(Mainly David) We were in a modern 6^th floor apartment on the edge of Bejar, which is a town at 950m.  The outside flats must have had views over the countryside but ours looked over the town, or more accurately the slightly higher apartment building opposite.  It had a balcony which looked over the street which was about 1m wide and had a barrier about 1m tall.  Why am I telling you this?   Because the floor level of the balcony sloped at about 20 degrees towards the outer edge and standing on the balcony felt like you were just about to fall over the edge and 6 stories down to the road.  The fact that I am writing this tells you that we resisted the temptations of the balcony but it was pretty unnerving.

Anyway we knew the weather was hotting up so we set the alarm for 6.30am and were on the road by 7.30am (with dawn only being at 7.03am).  I woke to the welcome news that Arsenal had won the premiership.  That avoids a potential family issue as our son in law, Ollie, is part of a fervent Crystal Palace supporting family and, if Liverpool had beaten Bournemouth, the title would only be decided on the last day when Arsenal were away to Crystal Palace. If that happened and Arsenal had been robbed of the title by Crystal Palace, relations with Ollie might have been dodgy (or downright hostile) but all that was avoided by  brilliant Bournemouth who held Manchester City to a 1:1 draw.  That meant the title was going to north London, the first London club to win in over a decade.  At least something has gone right this week for Kier Starmer (a fellow Gooner).

As we cycled off we realised it was chilly and my wahoo bike computer was on strike because it resented being made to get up and going so early (or possibly because it depends on satellite signals and the first part was through tall buildings and a deep gorge where signals were patchy and confusing for it.  My heart prefers the first explanation but my head tells me not to be stupid – not the first confusion between head and heart of course.

Bejar sits below some taller mountains and, even in the middle of May, we could see extensive patches of snow on the northern facing slopes.  They were probably at 1400m or higher, but they seemed to be just above the town.

It was a cool, clear morning and cycling on quiet, empty roads with good surfaces through the agricultural landscapes was a delight.  We climbed to a ridge and then swung round a series of bends as we descended to the valley below.  We then passed through the villages of Valverde de Valdelacsa and Valdelacsa itself.  It is quite common around here for villages on the outskirts of a town to have the same name as the town, with a prefix word added.  Here  Valverde de Valdelacsa was about the same size as Valdelacsa and crucially, from our perspective, neither had an open cafe.  So we pressed on Los Santos, another agricultural village of whitewashed buildings with narrow streets, where we found a cafe/bar that was open.  The quality of the coffee here is universally good (and can be excellent).  It is served in tiny glasses as opposed to cups or mugs; having a morning coffee is part of the rhythm of life here.

After coffee the theme of the day emerged – flowers.  Bernie has a flower identification app on her phone and decided to both identify and photograph the wild flowers in the hedgerows as we passed along.  A sea of wild flowers has been one of the features of doing this trip in May.  In the mountains, the flowers are still blooming and have not yet been affected by the high heat of the summer.  I recognised the wonderful poppies and wild roses but Bernie (after doing her RHS course) knows much more about the fauna we are passing.  I will leave it for her to post pictures of the various flowers but suffice it to say that we stopped often and appreciated the views as well as the flowers.

[Bernie here] As David said, for me this was a day of flowers. The roadside was like a wildflower meadow for most of the way. In the lower areas (ie about 900M) bright red poppies, blue cornflowers and purple vetch and vipers bugloss. Scattered the whole way huge yellow flowers like bright rays of sunshine. 

My app told me these were Villous Deadly Carrot. They were definitely jollier than their name but I guess if we didn’t try to eat them we would be ok!.  Higher up bunches of lavender, carpets of camomile, dog and rock roses and a huge number of other alpine type flowers.  Not all of which I identified.  Some change of vegetation as we dropped over the pass but I was enjoying the downhill too much to stop and photograph!]

At one stage we passed a Roman mile marker – showing that this was an ancient Roman road.  The engineering works of that “civilisation” were astounding even if they thought that watching fights to the death was a good afternoon out.

We plodded on and up to Fredes de la Sierra – a mountain village which appeared to have no cafe, panaderia or even (so it seemed) a shop.  There were few inhabitants to ask so we munched a sandwich as we readied our selves for the major climb of the day.  The route took us up to just below 1100m, 100m higher than Scafell Pike.  However, unlike at home, the quality of the soil appears to increase with height (must be more rain) and there were fields of early corn near the top. 

Then we began our descent, dropping (but also climbing) for the next 30km to reach Salamanca.  We passed a good few walkers, almost certainly doing the Camino to Compostella.  The (mostly) dead straight Roman road ambles across these are rolling hills, meaning you can see the next few kilometres at all times.  It was OK cycling but not exciting but must be soul destroying to walk it.  Maybe that is the wrong term – since the whole point of the Camino is that it is soul enhancing, but we suspected that walking this part of the route would be Tedious with a capital “T”.

In contrast to the walkers, we used the continuing 1% downward gradient to press on at speed, and were tackling the outskirts of the city on an excellent bike path in no time.  The city had a bike path (of course) – probably EU funded and a good surface.  It contrasts with UK bike paths because cyclists have right of way at junctions, except when crossing major roads.  In the UK every other road user, including sheep using a field entrance, has precedence over cyclists on a the bike path which means there is far more stopping and starting. 

Our route took us in over a wonderful Roman bridge – imaginably called the “Puente Romano de Salamanca”.  The cathedral rose above the river and we look forward to visiting it tomorrow when we have a day off the bikes.

We had a slightly earlier start today because, although we were doing a shortish distance (65km), we knew we had a big climb to Bejar.  We also we knew the weather was due to hot up later in the day as a small heat wave hits this part of Spain.  

So we were out into the sunny fresh morning just as the fresh produce market was setting up in the Plaza Mayor; much as it probably has since the 12^th century. It was a bit of a climb to start with and there was quite a lot of traffic leaving the city as we started out on the road to the motorway.  But it wasn’t long before we were on a beautiful quiet country road with almost our only company being cuckoos, who we heard calling on a send and response basis.  We also saw lots of storks high up in their nests.  Their chicks are all growing up and poking their heads out of the top of these perilous nests.  The first flight for a stork chick must be quite something.  They are so numerous here that they were nesting on the top of every electricity pylon!  I hope their chicks don’t get electrocuted but we also wondered about how they take their first steps (or flap their wings for the first time) at least 40m off the ground and surrounded by live electricity cables!

The sun was glancing through the Dehesa – Holm Oak and Cork Oak trees as far as the eye could see, with cattle grazing the rich grasslands underneath. This will be our last views of the Dehesa, which has been a feature of the landscape since we left Seville as today we had the job of climbing up to the Meseta; the high central plain that sits at around 800m in this part of Spain.

