I broke the journey between Toledo and Bilbao by staying once again at the minicipal campsite in Burgos, and woke up to a cold morning, but sunshine eventually breaking through. The route to Bilbao went through beautiful orange, yellow and some green patchwork plateaus unfolding in the distance, and the mountainous, green countryside of the Parque Natural de Gorbeia.
My short visit found Bilbao to be an interesting city – geographically condensed into both sides of a steep-sided estuary valley, some 20km from the port, with the countryside ‘right there’. I did two bike-exploring trips from the private campervan stop high-up above the city, and found contemporary riverside areas and buildings, including the Guggenheim musem, next to the old quarter. Visiting the museum will have to wait for another trip. But I was again feeling jaded and in effect ready to down exploring tools, so I just enjoyed the views from the pitch, still sunny and warm. My dutch neighbours had travelled into Spain from France due to the days of rain they’d experienced with no change forecast. We were very fortunate to have the good weather we experienced, particularly in Galicia, with the days prior to our time there very rainy, and then in the week after I travelled back to Seville
The ferry journey from Bilbao to Portsmouth was the best I’ve enjoyed – a really comfortable ‘shiny’ ship ‘Salamanca’ – everything looks and feels new and my 4-berth cabin, which was the only type remaining to book, was luxury – even a TV with british mainstream channels, and film viewing. Some 29 hours of enforced doing nothing other than blissful reading, while the sea was flat – leaving in the sunshine, and skirting the Isle of Wight in some sunshine, some 28 hours later.
I feel it has been a more ‘out of comfort zone’ August & September this year but I know I am very fortunate to have all the means necessary to be able to undertake this travel and different activities. Spain has certainly put on a show. It’s a massive, varied country, landscape-wise, with a fantastic road infrastructure. My van has been a great drive and haven once again. Consistently, with few exceptions, I have found people to be courteous and helpful whether that’s on the roads as a cyclist or pedestrian or in the cafes, restaurants, campsites and hotels. My tech has helped with video calling, and the purchase of a new phone and kindle this year has been worthwhile for reliable battery life particularly for navigation, storage for photos and videos and getting into reading some great fiction again.
I have had pleasant, albeit too short conversations this trip with campsite neighbours, with help offered to solve my leaking water tank outlet, or put air in the van’s tyres from the supportive motorhome/van community.
This group of young Italians were very happy for me to put the photo on my blog – they had flown to Malaga, hired a VW, and were touring round, all five of them sleeping in the van, before returning it to the city and flying back to Italy. I love the positivity, enthusiasm and ‘can do’ captured here.
Travelling solo, I feel I am always on a camino in terms of reflecting as I go on my life, past, present & future, and the world in which it finds itself. I continue to be aware of and thankful for my life’s relative good fortune including good health and my fantastic family. I know that my long-distance cycling bucket-list item would most likely not have happened without the invitation and support of very good friends.
The planet and humanity, though, it has seemed to me for a long time, are not in a good place. As a ‘little person’ I can do very little but hope that the current social media-led, history-forgetting, lemming-like misplaced trajectory towards the cult, narcissistic, gangster leadership!! of ‘strong men’, whether political or oligarchs, will ultimately be seen for what it is without the impact of their non-accountable power grab, and in increasing cases horrendous crimes, spreading further. Where is the voice of the female 50% of the world’s population in what we see unfolding? May Kamala Harris break through in November as Obama and Biden managed to do against the toxic tide.
Heading north now towards Bilbao, the autoroute adjacent to much of the N-630 was the route I followed before turning east after Merida. It was great to be able to see from a slightly more birds-eye perspective the landscapes we had cycled through only 2-3 weeks earlier. The autoroute was almost as quiet, so easy, enjoyable driving. After several hours I was glad to be approaching Toledo, and it really is a magnificent view from that direction as the road seems to go over the top of the plateau revealing in the distance the river valley and then historic city above it, yet still lower than the plateau. The sun was right behind the citadel, so I didn’t stop to try and capture the scene. A really impressive geological position.
Long on my list of places to visit, I stayed at a good campsite 1km away and spent the next day exploring by bike with continuing blue sky and sun. I was reminded how fortunate I was to be able to enjoy such opportunities, including having the variety of chinese food for lunch.
