Salmerón

On a normal camino day, I’m in bed by 9. Last night Pepe, our hospitalero, insisted he would come by at 9 to take us to tomar un vino. Anyone who’s stayed here has probably been to his family’s bodega, one of more than 100 caves in this village where wine has been made and stored for centuries. The caves may have been inhabited by visigodos (6 th C?). Both Pepe and co- host Paulino used to stamp grapes in the caves. Paulino remembers being held by the feet and lowered into the clay vat to clean the vat while he was upside down. When one exploded about 20 years ago, leading to the loss of more than 1,000 liters, they bought an aluminum vat and stopped stomping the grapes.

Pepe’s daughter Virginia was also there and we had a good homemade garlic soup, along with homemade Serrano ham and sausages. Then at the end, a little ceremony, in which both Clare and I were given a peregrino necklace and cross of Santiago. Their words about the meaning of the camino were heartfelt and brought us back to the simple essence of people being generous to people.

We got up early because a challenging 30 km day awaited. We knew there was a river crossing ahead, but Pepe assured us that the level of the river is controlled by a dam and would not be affected by the recent rains. Since Clare’s engineering expertise is dam safety, I think she was a little sad the dam itself is several kms upriver.

We were off by 7:15 with no rain in the forecast. 14 glorious kms through wide open fields on rolling hills. If the crops had been alive this would have been majestic emerald green against the occasional reddish rocky outcrops.

At 13 kms came the river crossing. For all the hype, it was not a problem. The water was moving fast over a sunken part of a concrete bridge, but it went no higher than mid shin.

Then came about 10 kms on the side of a provincial road. Generally good shoulders and little traffic.

We could see the Romanesque tower of the Valdeolivas church from many kms away. I knew the odds were slim that we would be able to go inside. As we got closer, we heard a lot of conversation. Rounding the corner, I saw the crowd coming out of church — a baptism. I hightailed it to the door just as the señora in charge was closing it. As we were clearly peregrinas, she happily offered to take us around while her grouchy husband complained. Original 13th century paintings on the bóveda above the alter were discovered (they had been covered in plaster) in 1960 when emergency repairs were done.

The last 7 kms were on a very nice dirt track through hilly fields and olive groves. We are the only two in the albergue, which is located in the town’s Inquisition prison, at least that’s the story.Read more