After about 20km of a lovely first section, we joined the N630 again running parallel to the motorway, although mostly just distant enough that we weren’t disturbed by motorway noise. We could see the mountains looming ahead but a long gentle downhill stretch took us to morning coffee at the equivalent of a transport “caff” just off the motorway, which was full of lorry drivers.  It was significantly nicer than the UK equivalent in the overall environment, the standard of coffee and the friendliness of the lorry drivers who waved and wished us ‘bon viaje’.

Boosted by a caffeine jolt (and pan au raisin from Carrefour from the previous day), the next section took us on a short detour to the town of Hervas, a pretty hillside town with an amazingly preserved medieval Jewish quarter of tightly knotted alleyways, which had buildings made of chestnut wood and overhanging balconies. Most Spanish towns and cities had active Jewish communities during the 14^th and 15^th centuries, co-existing with the Moorish communities, who ruled at that time.  As the Christian ‘reconquest’ gradually took control, Jews and Muslims often worked together as subjugated minorities in Christian held cities.  The final Moorish territory, the Emirate of Granada, surrendered to the Catholic monarchs of Ferdinand and Isabella in 1492. That same year Ferdinand and Isabella issued a decree that all Jewish people must either convert to Catholicism or leave the country.  So the “Christians” were (as we would see it) far less Christian than the Moors who co-existed with the Jews in a seemingly tolerant manner.  Many Jews did convert but many refused to do so and were forced into exile – proving that anti-Semitism has a long history in Europe. Either way the Jewish quarters dissipated. Sadly the lack of religious tolerance towards communities that do not look and worship like us still actively rears its head across Europe today, including in the UK.

Fortified by a picnic lunch, we had ne excuses for not tackling the major climb of the day, up the Ambroz valley into the mountains.  This was an almost 400m climb and was the biggest we have done this trip (so far at least). It was no alpine climb (thank goodness) where the gradients can be over 12%, but it felt long enough in the heat of the afternoon.  It was obvious why it was called the ‘Via Verde’, the Greenway, as we were surrounded by lush trees and vegetation. The road climbed gently and we were feeling good. The pass topped out at just under 1000m elevation, and we then had a short downhill section before finally climbing back up through Bejar to find our apartment.  As the city clings to a steep hillside, this proved to be the steepest climb of the day!

We arrived feeling tired but pretty pleased with ourselves. Bernie is writing this and reflects that she never felt that, after David’s heart operation, we could have been able to cycle like this again.  We were taken back to the days before the op when he struggled to walk a few hundred meters and then again in Scotland last year when, post the op, it was clear that things were not working well.  We have had lots of days thinking that 1000m climbing days on our bikes in foreign countries were confined to memories, but here we are again.  As we arrived at our apartment building for the evening feeling tired but elated, it felt particularly special.

Yesterday finished with normal service being resumed in Scrabble; I (David) came second.  It is a hugely frustrating game.  Then we repaired to the converted stable which was our apartment and slept (as we do when cycling).

We managed to get off by about 8.30am and started with a 150m climb, but it was pretty gentle.  It is interesting how fitness slowly comes up on us, without a fanfare or anything obvious, but something that would have been tough a few days ago becomes “well, OK”, and that is fitness.

Then a glorious descent reaching speeds of 55kmph (OK not that fast but we did have panniers) as we dropped into a quiet agricultural valley.  We could have followed the N630 to Plascenia but chose to go the “scenic” route – along small roads in a wide agricultural valley.  After about 30km of wonderful quiet riding we got to the hilltop village of Galisteo, surrounded by huge walls.  Although it is not wholly clear, this appears to have started life as a Jewish settlement under the Moors, and the name of the town is a corruption of the word “Galilee”.  After the Christian conquest of Spain in the C13th, the existing Moorish citadel was rebuilt as a Christian fort and in 1429 King John II of Spain granted the lordship of Galisteo to Don Garcia Fernandez Manrique.  His family held onto the fort and surrounding lands for about 200 years and then they hit bad times and the properties were sold, and the town went into decline.

Today the town is thriving (population 2001 – number not year) and the bar in the main square was lively at 11am.  Much drinking of coffee and various forms of alcohol was going on and the bar staff could not keep up.  The noise in the bar was tremendous as everyone spoke at the same time to make their point in whatever was being debated (and my Spanish was not up to explaining what that was).  But it was lively and fun, and we suspect we hit a typical day.  There were house martins (birds not the band) nestling in the Bar’s eves, and we saw a young chick stick its head out of the nest wondering where mum had got to with its lunch. 

The church was closed but, as we cycled towards it, a friendly woman offered to open it up for as she had the key.  We politely declined (or I hope we were polite) and spent a few minutes marvelling at the storks who had built major nests on top of the bell tower.  We wondered where they nested before the churches were built. 

The descent from the town was gripping – we gripped our brakes (and Bernie’s were singing loudly – and did so until fixed later that day).  We then ambled across the countryside towards the village of Carcaboso (for those following our route on a map – and yes I am amazed to say there are people who do this).  The last 10km to the town of Plasencia was on a much busier road and mostly uphill, but again the gradient was kind to us and we just plodded up.  Then we swung down into the town and found a superb bike shop amongst the colonnaded old buildings.  We explained about Bernie’s singing brakes and the mechanic set to work.  15 minutes later we had the benefit of 20 years experience and expertise and they were silently effective.  Just knowing what to do and having the tools to do so is one thing; doing it quickly, efficiently and all for 15 euros (including new brake pads) is astonishing. 

Then we found our apartment and rested after a pretty easy day.  We then walked to Carrefour – a hypermarket very similar to hypermarkets across the continent – to buy food for supper. 

Our aim to visit the Cathedral was thwarted by the fact that it was closed on a Monday – of course.  It looked impressive from the outside but an internal view will have to await our next visit. We opted for a glass of wine on the Plaza Mayor instead and watched the world go by.

Today we had a short cycling day so we could spend more time in Caceres. We woke leisurely to the headline news that the UK had come last again in Eurovision.  Maybe one point is a little better than ‘nil point’, but its marginal.  We were not bothered and no one else seemed to be as we had breakfast at the hotel.

It was Sunday morning and all was quiet as we strolled out into the Plaza Mayor. All the half marathon paraphernalia had been cleared, almost as if it had never existed, and now we could see what a beautiful space it is, bathed in the bright morning sunshine, backed by blue sky. We strolled again into the walled old town – constructed by the moors but added to in every subsequent century.  Conquistadors, made good on plundered wealth from Central and South America, added to the old town as they endowed churches and built themselves grand palaces, including one who brought back the daughter of the defeated Aztec emperor, Moctezuma, as his bride.