I really loved this place – larger than another of my favourites, Ronda. I haven’t been to similar sized historic towns in Italy, but with the cypress trees around the buildings on the other sides of its gorge, I wondered whether this was similar. One of my observations about Spain’s historic town/cities is that 21st century life goes on in and amidst the history, including of course tourism. Buildings continue to be used for universities, administration etc, and apartments above the narrow medieval streets are lived in. I know a great many villages are being abandoned with people moving to the cities, so I guess Spain as with other countries has a balancing act to manage for the right level and type of the valuable tourism sector.
A great place to combine with a trip to Madrid and I would love to share a visit again.
Day 2 saw us start the pattern of booking where possible that night’s accommodation at the first coffee or lunch stop, using booking.com and going direct to the Parador website. These are good quality hotels set up for the most part in historic buildings throughout Spain – worth a read about. I had been introduced to these by my Mum’s partner, and J&J had also stayed in them for a luxury night’s sleep when doing their previous camino hike. Having in reality only rarely stayed in hotels, usually preferring the cheaper self-catering options!, to actually then stay in one was fantastic.
Our next stop was at Zafra and when we saw that it had a Parador, and with a swimming pool, and following the lack of sleep of the previous night for the majority of the group, we decided to book 2 rooms with J&J willing to accept me into their max 3-bed room to save money. Following this example N&G said that they would also be happy to add me to their bubble (remember that) on occasion 🙂
Zafra Parador was luxury and wheeling the bikes through the middle of this historic building felt like breaking ‘keep off the grass’ rules from a british perspective. But this is where we were led to bring our bikes to the storage location.
It must be told however, that our bedroom was on the ground floor with windows onto the impressive square above, impressive enough to attract a large group of boys of all ages playing and shouting at the tops of their voices up to what must have been around midnight at least. I shut the windows and led awake waiting in vain to hear the voice of some adult like a hotel security guard telling them to sling their hook. That obviously never happened and I fell asleep at some point. The next morning my bedroom fellows had been oblivious as per the previous night, with Judith having the benefit of removing her hearing aids for sleeping, and Julian usually going out like a light. There’s abit of reconciliation work to do between myself and this laid-back, late aspect of Spanish culture.
The albergues presented their various challenges and particularly for light sleepers as already said – from heavy snoring & other noises not mitigated by ear plugs, to ‘fan on or off/windows open or shut’ wars. We were given disposable sheets and pillowcases to put on the plastic covered comfortable mattresses, in some cases the lower bunk headroom would suit a primary school child, and the same was also the case for the top bunk under the ceiling in Merida. But for me the nadir was having to sleep in this bunk, in a very small room housing us plus another 3 gentlemen, with the knowledge that I would have to climb down at least once to go to the toilet in the middle of the night. That underlying anxiety caused me to have to climb down and make 3 visits, each time hoping not to fall/rock the bunk/make any noise or have a watery accident 🤣 and wake anybody else up/draw attention to myself! Flexibility could have been shown, with other rooms available, but no, we had to fill up the bunks as we arrived. The only reconciliation work possibly to be done between incontinence and albergue sleeping rules was to get to the A Gudina one first and bagsy a lower bunk. This was achieved, and in fact we had a whole luxurious room-size corner of the single large dorm to ourselves.
Overall we stayed at 4 albergues in Almaden, A Gudina, Merida and Zamora, the paradors of Zafra and Puebla de Sanabria, 2 town houses – one in the medieval centre of Caceres – kerb appeal not immediately there cycling upto it after a long day!! see below -, a very comfortable contemporary building in university accommodation in the centre of Salamanca, and 3 very varied apartments – all really well kitted out and good value for 5 people – in the small former wool industry town of Bejar, the centre of the city of Ourense, and finally in Santiago de Compostela, approx 1 mile from the centre. The Santiago one was perhaps more ‘Spanish’ than set up just for tourists, and the Bejar one was in a typical non-touristy apartment block.
For me, the cities in the first half of the journey appeared all of a welcome sudden as oases out of the dry, sun-baked plateaus & plains, and their tree-lined, cool, thriving (perhaps with the exception of Bejar) centres were always a surprise given their landscape location. For most of the towns, the outskirts were busy roads lined with modern, large apartment blocks, giving no clue as to these centres. Salamanca was a highlight for me, with a feel more of a southern French town/small city. We had our only non-cycling day here, with a very informative & entertaining walking tour by a very knowledgeable history graduate.
