Second and third days of walking...

Saturday morning, I took off around 08:15 from Calzada de Valdunciel. About five minutes into the walk, as I turned around to have a last look at the village, which is slightly sunk into a dip of the scenery, it occurred to me that I appeared to be heading back to Salamanca, but my wrist compass confirmed I was on the right track towards El Cubo de la Tierra del Vino, about 19.6 kilometers ahead. It was decidedly cool, even cold, maybe 13 degrees or slightly more, but this was to change. Pretty soon the path led to the main road N-630 from Salamanca to Zamora, and the Camino here follows that road all the way till El Cubo. Asphalt, for twenty kilometers.

About halfway, there is a large, very modern prison, dominated by a high concrete and glass watchtower. Accross the road, a woman sat with two large suitcases, at the very main exit of the penitentiary, so I crossed the road and asked her whether any one was due to pick her up -the place was utterly desolate- as she replied "you got a fag?". Of course (stupid me) the bus stops there.

I timed my speed. No claims will be entertained. Eleven minutes thirty two seconds for one kilometer, some 58 minutes for five, pee stops included.

Upon entering El Cubo, noontime, I had an interesting talk with what I might perhaps best describe as a very simple man, whom I saw in a field feeding a horse. A figure straight out of "Los Santos Innocentes" of Miguel Delibes, slightly physically handicapped, slightly mentally retarded, speech defect and all. And utterly charming.

Ran into the gang of other pilgrims who'd left Calzada that very morning. Carlos, the Frank Zappaesque basque from Bilbao, a solitary figure always ready to share a tomato or an apple. Jean, from Grenoble. On a walklike this, you're bound to keep running into the same people, unless you (or they) skip a day.

After lunch (a can of tuna fish, a handful of olives, a tomato and two mini croissants), I opted to add another 13.1 km, till Villanueva de Campéan. A decision I did not regret: the camino now resolutely leaves the main road and a beautiful walk through (or is it "over") the meseta ensues, on a broad and practicable pathway. About halfway, the flat meseta suddenly reaches a point where it descends into the broad and attractive valley of the Duero (in Portugal, that river is called the Douro, of Porto fame). The nature of the agriculture changes into a patchwork of sunflower fields, mown wheat, and old vines. I arrived at Villanueva in full fiesta: the feast of the decapitation of the village patron saint, I thought San Juan, but I forget names. The whole village afoot in a kind of "carnaval" atmosphere. Decent wine, Malvasía for the white and the ubiquitous Tempranillo for the red, Vino de la Tierra de Zamora. I went to sleep -earplugs in position- long before the band started playing at 00:30 in the morning.

The third day (yesterday) being Sunday, I walked on to Zamora. Twenty odd kilometers. Somehow, probably by looking down at my feet under my hat, I must have missed a turn and gone straight ahead, anyway I got lost but that led me to a village where I had two cortados (small coffees), had a chat with the locals, a wave and "buen camino!"; it's a great feeling when people pass on bicycle and wish you a "buen camino". Everyone here knows about the Camino... Zamora is entered walking over a path in a parc immediately adjacent to the Duero river, the splendid Zamora cathedral just accross the river; the city is entered over the old "stone bridge". After a rest, off to a street restaurant for a decent lunch, 10 €, full bottle of wine included (which I did not finish!); seated where I was I could see the Spa Formula 1 race - congratulations, Iceman and Force India!

Zamora is a beautiful if slightly bourgeois place, tourists elegantly dressed (a contrast with my sexy legs; other than my nose, they're the only part of me that's tanned!). There are sixty-six, mostly Romanesque (hi, Roman!) churches here, mostly concentrated in one area of town. Another area is a showcase of "modernismo" architecture: moderately large town buildings in a well-adorned style, say 1915 to 1935.

Evening? Plaza Mayor, a glass of white Rueda followed by two glasses from a freshly opened bottle of Elias Mora, delicious, then off for a free beer and plenty of blablaah with some Spaniards two-thirds my age of whom I still don't know if they're gay or not (maybe half), anyway it didn't stop any one making catcalls to the passing girls.

This morning, I started writing immediately as the City Library opened at 08:15. I've now missed the freshest part of the day (forget about the freshest part of me), and I've got 18.3 km to walk to Montamarta. So far, I don't even know which direction to get out of town!

See ya'll!