We took an excellent audio tour of the concatedral de Santa Maria (namely a “co-cathedral, which was a new concept to us). Clearly there had been ‘cathedral wars’ between the people of Coria and the people of Caceres, all in the same diocese. A clerically appropriate political solution had to be found and, in 1957, Santa Maria became a co-cathedral with the principal church in Coria getting the same status.  A judgment of Solomon so to speak.

That aside it is a beautiful building – a gothic structure from the 15^th century with later romanesque additions. The vaulted ceilings and old organ were beautiful but the piece de resistance is a huge magnificent carved wood alter piece. The rest of the chapels were adorned with gothic carvings – gaudy to our eye now – but the alter piece was saved from gilding and painting because it was going to be too costly. The whole church is stuffed with the coats of arms of various influential local families, with their endowments attempting to buy their way into heaven. The latest chapel was added in the 1960s so perhaps this is an idea that hasn’t faded yet.  A small museum was full of silver items, statues and embroidered vestments.  Going up the tower on a tiny spiral staircase was fun and afforded a great view of the bells and lovely views over the old city.

We had toyed with going to the museum but, as the tour of the cathedral was so comprehensive, we followed our usual rule of doing one good thing a day properly rather than trying to fit too much in.  As we strolled back into the Plaza Mayor we came upon a marching band of maybe 100 members milling about and striking up rather tunelessly.  Once they had finished greeting each other, exchanging gossip, taking calls on their mobile phones and tuning up, they were eventually called to order and formed up.  They, led by the drums, they marched off across the square and down a side street.  Watching order (of sorts) created out of chaos was a little moment of delight.

It was Sunday but unusually there was a ‘Carrefour Express’ open in the city centre so we stocked up with food, confident that nothing would be open in the little village we were heading for (a correct assumption). We finally pedalled off around 12.30 with panniers somewhat more laden. I chuckled that I had spent hours weighing everything to try and keep our weight down, but this fades into insignificance when you throw in a litre of milk and things for lunch, supper and breakfast, as well as essential cycling snacks.  Not to mention almost 3 litres of water each!

The scenery was rather drab and bleak but the road surface excellent as we ate up the kilometres. We had imagined having a picnic and swimming at the huge reservoir formed by the river Tagus but this turned out to be equally bleak, surrounded by scrubby hillsides and with no access to the water.

A gate firmly prohibiting entry to the one sign of life at the ‘Club Nautico’.  Our picnic was therefore a quick sandwich to keep us going for the final 10km up hill to our destination – a hostel in the small village of Canaveral.

We are still on the Camino and see occasional walkers. They are serviced by a series of ‘albergues’ and private rooms. Not being pilgrims we tended to avoid these but lack of any other accommodation necessitated for this evening – particularly as we had been able to book a little studio apartment with cooking facilities rather than a shared dormitory, which we most definitely avoid these days!

We ended the day by ambling around the village which was surprisingly extensive.  White walled buildings in narrow alleys, a C14th church and various bars made up the village – both typical and charming.  Life here may not be hugely exciting for the locals, as groups of bored teenagers hanging around appeared to confirm, but these are functioning little communities which have existed for hundreds of years and continue to thrive.

Today was a good day – from one stunning city to another with lovely countryside in between.  We got off about 8.30 and picked our way through a sleepy city that had not woken up yet.  This was Saturday morning and things started even later than usual.  It was bright but chilly until the sun got up.

The route took us alongside the Camino (the walking route from Merida to Santiago de Compostela) and, being early on a Saturday morning, there were lots of people already up and walking in the cool of the morning.  Most walkers were men (only a few women) and walking solo.  I get the impression this is a contemplative exercise and company might get in the way of contemplation.  During this trip I am reading a history of the Opus Dei movement (or cult as many see it).  Spain is still a nominally “catholic” country but, whilst about 55% of the population identify as catholic, only about 15% attend mass each week.  Nearly 40% of the population say they have no religion and that percentage is growing year on year. 

Not everyone who walks the Camino is, of course, a dedicated catholic – some do it for other reasons.  But doing the Camino is a fixture of religious life here and there is a whole industry set up to support those who are walking.

The first 25km were well away from the main roads as the road snaked its way across the landscape.  We passed a massive reservoir that the Romans had built to provide water for Merida; located about 10km away from Merida and fed by pipes and aqueducts to get water to the city (and one of 3 reservoirs).  The engineering prowess to make that a reality 2000 year ago is staggering.

After 25km we reached the village of Aljucen, where we stopped for coffee and tostada (becoming a morning ritual). There we met a chap who was mountain biking from Seville to Compostela (and had done it several times before as he lived in Seville).  He “helped” us with tips on the route but it was not easy to understand his instructions.  We nodded, took photos of his maps and assured him we would do our best to follow his tips – and we will “do our best” but that does not mean we will follow every suggestion as they were really geared to off-road riding which we are trying to avoid if possible.  We also met a lovely couple from Illinois, who were on day 11 of their walk.  They reckoned it would take 45 days to reach Compostela – good on them!

After breakfast we had the longest, least steep and possibly most tedious climb ever.  We rose about 200m over about 15km; often at such a slight incline that the Wahoo did not even register we were climbing.   We can, of course, only cycle the road in front of us but this was not the best climb.  It felt uphill (it was uphill) but often looked flat.  And the road was generally straight so we could see 1 or 2 km in front of us, and knew it was just going on and on.  The top was a relief and the views were good – but again you get better views with a sharper climb.  We started down and it was the same thing in reverse – except we were in top chain ring and whizzing down a road that looked flat!

We munched sandwiches for lunch in a shady park and then explored the beautiful village of Aldea del Cano; a stunning little gem of a place.  The village square had the church on one side and the Town Hall on the other.  As Bernie remarked the other day, it is not clear why local council’s need such ancient, impressive and glamorous locations but boy do they have them here.  There is the Spanish equivalent of an imposing “Hotel du Ville” in every hamlet.   

From here it was just 20km into Caceres, our destination for the day.  It is a mediaeval town with a well preserved walled city section.  We found our hotel (right in the centre and “rustic” in character as befits a 1* hotel – but with a hot bath so who is counting stars (apart from those watching Eurovision this evening).  After a rest we ambled around the old city, treated ourselves to coffee and chocolate crepes (because there are no limits on food consumption when cycling)

We happen to coincide with the Caceres half marathon. Being Spain and hot it started at 7pm, although earlier we had watched a couple of children’s races.  It also conveniently started and finished in the Plaza Mayor just outside our hotel. Sadly the 1800 places had sold out so we couldn’t join them (!) but we watched the grand departure at the beginning as runners streamed past, watched the half way mark  over a glass of wine in a lovely square, watched the winner come through in 1 hour 8 minutes and finally watched the tailenders over beer and pizza

A really good day indeed.