The medieval cities came increasingly to full life after 5pm, with all ages hanging out in the beautiful squares, cafes and restaurants. The timescales for eating were abit of a challenge, not lining up with the cycling schedule, given a midday meal might only be served after 1:30pm, and evening meal from 8pm, but nevertheless we enjoyed several really good meals at low cost relative to prices in the UK. Green vegetables and even fruit were mostly lacking from menus which was a surprise. Some of the towns had festivals underway, so we caught some live music and dance.
My favourite meal was at a riverside restaurant as we arrived at Puebla de Sanabria – great hamburger and salad after a long ride, lovely location, friendly service, and the contemplation of cycling a few metres more to our Parador with swimming pool. The water was unheated, but really enjoyable after the dusty heat.
Riverside at Puebla de Sanabria
The landscape changed as we went through hilly country north of Seville to the dry plateau, before eventually climbing into the hills to Bejar. Now we had more deciduous trees, pastures and ferns, passing through the lovely tourist town of Hervas, and then Banos de Montemajor. The N-630 and then the N-525 heading west were great for road-biking – relatively empty due to their being superseded by the motorways, yet good surfaces with a large hard-shoulder. The motorways tended to not have their own service areas, with lots of exits leading to the cafes/restaurants on the N roads. This meant that there were plenty of places most days to aim for regular refreshment and battery charging stops.
Views& RoadsRoman Bridge into Merida
Some stretches were on smaller cross-country roads; we took a risk and ignored the road closure sign on one of these and travelled many kilometres before evntually coming across the road building teams, who halted their diggers and equipment to let us pass. On one of these roads we came across Pete from Nottingham, who was walking this stretch of the camino. He told us that the day after he retired from teaching a few years previously, he set off and walked to Cadiz, southern Spain.
At one point our paths were crossed just ahead by a large family of deer jumping aross the road, which certainly would have been dangerous had we been 3 minutes further on, and at one point we had sight of 12 or so very large birds of prey – possibly Iberian Eagles.
Doing the same route but off-road our paths crossed a few times with 2 guys from Barcelona mountain-biking and a couple from the Netherlands and Ukraine respectively who had hired e-bikes in Seville. Unfortunately we didn’t catch sight of them in Santiago which was abit of a shame. Perhaps as a group, we had less conversations with others than if we had been solo or in a couple. This camino route did not seem busy.
Equipment-wise we had a range of bikes, P20 suncream, Julian doing his best with Google navigation, 2 punctures only, my and Nicola’s bikes, which if I had had a go at fixing would have no doubt taken 1.5 hours at least, but Julian and Graham quickly set to, extra gel seat, special cream and daily ibuprofen for undercarriage resilience. The motors did fantastically on the hills, and we did 3 high passes including 1085m, with mine in setting no. 2 ‘Tour’ and the lowest of my 8 gears easily enabling me to achieve them. Even topping up the battery for only 30 mins in a cafe really seemed to make a difference, at least to what the gauge showed. One thing to add is that my tyres were low in pressure and after about day 3 more air was pumped in, and what a difference to the freewheeling and general rolling of the bike. Something I will now take more seriously. And can we class the weather as empowering equipment? – blue skies and sunshine every day. Rather that and too hot than rain. Judith’s hearing aids worked well during the day and even better during the night when they weren’t in, enabling her to sleep like a baby.
How to travel light. Judith’s luggage approach was very impressive – the before and after, then affixed to either her cross-bar or seat luggage thing
The day before final arrival at our destination was another long cycling day, so that we would only have 30kms or so to get us to Santiago. This was a great decision as we made it late morning and cycled straight to the cathedral square, joining all the other mainly walkers and cyclists coming in from all over the place. Santiago de Compostela is in Galicia – part of green Spain, lots of rain apparently, wooded hill country, the road to which reminded me of some Devon landscapes. This is also worth visiting – beautiful squares, mazes of medieval streets, a great deal of joy constantly bursting out as people congratulated each other on reaching their goal. A wave of emotion swept over me as we came out from getting our official certificates, based on more subconscious non-specific rather than conscious feelings.
