Like yesterday, the road is so straight. It’s unbelievable really. As the sun floods everywhere with light,the track or ‘senda’ is visible for miles ahead. On my left there are the small trees that stand like roman centurions,to attention, as the general passes by…that’s me. And beyond that are the miles and miles of harvested honey coloured wheat fields.
The senda is built over the Via Aquitaine…the oldest stretch of roman road in Spain that leads to Astoria I think. Clever these Romans. If you want to get somewhere just do it straight. So I trudge along, mile after mile nodding at my trees. They give me pockets os shade so I nod with respect as I pass.
My brain sweeps back to the vision of the old Spanish guys enjoying their dominoes and then Marta glued to me as she wanted to eat where I was going…I just hope that the next village called Mansilla de las Mulas…’Mansilla of the mules’…is an improvement. Although these few days have been a bit monotonous they have been thankfully short…today will be a bit longer but I think I’m immune now.
The secret is perhaps not to think about the miles but just the time…and to stop and refresh every 2 hours at least…and then suddenly you can see your destination in the distance.
I’m getting good at seeing in the distance. My dad had brilliant distance vision. He used to say that it was all his years at sea. Not sure if he was pulling my leg and he died too soon for anything on his body to go sideways, but it pleases me to think that he could see miles away. So, I think, Now!! I can too. Its probably desperation on my part so I can get to where I am going.
OOps, wait on!!!…. I could see a junction coming up. This is exciting on this long long road…maybe there will be a bar and a bocadillo or piece of tortilla…. ooops no!!! Its just the road to Villamarco and lots of farm sheds. A pretty road with NO facilities but a display of preserved farm equipment lining the road. Has my world shrunk to getting excited about old ploughs?
Enough!!! I arrive in Mansilla de las Mulas. ….Its a busy street and its Friday so the town is out…I go up to the bar where a worn out Victor Meldrew is preparing 10 coffees for his locals. I’m dusty, dirty, in shorts, as I signal him that I have a reservation.
He holds his finger up to me…so I wait…he is busy…and I wait…he serves others. I try to smile but he scowls and privately I think…I want my feckin room!…..Ooops, not pilgrim like at all. I admonish myself and sink into a chair with my poles, back pack and dusty me. He seems SO grumpy.
If you cant beat ‘em…join ‘em.
So i haul myself up to the bar to order a cortado. He nods. Recognition.? I sink back down into my seat and he duly delivers my coffee and a plate of Tapas!! I look up and say
”Gracias Signor, Questa conta?’….I speak Spanish now!!!?
He looks at me with his scowl and says NADA…. he touches his heart to explain its free and to enjoy!!!!!
Im dumbfounded.