Our first cultural day and first day off the bikes – always good after the first three days as the body adjusts to daily exercise. Our apartment is bijou but has everything we need and is only a few minutes walk from the main sites.  Mind you the centre of Merida is pretty compact so nowhere is very far. Merida has more Roman remains than any other city in Spain and so it seems apt to be starting with some of the earliest Spanish history (although the Roman city was built in 25BC on the site of an ancient settlement). The name is a corruption of Emerita Augusta and was the capital of Rome’s furthest west province of Lusitania. Originally an outpost for retired veterans, it soon became a major trade route from gold mines to the north and prospered to become the 10^th largest city in the Roman empire. The current city centre pretty much encompasses the footprint of the Roman city.  It is a living city with ordinary shops, and residential areas but dotted with Roman and Moorish ruins.

The Rio Guadiana encircles the western edge – crossed by a magnificent Roman bridge of 60 arches. The ‘modern’ renovation of the middle in the 15^th century are still pretty old. The river is bisected by a large central island – now a pleasant park and haven of peace on a sunny morning.

Our first stop of the morning though was the site of magnificent amphitheatre and theatre. As David aptly said, one for slaughter and one for art! The Teatro Romano is one of the best preserved anywhere and is still used for a theatrical festival in July and August. It would be magnificent to see something there. The whole site was very well laid out.  Later we visited the excellent museum which housed the original statues  from the theatre and the excavations around the city and numerous other artefacts. Magnificent mosaics were hung on the walls. The modern building itself was beautiful and the joy to walk round.

After all this culture it was time to linger over a cerveza and a suitably Spanish late lunch, which had in the small courtyard of a restaurant. The rest of the day was spent resting and planning and David thrashing me at scrabble – I blame the cerveza for addling my brain!

We knew today was going to be one of our longer days in the saddle and wondered how we would manage – a combination of increasing age, Bernie’s habit of not cycling regularly between trips and my heart condition meant there was a bit of a question mark in our minds about how we would fare.  But the fact that I am typing this whilst sitting in an apartment in Merida gives you the smallest hint that our worst worries did not materialise. 

There is always something special about the first hour’s cycling.  Merida, like the rest of Spain, is on Central European Summer Time at the moment, so the sun rises at 7.14am and sets at 9.28pm.  In contrast, Warsaw (which is also on CEST but a little further north) sees the sun rise at 4.41am and set at 20.23pm.  So leaving soon after 8am meant leaving not long after dawn.  The air was crisp, the light was low and the traffic was light as we left the town.

Out first 30km was away from our friend, the N630, and was totally brilliant cycling.  The roads were tiny, empty and had good surfaces.  The birdlife was abundant – every tree and bush alive with tweeting even when you could not hear the birds. In one village we cyced through there were more house martins than I have ever seen – their small udnests dripping from the eaves of every house. We coasted along going gently up and down (slightly more down than up).  We got glimpses across farmland to the hills to the north (a challenge for a few days time) but it was idyllic riding. 

Then we swept down an escarpment and came to the town of Ribera del Fresno.  The town had a busy coffee and desayuno cafe – where we had delicious coffee and tostada with ham and cheese.  The locals were all there – debating politics, legal disputes and the state of the nation.  Not speaking the language is unfortunate but it does mean we listen carefully to how people speak as opposed to understanding what they are saying.  I recall our daughter, who is fluent in Spanish, saying she could not understand anything anyone said in this part of Spain – and perhaps that is not surprising.  Firstly, they talk alot – often all at the same time.  There appears no separation between words – with one word flowing into the next – and not a great deal of intonation.  It is monochrome, flat delivery of words without the speaker taking a breath between sentences (or someone would interrupt and take over).  The result is a submachine gun form of delivery which takes no prisoners – often with more than one gun firing at the same time.  Then there are pauses, lots of laughter and on to the next topic.  I could spend hours in cafes just listening to the chat even though I understood nothing at all.

After Ribero, it was 8km to re-join the N630 at Villafranca de los Barros.  We skirted the town and started on a busy section of the main road, adjacent to a motorway.  Not quite the quiet and unoccupied minor roads we had had since starting.  And the wind was against us – and seriously against us.  Although this ride fell 400m over the day and had no major climbs, riding into a headwind on the Spanish plain was a pain.  I mainly took the lead and Bernie tucked in behind, but it was tough and a bit boring for us both.  We had the memory of a glorious first couple of hours but that faded as another truck passed slightly too close. 

We struggled on to another town I cannot pronounce – Almendralejo.  WhatsApp voicenotes with the right way to say the town name are (sort of) welcome.  But was about as interesting as it was pronounceable, but by now it was late morning we dived into a cafe for a snack and a welcome break from the relentless wind.  When we emerged we headed North again but for some reason the wind had mostly relented.  This was a mystery as there were no hills and nothing appeared to affect the prevailing winds, but we were not complaining.  We pressed on gently and got to another one-horse town, Torremejia, which we could pronounce.  Sitting at the side of the road munching a sandwich brought back so many memories of doing the same in many parts of the world – but at least the sun was shining and we only had 16km to go.

The last bit was more of the same – not much headwind and more down than up but fairly monotonous scenery.  I suspect you could say “seen one field of low cultivated vine, seen them all” but they are still pretty.  In a few months they will be heaving with grapes but we were too early in the season.  Interestingly, they are still planting vines here whilst they are ploughing up vineyards in France due to changes in drinking habits.  The younger generation, it seems, are just not drinking enough wine to keep many of the vineyards solvent and so there is a glut of wine.  I seem to remember this happening before and the EEC (as it then was) paying farmers for more wine than was needed (? A wine lake).  That does not seem to happen anymore (possibly due to CAP reform) but here there are new vineyards being planted all along our route.  It may well be that they are selling grapes as a product as well as using them for wine.

We reached the outskirts of Merida about 2.30pm – tired but not absolutely exhausted.  It had been tough but not as tough as our worst fears.  We have a day off the bikes tomorrow and so can sample the local wine this evening. 

We both slept well and woke refreshed. We are not a great fan of hotels generally but if we do have to stay in one, a small rural hotel like El Romeral is what we like. There was a friendly but slightly funny middle aged owner with white hair and a beaver like face, bustling around but exuding gentleness and kindness.  We imagined that there may have been a wife in the kitchen but she made no appearance.  The whole set up felt like a  caricature – but a nice one.  The meal last night was not cordon blue, but simple and plentiful for hungry cyclists (and we were the only ones in the restaurant).