We, the Fellowship of the Chain Ring as Julian had coined it, had set off on the last day to a fitting and magnificent theme tune,
and we had all done it, I and my bike had done it. Hats off to JJ&G for that cycling without a motor.
I would like to end there, because I’m fed up of this one post now, but I have to mention the bike boxes because getting these and dealing with them happened the day after our arrival. Nicola and Graham found a bike shop which had 2 large boxes and offered a bike packing service which they happily paid for. Having sorted themselves out, this did not stop them now helping in turn J&J. This involved obtaining 2 further bike boxes from another bike shop; walking them (Julian and Graham) through the heaving Santiago streets to the cathedral where we had decided to attend the 7:00pm pilgrim mass, hoping to see the massive incense dispenser being swung; J&G standing in the cathedral queue with the boxes as if this was what everyone does, expecting (J) by force of will to be passed through. The Security team had other ideas and it was a decisive (I don’t think it it quite made derisory) ‘No’ . Undeterred (J), they moved away with the boxes, were ushered away from walking anywhere near another cafe on a main square, – what happened to the laid-backness – and ultimately hid the boxes in plain sight next to a cardboard recycling industrial bin, to then join us in the cathedral. An hour later we left the cathedral to find the boxes still where they had been left, managed to find another restaurant which could accommodate them as well as us and then eventually walked them (J&G) the 1.5 miles or so back to the apartment. J&J were off to the coast for another few days and the apartment owners very kindly allowed them to leave their bikes and bike boxes in their storage until they returned.
At preparation meetings in the previous Autumn, we had decided to call ourselves the Spanish version of The Famous Five, particularly given that our Julian was the oldest. I think I claimed George, (wonder why), Nicola or Judith were Dick and/or Anne, and Graham was Timmy the dog. Julian and Judith had 2 years previously cycled a pilgrim route from Folkestone to Rome on their road bikes, and had also walked the Camino del Norte route to Santiago, so their confidence as to feasibility certainly carried me through at that stage.
On 4/9 I left Camping Villsom to move to Area Parking Caravane where, via very informal email exchange, I had booked my van for a storage stay up to 23/9. It was one of those locations on one side of a dual carriageway, very easy to see and, if heading in the wrong direction, sail past the unlikely slip road it was on. I could envisage this shoot-past happening more than once, so was relieved to get to the entrance first time and everything was confirmed. I would be on an electric hook-up spot for that night, it is possible to stay there for approx 20eu per night and for info they have a small swimming pool, but then I needed to move it to a storage spot after getting my bike and stuff ready before my set off the next day around 7:15am.
That afternoon I had a dry-run, cycling into the city to transport the battery to the other e-bike rider Nicola. She and the other tres famosos had flown their bikes across from the UK, then having to put them together after the bike box disassembly requirements. Bike batteries are not carried by airlines however, (nor coaches, and regional trains in Spain) hence me transporting it along with mine in the van from the UK.
Overall I was feeling extremely weary, and in effect ‘less than up for’ this bike challenge. I think this was due to the trepidation mentioned in an earlier post and the significant amount of decision-making, organisation both mental and physical, and underlying stress of anticipation of a lot of unknown in a relatively short space of time, after working very hard to round off my contract, in preparation and since I left the UK. I was not able to summon up enthusiasm and excitement to match the others, and I have recognised in this hindsight journalling that my sentiments would not be what they wanted/needed to hear, dampening possibly the start of their long-awaited holiday. In my mind I was always ready for the bail-out options – by train or hire car from one of our visited towns – but I was concerned about the possibility of stuff going wrong with the electric motor when we were high up in the middle of nowhere. And I certainly didn’t want the others’ holiday to be affected which was a pressure in itself.
But, early the next morning, having packed the bike up, stilI feeling that I wanted to back out, I forced myself to go and cycle the approx 5 miles to the meet-up at Seville Cathedral. I didn’t use the battery, but knowing from very shortly after our group set-off how I had to have the battery on the lowest ‘Eco’ setting to keep up with the others on the flat, this did contribute to the second day of ‘bloody hell, how am I going to achieve this’ blues.
No wonder my speed didn’t reflect the amount of time Google said it would take! and my washed-out look in our set-off photo captures it all well.
