between them is quite something and results in some most unlikely pairings. One English lad we saw was covered from top to toe in tattoos, one of which read “ACAB”, and if you know what that means (“All coppers are b*****ds”), you will also appreciate that this lad must have undergone quite a conversion, to be headed for Santiago in the company of another chap who looked like he might have been a young priest, complete with staff and the cockle shell emblem of the spiritual traveller.

Some seem to have done rather more research than others. Once you have visited the village shop, had a drink in both bars and admired the admittedly quite impressive church, then you have run out of things to do in Aljucén. As we sit on the patio of Vicente´s bar, we see them go off in search of the centre of town, not realising they are already there. A few minutes later they trudge past again, perhaps in search of that typical local restaurant that they are sure must be around the next corner.

Round and round they go, up and down the main street, perhaps thinking that if they only wish it hard enough, a sophisticated centre will spring up, complete with shops offering microwaveable vegan meals and holistic centres specialising in shiatsu massage, tai-chi and herbal tea. After half an hour or so they usually resign themselves to the fact that the only thing waiting for them is another cold beer.

Articles in the series:

Introduction to Pete's Tale

Part 1: Village Life

Part 2: Bichos

Part 3: A Two-Bar Town

Part 4: Fruit and Veg

Part 5: Summer

Part 6: Politics

Part 7: Noise

Part 8: Our natural park

Part 9: New Year's Eve

Part 10: Timetables

Part 11: The Land Where the Pig is King

Part 12: How Not to Buy a House

Part 13: That First Winter

Part 14: The Extremeño Spring

Part 15: To be a Pilgrim

Part 16: A Change is Coming

Part 17: Wine Talk

Part 18: Free For All

Part 19: How Do You Spell Asparagus?

Part 20: Designer Peas