So we set off in good spirits.  Although I (Bernie) was somewhat dreading how I would feel back astride the bike after yesterdays climbing, I was pleasantly surprised at how good I felt. We had done more training than we often do before a cycle tour – partly because the cycling is much nicer in the Spring before a May trip compared to trying to train in November and December for a January trip. Also it had been 3 years since our last cycle trip and we wanted to check we were still up to it! Cycling in the Shropshire hills is beautiful but punishing as it is endless steep up and down but it really strengthens the legs so cycling through rounded hills of southern Spain, where the climbs are longer but the gradients much gentler, felt a lot easier (and with better road surfaces and fewer potholes).  All this added up to a glorious first part of the day where we felt good and our hearts felt uplifted.  The sky was blue, the early morning light slanting through olive groves was beautiful and the scenery was glorious as we wound up and down the hills – crossing from Andalusia into Extramadura along the way.

We had already climbed 350m in the first 20km by the time of our ‘second breakfast’ stop in Santa Olalla de Cala. A pretty village in an already familiar style – white buildings, wrought iron balconies cobbled streets, central plazas. On our way in we passed two wholesale ‘Jamon’ manufacturers. Ham is big in this area.  The Iberica pig feeds on acorns, free range in the sparse oak forest (the dehesa). It is said to produce the finest grade of ham – Jamon Iberico.  Needless to say our second breakfast of tostadas and coffee came with a plate of the said Jamon. 

We had breakfast at a cafe/bar on the main square – cheek by jowl with another almost identical cafe/bar.  We imagined the cafe/bar wars that must exist between the 2 owners as they vie for business in this tiny town.  Both had tables outside and both served coffee and tostada – but all the customers were at one cafe and a solitary person was next door.  One of the joys of observing life on the road is filling in the imaginary “gaps” when we see things, although there is a danger that our imaginations run riot.  The cafe owners are probably the best of friends, but that does not make such a good story.

After Santa Olalla we also had our first experience of the N630. I am not sure that we have said that this trip is following the Ruta Via de la Plata from Seville pretty much due north, all the way to the north coast. Originally a Roman road, the route now mirrors the Camino of the same name (although that route branches off to Santiago de Compostela). Much of it is on the N630 – much favoured by cyclists because the A66 motorway was built parallel to the N630, leaving this major road with little other than local traffic  I was somewhat sceptical about how “quiet” it would in fact be, but it matched the write up.  It proved to be a good size road with a great road surface, smooth gradients up the hills and very little traffic. Yes, a cyclists dream.

The section between Santa Olalla and Monisterio took in a 250m climb. So by the time we reached this slightly larger town at lunchtime we had done almost 800m climbing but we knew most of the uphill was now done. We stopped in the main square to eat our sandwiches, watching the storks and their enormous nests on the church towers. Apparently, stocks are a symbol of good fortune throughout Europe (hence the stork bringing the baby) and so are welcome.  Their nests can reach 500kg in weight over time. We did our shopping for the evening but as we were setting off again David found that one the arms of his sunglasses had become detached. A quick google found an optician nearby – closing at 2pm (as almost all businesses and shops still close for the afternoon, opening aging in the evening). It was 1.50 so we scooted off and luckily we found it easily and they were able to mend it before the 2pm deadline – and there was no charge at all! 

With suitable eyewear now in place we tackled the next section to Fuente de Cantos. The landscape was less interesting and quite undulating, taking the last strength of our legs as we also had a bit of headwind. This is an area of better quality farmland as opposed to the sandy scrubland we had seen since Seville.  There were a variety of crops (not just olive trees) and we saw our first vineyards.  The wine here is said to be a local speciality but we will save our experience of this until we get to Merida tomorrow and have a day off the bikes. 

Fuente de Cantos turned out to be one of the few uninteresting towns in the area without the characteristically pretty white buildings.  Perhaps that was why we had been unable to find any advertised accommodation there.  Instead we had a final 10km off the ‘main’ road to the little town of Bienvenida. Flat and without a headwind we covered it easily in spite of our tiredness and found the apartment we had booked. After a short rest we headed out to buy milk, which I had forgotten to buy at lunchtime and strolled round the traditional Extremadura town – white buildings, wrought iron balconies, cobbled streets, central plaza – you get the picture. Although it was now late afternoon and shops opening again, the town still seemed to be virtually empty, with few cars, no pedestrians and nothing open. Googling to see if there was anything interesting to see we discovered it was the home of the oldest man in the world, who lived to 113 and died in 2018. Clearly living in one of the quietest towns in Spain where nothing ever happens is good for longevity!

There is something both familiar and comforting about getting up to start cycling.  Although we have not done this for 3 years or so, it was like pulling on a well-known, comfortable piece of clothing.  We pottered around the apartment getting ready, each knowing what to do.  All packed up and ready, we were on the road about 8.30am – and turned the right way down the one way street, but this was wrong for Komoot. 

For those who do not know Komoot, it is the cycle-tourist’s primary friend.  It is an App which has the whole world mapped (or at least all the bits we have been to) and sets routes on minor roads between 2 fixed points.  When it came out the developers clearly needed to raise some cash so they offered lifetime memberships for (I think) £29.  I think that was the only way to get the app at that point.  So we signed up – and its the best £29 I have ever spent.  Now they sell access to the site for £4.99 per month or £59 annually; which means that it costs more per year than it cost us for lifetime membership.  I keep being invited to “upgrade” my membership, but that is an offer I am fully able to resist as I can do everything I need with my initial membership package.  They must hate people like us – but a deal is a deal!  Anyway I had used Komoot to set the route from Seville to the village of Almaden de la Plata, and that took us along the river, Guadaquivir, on cycleways out of Seville. 

Seville, which was founded as the Roman city Hispalis, is 50 miles inland but it developed as a massive river port and in the C16th was the gateway for much of the trade coming from the New World.  As a result it became one of the largest cities in Europe.  But the river suffered during a drought and so trade moved away from the city, as the ships could not get all the way up into the city.  It has reinvented itself as a city of 700k people with universities and as a huge cultural centre, including being a location for filming Game of Thrones (for those whole follow the series which is not us).

Our first stretch out of the city was on the bike path we came in on. This time we could appreciate the beautiful purple blossom of the jacaranda trees that lined the route. These are dotted all round the city and are a feature of a May visit. Out of the city the landscape was featureless but the first 25 km was flat and we whizzed along despite a mild headwind.  Our first stop was for coffee and the best meal of the day, second breakfast, in Burguillos.  Wonderful coffee and bread with olive oil for 2 – all for less than the cost of a single large coffee from Starbucks.  It was 10am now and we could see threatening clouds above us, but had stayed dry. 

Then the climbing began into the national park of the Sierra Norte and we felt we were getting well out into rural Spain.  The soil is very sandy here and looks pretty poor, and I expected to see bulls in the fields – reared for bull fighting.  But the only cows we saw were pretty benign. There were some wild flowers and flowering shrubs– mimosa, blue palo  verde, purple thistle and other unidentified. A shortlived May feature before they frazzle in the baking heat of summer.