It was a glorious morning, as indeed were all mornings apart from one which was particularly cold and a wind across the plains for a couple of hours. Eventually a rhythm was reached as we left Seville and headed for the first overnight at a village called Almaden de La Plata, approximately 80km away. We were following the on-road route described by John Haynes in the Cicerone book of the Ruta Via de la Plata
The scenery was stunning, it was hilly countryside and there were significant climbs, and the heat increased.Â
Unfortunately a good few kms short of the destination my bike battery suddenly ‘went’. I had been monitoring it as it discharged and how the gauge was displaying. Even though I had done a 60-mile ride around York, I had never come anywhere close to the display showing only 1/5th of battery left. Given this unknown on a very long ride, I had only been using the first 2 of 4 settings of motor power, only resorting to the 2nd when I had to to get up hills.Â
Some of my luggage was taken by Nicola, and there was still at least a visible longish downhill section before a reasonably long uphill. It’s seared into my memory, pushing my still very heavy bike & luggage in 38 degrees up the considerably steep hill, hanging a scarf from under my helmet to try and shelter from the relentless sun. With the encouragement of my own personal mountain rescue team member in the form of Graham, we got our bikes to the top and with tremendous relief, free-wheeled downhill into Almaden which we could see below.
For the first night we targeted the municipal albergue. Not able to book anything in advance, I was very relieved to see we would at least have a bunk. It was a very pleasant place with well-equipped kitchen, nice dining room, bathrooms etc with other pilgrims being 2 older women from Brazil, a 76-year old French woman and a young British guy walking.
Hilarity and giggles did break through and hope was there for a recuperating sleep as we navigated the set-up and settled down for the night.
The whole village had other ideas however, as they congregated after a pilgrim’s bedtime on public benches right outside the dormitory window on the ground floor. All ages remained there in loud (and happy) community until at least gone midnight. Those who know I’m a very light-sleeper may realise that even the trials of the day did not take me out of the misery of lying there awake for hours, ear-plugs not doing it. More about accommodation in the next post.
There are photos of me waiting for the rest of the team to finish their prep the next morning for set-off. My face speaks volumes, but I am too conceited to include an aged and weary ‘older generation family-likeness’ me here. Worse than the washout. Nevertheless, 24-hours of a long kilometer-wise Day 1 had been survived.
I have been unable to get the energy together to create blog posts via my phone during the last almost 3 weeks of bush tucker trials cycling the Camino Ruta Via de La Plata, veering off to the Camino Sanabres north of Zamora, 960ish kilometres, from Seville to Santiago de Compostela.
I’ve decided to start with the ending which was mammoth for me in itself. I had already forseen that taking the bike back on the train from Santiago to Seville would be a challenge given its weight without the battery and unwieldy size. Add to that the weight I was carrying in my rucksack and bumbag, and the fact of not being able to take this luggage with me to the loo/cafes etc; the need to pass all pieces of luggage through a scanner; the need to change platforms; the journey requiring a change of stations in Madrid, with 8kms between …… Nevertheless, I had obviously thought it was doable.
But before le grand depart, I had to move accommodation in Santiago, my cycling buddies having their own varying arrangements at this point, and made the wrong decision to grab at a single room in a central small hotel on the 3rd floor without a lift assuring the reception that my bike would be in a bag, I could get it up the stairs and convincing them to break their rules and allow me to store it in the room. This was before I then found online a seemingly well-organised bike storage place for 3eu per night; I decided not to change the arrangements I had put in place. I managed to get the bike in its bag up those stairs, and collapsed on the bed for a time, sweat pouring down my face and everywhere else. The night’s sleep was not good as I struggled to put the getting of the bike bag down the stairs the next morning and impending journey out of my mind. As I recount all this detail I have to laugh from the comfort of hindsight.
The day before departure I went down to the station in Santiago to suss out how things would work. I was there 1.5 hours early at 9:00am the next day, first in the queue. I quickly realised that I would have to drag the bike in its bag (a requirement to transport bikes on high-speed trains, and only these would take an e-bike) across the platforms etc, thankfully either smooth tiles or polished concrete. The bag did survive but would only take one other such journey, which would be without me!!!