We were gradually climbing although the surface was good and none of the slopes were too steep.  The landscape was empty of buildings apart from the occasional grand gates to farms. Lots of olive and orange trees. The forecast was for showers and there were black clouds around. A couple of times it started spitting but it died out as soon as we put our rain jackets on and most of the time we were cycling in the sun in pleasant temperatures.

One more climb to go over the ridge to Almadan de la Plata, where we checked in to the Hotel Rurale El Romeral. The owner was very helpful, immediately brought our bikes into the reception area and gave us the bedroom next the lobby. We were tired but pleased with how the day had gone. After a shower and a rest we strolled out into the pretty town. Cobbled streets, white buildings, ornate metal balconies, little squares. Quintessentially Spanish. There was a bold red clock tower and on the short steeple of the church 2 storks were nesting -one with two young chicks.

Back at the hotel we realised how tired we were. But we had arrived in the early afternoon so plenty of time to recover. We have to do the same again tomorrow.  How will that go?

Ah to wake up in Spain and feel our trip has really begun.  But just to backtrack to yesterday for a bit and a few rules for cycle tourists arriving in a new country – all of which we managed to break

1. Don’t plan to cycle from the airport if you are due to arrive in the late afternoon because
2. Your flight will be delayed
3. It will take longer than you think to put the bikes back together after they have been rattled around in the bike bags on the plane (although David did an admirable job)
4. You will need to change an inner tube just as you set off

All of which happened to us and so we were heading out of the airport at 9.30pm rather than 6pm.

If you do plan to cycle from the airport look carefully at the cycling directions before you leave.  I had had a quick look at google maps ‘bike’ route  – 12km, taking 40 minutes. However when we belated set off we realised this required legging it across a motorway, across the barriers with bikes and luggage to get to the bike path on the other side. Not thinking this was advisable (how many people told us to ‘take care’ before we set off??), David managed to quickly plot a new route which unfortunately added a good half an hour before we were back virtually where we started but on the other side of the motorway and on the bike path. So by then it was 10pm and we broke our immutable rule.

DON’T RIDE IN THE DARK.  Luckily most of it was well lit and we had lights.  In fact when we hit the 3 lane highway into the city centre (gulp – not part of the plan but new route necessitated) it was very well lit, but also rather busy. 

We were peddling like fury because I had been messaging the owner of the apartment we had rented for our stay in Seville through the evening giving her a later and later arrival time (it’s quite rare now that she needed to let us in rather than have a key box for us to use. )  After our message at 10.15 saying another half an hour  I felt her patience snap. In fact she said that if we did not arrive by 11 she would mark us as a ‘no show’. 10.35 and we finally hit the bike path following the river down a very fancy boulevard in the city centre – no time to take it in as we peddled faster.  Over the bridge into the Triana area and we reached the front door of the apartment at 10.50pm.  The owner let us in, gave us a peremptory show around via google translate and at 11 announced she was leaving and going to bed! Fair enough really!

We however were totally wired and starving as we hadn’t eaten properly since breakfast. So we immediately headed out again, found a takeaway pizza place, had a beer while waiting and gobbled down the rather tasty pizzas before collapsing into bed!

Which takes me back to the start – waking up in Spain and feeling our trip had really started!

So we had a relaxing start to the day sitting in bed and looking at the guide book at the numerous amazing sites we could try and cram into one day. This generated a new rule – plan a day off in one of the most touristy places in Spain before you get there – as we found the on line tickets for the cathedral – fully booked, the Alcazar – fully booked, The art gallery – not open on Mondays. Luckily David found a guided tour of the cathedral in English at 1pm with 2 spaces left so we booked that and in fact gladly accepted a quieter day. I totally fell in love with Spain again as we tootled around on our bikes – such a great way to get the feel of a city.

We started in a very pleasant way, meeting Hugo for  breakfast. This gorgeous (Bernie is writing this bit), extremely lovely 22 year old young man is the son of the family Becky nannied for when she started her year off in Spain. We met them when the whole family came to Becky and Pen’s wedding 2 years ago. Hugo was working in Seville and happened to live in Triana, five minutes from where we had out apartment. He took us to a small place round the corner where we had tostadas, great coffee and a good catch up. Oh yes, this is why I was loving Spain again.

Then to a bike shop where we got what we needed, and shopping in Lidl (much the same as the UK but the punters are better dressed).  My good cycling friend Paul, who lives part the year in Spain, reminded me that distances between shops are long and starting off with all the food you need for the day is another essential rule in this country.

And so to the Cathedral.  What can I say about this amazing monument to over a 1000 years of faith and the need to make money from the faithful.  It has all been said – but the highlight was possibly a silver casket containing a much revered relic – a thorn from the crown of thorns that they put on Jesus’ head before he was crucified.  Who would have thought that someone had the foresight to nab the crown of thorns with the idea “better keep that, it could fund my pension”!  If I looked carefully at the lower part of the silver casing, there was a large thorn! 

That was not really the highlight.  The sheer space inside was jaw droppingly vast, with amazing levels of gold and silver.  This place was a former mosque but was then built up with the wealth coming from the New World.  Christopher Columbus’ memorial is here (even if only part of his body is in the casket) and it may be that those who came back from their “adventures” not only carried gold and silver but also memories of things they were worried might have led to eternal damnation.  Here, accordingly to the mindset of the time, the church could help – a sizeable contribution to the alterpiece, the dedication of a new chapel and funding continuous masses for the wrongdoer could all stand to the person’s credit in the eternal ledger and thus pave the way to a good life after this one.  It was a totally sensible, logical and mutually beneficial system – and one that led to the church getting rich enough to be able to create the wonderful buildings we admire today.

After the tour we found coffee and cake – as you do – and ambled back to the apartment for a rest.  We start the cycling tomorrow but Seville is somewhere to which we hope to return.

I am writing this from Gatwick on a Sunday morning after a 5am start.  We are waiting to catch a plane to Spain to start our next cycling adventure, and of course we got to the airport far too early.  It is an invariable rule that, regardless of the time of day, the M25 is only busy with traffic jams when we are in a hurry.  If we leave plenty of time, we sail around the motorway at 60mph!

Over the next 2 and a half weeks we are planning to cycle the Ruta Via de la Plata, starting in Seville and working our way north to Merida, Grimaldo, Salamanca, Zamora, Benavente, Leon, Oviedo and ending at the coast near Gijon (which I cannot pronounce properly yet – and possibly never will be able to pronounce that town like a Spaniard).

We are using our touring bikes but, as a nod to our advancing ages and my heart condition, will not be trying to cycle as many km per day as before.  We are on our touring bikes because we cannot fly with batteries for the trikes, and will average about 70km per day with plenty of rest days. 

 And we are not taking camping stuff with us but are staying in apartments and hotels instead.  What decadence, I hear you say and you are right of course.  No sitting in a tent when the rain comes down outside (or putting up the tent in the rain), no blow up mats going down in the middle of the night and no communal showers (or no showers at all).  We are getting a bit soft in our old age but maybe it is just a case having more options and going for the less burdensome options.

We leave the UK in political turmoil after the local election results, and so this feels like quite a good time to be away whilst events work themselves out.  We are back at the end of the month and I have a feeling that things will be no clearer then, but I may be wrong.

The weather should be in the middle twenties degrees (or middle 70s degrees for any US readers), so pleasant but not too hot – or we hope at least.

We are particularly looking forward to seeing the architecture of the towns along the way, with buildings from Spain’s long and diverse history        from the Romans, the Moorish centuries and buildings built with the wealth from the New World. 

We will try to blog regularly with photos – if we can remember how to make the technology work!  I hope you enjoy reading.

For those not well acquainted with Costa Rica (or who do not follow this blog with an open atlas), the Osa Peninsular is on the South Western coast of Costa Rica, about 210km south of Quepos (where the walk ended).  It is a classic “peninsular”, jutting out from the main landmass of the country and largely uninhabited.

We arrived by bus to Puerto Jiminez a few days ago late in the evening.  This small town, which is on the eastern side of the peninsula, is the southern gateway to Corcovado national park and was described as being less touristy than the northern gateway at Bahia Drake, which is on the pacific coast. It’s a pleasant, sleepy little town which lived up to its billing. Just 5 minutes or so to walk from one end of the main street to the other.  We did not see many tourists and, although tourism was clearly it’s main industry, it also feels like a proper, working town. We spent the next day sorting, planning and relaxing.  Then we set the alarm for 4.20am (yes – not a typo) and got up to walk the short distance to the pier to join an overnight trip to the Corcovado National Park, leaving at 5.30am. 

The current national park has a facinating and complex history, with competition between three groups in the 1960s and 1970s, namely a company that owned the land and wanted to exploit it for forestry and agriculture, squatters who had come to the land and were prospecting for gold and about a thousand scientists who realised the unique biodiversity of the area and campaigned to ensure that it could remain as a national park with unspoilt forest, resplendent with huge amounts of wildlife.  In short (and fortunately for today’s visitors) the scientists won.  They used their political connections to argue that this was too important a resource to be exploited and that Costa Rica’s future lay in eco-tourism.  The President supported them and the company did a major land swap with the government, which enabled a national park to be created in 1976.  It still took several years, lots of money and some force to eject the squatters (who had political support from the Costa Rican Communist Party – and that may not have wholly helped their cause), but the vast majority of the primary forest was saved for nature, science and eco-tourism.  Today, secondary forest has grown up in the last 50 years around the coast which had been cleared for either agriculture or prospecting, and the wildlife is just as abundant there is deeper in the jungle.

There are no roads to the park so we caught a fast boat – with two impressive outboard motors – from Puerto Jiminez to the ranger station area on the western side of the peninsular.  The boat ride was fine in the bay area but it got a bit bumpy when we got around the point and out to the main sea.  We saw dophins close up and sea turtles, with the boat stopping whenever there was anything interesting to see.  After an hour and a half we got to the coast but there is no jetty, so it was a case of getting off the back of the boat into the water, and wading to the shore.  There were about 20 tourists in our boat and several other boats as well, so it was all a bit of a scrum to get to the beach.

Once ashore, we changed into our boots, got our bags checks for impermissible items (such as food or single use plastic) and then met up with our guide, Fraser.   Then he began the first of 4 walkabouts in the forest.  Becoming an approved forest wildlife guide in Coast Rica is a serious business.   They study for years and develop a range of skills before being allowed loose on tourists like us.  The guides are astonishingly knowledgeable about the animals, birds, reptiles and the flora, as they lead small groups around the well marked trails.  The vast majority of the forest is off limits to tourists, although there is lots of science done here.  The tourists as given a small glimpse into the world of the jungle in exchange for paying (not small amounts) for the privilege – and it is a privilege.  This pays to create local jobs, but also pays to ensure the remainder of the forest is protected.  The economics are complicated but appear to work reasonably well.

Fraser (like all the guides) carried a birders’ “scope” with him at all times, mounted on top of a tripod.  This meant that when he heard a bird sound he would listen carefully, locate the bird amongst the dense foliage, set up the scope pointing at the bird and then allow us to peer through the scope to see the birds.  I am in awe at this skill because the birds were nearly always impossible to see with the naked eye and I found it hopeless to look for them with my binoculars – all I could see was trees.  But with his assistance, we saw a vast range of colourful birds including Flycatchers, woodpeckers and humming birds. 

We also saw a variety of animals on the floor including agoutis, wild boar (native species), spotted wood quail, various types of hens, and many more.  We saw a ‘baby’ Boa Constrictor, perched on a branch next to the path which was ‘only’ a meter long – we were jolly glad not to see a full size adult! I think we saw all of the four types of monkeys in Costa Rica (the Mantled Howler, the Capuchin, the Squirrel Monkey and Spider Monkey).  The Howlers lived up to their names with loud calls which they get by having an internal reverberation system (a hole in the hyoid bone, which sits behind the vocal cords, which amplifies their calls 20 fold)

By 11am we were sweating buckets and tired, and Fraser took us along a path to the ranger station, where we were due to eat and spend the night.  The arrangements here were “primative” to say the least.  There were “showers”; cold water coming out of a pipe with no nossle.  Hugely welcome nonetheless and extremely refreshing in the hot humid environment!  The large bunk rooms could house up to 100 people overnight but were surprisingly comfortable, in the open air and each with its own mosquito net.

We had lunch, snoozed after our early start and then went out again at 2.30pm. The day trippers had left by then so we were down to just 4 people with Fraser, our guide – ourselves and a delightful honeymooning young couple from Boston.  Myrthe was from the Netherlans but doing a PhD in the colon cancer centre at Harvard and David was a Brazilian/American working for a start up.  We got to know them a bit over the couple of days and learned lots from them.

The small group meant we could go at a more leisurely pace, pausing to allow time for the animals to amble through the trees or on the forest floor and taking our time over the things we were interested in.

The highlight of the afternoon was following an anteater’s progress through the trees and then watching it descend to the floor.  It was a beautiful creature, maybe a metre long, and totally at ease in the high trees, going from branch to branch. Then it elegantly descended, totally ignoring about 20 tourists who were following its progress with camera phones. 

We watched the sun go down over the water and saw spoonbills and white ibis wading in the water and ‘formation flying’ from flocks of pelicans. Then we ambled back to the ranger station in the encircling gloom.  Supper was ready when we got back and we were in bed by 7.30pm, with all the centre lights going out at 8. 