My trusty e-steed and luggage is in the foreground
My train at 10:30am was fully booked, with many pelegrinos of all different nationalities travelling to Madrid with their luggage. I had no idea what the storage facilities would be within the carriage, but having at least got the bike bag into carriage 3 doorway, I then went to my carriage 4 reservation once everyone else had got on, and then was able to move my bag into the generous luggage area of my carriage. Due to the number of travellers with luggage to scan, the train departed at least 30 mins late. No problem I thought as there would still be an adequate!!! 1 hour transfer time at Madrid. I had not taken it for granted that I would get through scanning with 2 bike batteries in my backpack, and total luggage weight well exceeding the rules, so I was somewhat subconsciously over confident by now. Stage 1 beginning had been successfully navigated.
The journey was as I had hoped, tracking back through the beautiful wooded green hilly landscapes of Galicia. The train reaching at times 300km per hour. I could recognise some of the landscapes and locations we had cycled along until Zamora, marvelling at the distance and heights we’d scaled.
For the arrival at Madrid, I had resolved to get the bike out of its bag on the platform, and make it wheelable. This did eat into the transfer time remaining. On reaching one of the concourses I selected at random, brain firing like a whirling dervish, I observed chaos all around, major works taking place, and getting to a taxi rank with long queues and no big vehicles, I made the decision that I stood a better chance of reaching the next station in time by cycling, rather than navigating the metro system or finding an amenable taxi driver. This was based on subconscious assumptions that there would be good cycling infrastructure as per in Seville. Given that my bike was now constructed and carrying the luggage, I had first to find a lift to get it down to street level, not easy in the mele. Following satnav as best as I could, the cycling was hairy, along major thoroughfares with traffic lights every hundred metres, always seeming to be on red, one of which I finally blatantly ran, and I had to re-position my luggage on the bike on one occasion, honked at by a bus driver trying to get down the bus lane.
I’m sure though that this is nothing compared to the mayhem experienced daily by a good friend on her scooter travelling around Phnom Penh.
Rather than giving into the knowledge that there was no way I was going to get on my scheduled connection, I flew down major thoroughfares at top speed, battery-assisted, brain lacking in function due to knackeredness. I reached Madrid Atocha station at the time of departure, and behaving as if I still had a chance of unpacking the bike, getting it into its bag, dragging the luggage to the right scanning/platform zone (having found it) in this major station, and getting on my train, I caused damage (only temporary) to the scanning conveyor belt – after the bike had got through successfully. Then I had to go and get my ticket changed to allow me on the next train to Seville. By now this was in 30 mins. Knackered doesn’t go anywhere near describing my state at this stage.
This train looked definitely and thankfully under capacity, but the carriages were two big steps above the platform. I could barely get the bike up them. I had got confused about the carriage I was aiming for on the new hand-written ticket, convinced it was no 4, which was in effect missing. I got the bike into carriage 3 which was nearest, and now with 5 mins to go I ran down the platform to ask an attendant where carriage 4 was. On looking at the ticket together, I now saw carriage 8 was my reservation. No chance in hell was I getting down the platform. I took a seat in carriage 3 and then constructed via google Translate my explanatory narrative including that there was no way I could now move my bike bag up the train, as I awaited the same attendant to come and check tickets. Thankfully, that didn’t happen.
A fantastic journey ensued, which I did try half-heartedly to appreciate, through very different dry plains, becoming more varied into Andalucia, only stopping at Cordoba, and the best thing of all was that no-one came and claimed my seat. Arrival at Seville felt at last reassuring. I had cycled in and out of the centre from my campervan storage/overnight place twice before, on the city’s good bike lanes, so I decided I would again use my bike to my home from home.
What a difference in emotional state as I cycled confidently on the final achievable leg to ‘home’ – anticipating re-gaining my van in Area Parking Caravane, bordered by the dual carriageway, a high-speed rail line, and under the nearby airport flight path. What comfort it held out 🤣. Across the ring road is a retail park. Reassured, having spotted my van and quite a collection of others as I approached the location, I stopped at the McDonalds and enjoyed a Big Mac, ice cream sundae, and an iced tea – only my second drink of the day bar abit of water I was carrying, to minimise the toilet visits.
My home was there and as I had left it. Next time – just hire a car and do a two-day drive. I’m knackered just having relived all of this and typed it with my still sore arms.
I have amused myself somewhat with contemplating the different scenarios I could present following a title for this post like “Last night, guess what”.
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