The sense of lights out at 8 made sense as the first alarms in the bunk room started at 4am, with most people getting up in the next half hour.  Coffee was available at 4.30 (at exhorbitant cost but we were happy to view this as a contribution to the work of the national park – and a necessary caffeine boost). At 5am we were off again with Fraser – this time in the dark. The four of us paced behind in the eirie forest, with the noise of the Howler’s echoing in the distance, following Frasers powerful torch beam. We were on the trail of the elusive Tapir – a shy, noturnal inhabitant of the forest. Our destination the river where we had ended the previous day, in the hope that we would see a Tapir coming down to drink.  We arrived just as the first glimmers of light shone on the clouds. As it got lighter and ligher, more and more groups arrived, but we were all to be disappointed on this occasion as the Tapirs weren’t playing ball. In a ‘good’ week only 2 or 3 sightings are made so not altogether surprising. We tramped back to the lodge for a welcome breakfast.

8.30 saw the start of the day’s main hike – this time in primary forest (ie forest that has never been cut down or planted by humans). This was much denser forest, with a huge variety of trees and other plants – and a very muddy trail. Near the start we watched a stationary Caiman – a “small” form of crocodile but still over a metre long.  This is croc-country and swimming in the creeks is discouraged for obvious reasons.

Wildlife sightings in primary forest are much less frequent because of the density of the flora but we still saw squirrel monkeys, several birds, including woodpeckers and hummingbirds, a beautiful golden orb spider on a web and a less beautiful tarantula deep within a hollow tree trunk (thank goodness). Fraser was a fount of knowledge about the vegetation and trees.  In the secondary forest, the fast growing Ficus (Fig) species have grown into large trees over the 50 years sine the start of the national park but in the primary forest we saw 1000 year old Espavales trees – often entwinned with huge giant Ficus vines that were almost as old.

The end of the hike brought us back to the Lodge for a brief rest and to pick up the rest of the luggage before the short stroll back to the boats to take us out of the park. Just before we got there we had another view of an anteater high in the trees.

The scrum to get back on the boats  was even worse than the arrival – all tour groups, from both Bahia Drake ad Puerto Jiminesz, are scheduled to leave at the same time. As the boats backed onto the shallows the different groups were trying to identify which boat they should be wading out to. In spite of the chaos, we all managed to clamber on to the right boat for the bouncy speed boat ride back to Puerto Jiminez.

This was a couple of days that will stay in our memories for a very long time.  We have proved to ourselves that we are not too old or soft to rough it (a bit) and the rewards are immense.

Jairo said “breakfast at 6”, and so the sound of 5.30 phone alarms resounded across the site from each of the lovely little “pods” in which we were sleeping.  Awaking in the half-light we packed up and got our stuff down for breakfast at 6.  But this was 6am Costa Rica time, so it was nearer 6.20 before the food arrived.  I only mention this because of 2 reasons. 

First, the group (of westerners) have pretty much stuck to time.  In contrast, Jairo assured us that the overall approach to time-keeping in Costa Rica is far more relaxed, which is consistent with the more relaxed approach to time across most of the world.  In fact, those working with the Urritrek team have been very good to date and this was the first experience of “Costa Rican” time keeping, and only to a limited extent.  It is perhaps illustrative of where Costa Rica is in economic terms – not quite a fully paid up member of the group of developed nations but a long way ahead of the economic positions occupied by its neighbours to the North, Nicaragua and Guatamala. 

We started the walk in the cool of the morning, along a dirt track leading from the campsite towards the town of Quepos.  This was not supposed to be a strenuous day but I (David) started to feel the heat as the day warmed up.  The vegetation gradually changed as we dropped towards occupied areas, with more coffee and palm oil areas and less virgin jungle.  The birds and monkeys were plentiful (we saw squirrel monkeys, meaning we have seen all 4 native costa rican monkey species now) were and the trees were alive in the relative cool of the morning.

After about an hour and a half we reached a paved road and were picked up by the minibus.  Doing the full camino (EFI – “Every F’ing Inch”) inevitably requires quite a lot of walking on paved roads.  The huge and developed networks of publicly accessible paths we have developed in the UK over centuries don’t generally exist in Costa Rica (or possibly anywhere else in the world) so the route is mainly on dirt roads but ocasionally on paved ones.  One advantage of our “cheat’s camino” is that we can avoid the asphelt walking and enjoy walking on surfaces that have some give under the foot and have less traffic.

After a stop for coffee and buns – and Costa Rica does really great coffee (or course) – we were dropped on another dirt road and walked towards the coast.  This was palm oil country and we saw bullocks working as beasts of burden, pulling carts through the planted palm oil forests.  These trees look good but they are a bit rubbish for biodoversity as they cannot support the abundance of wildlife which existed before the forests were cleared.  It is a world-wide problem but palm oil is a lucrative crop and so the fight (and maintaining the balance) between biodiversity and economic progress is a real issue here.  Generally Costa Rica has a better record on this than almost anywhere else, but Jairo has his concerns that the “environment first” philosophy may be slipping in practice.  There are elections next month and it will be interesting to see who comes out on top.

After another hour or so we reached the bus that allowed us to skip another part of the route on paved roads, stopping a nominal 700m before the end of the camino.  We then filed out of the bus and walked “single file” under Jairo’s strict instructions towards the formally marked end of the coast to coast route.  We soon saw the sea, reached the end marker and took obligatory photos with our white Urritrek Camino T shirts.  The sense of achievement was, of course, mooted by the fact that we had not walked EFI!  But the group has melded over the 8 days and it felt the end of an adventure.

We then went down to the beach.  Bernie and I had a delightful swin in the salty water, along with Heather and Laura.

We adjourned to a restaurant for a final meal and goodbyes.  I have no idea if we will meet up with any of our fellow walkers again (apart from Laura of course).  That is the nature of these trips – quite intense friendships evolving from shared experiences and then separation.  If any are reading this, they all will have a warm welcome in rural Shropshire, England but we recognise that it’s a long way out of any tourist itinerary.  But, just as this walk allowed us to see the “real” Costa Rica, having a pint at Stanton Lacy Village Hall on a Wednesday night or sharing chat and coffee there on a Saturday morning is about as authentically English as you can get.

We said our farewells and got a taxi 3km out of town to a bus stop to wait in the afternoon heat for the bus going south to the small town of Puerto Jiminez where we start the next leg of our great Costa Rican adventure. We were to pick up the long distance bus from San Jose, so the arrival time was a bit vague and we had been told that if the bus was full we wouldn’t be able to get on – but this was the only possiblity of arriving the same day (apart from a 280 dollar taxi fare!!). We therefore had a plan B and C, which involved an overnight stay along the way. Time ticked by and at 3.45 there was no appearance of the San Jose bus (due vaguely 3-3.30). A fellow traveller from California started to get highly anxious (especially after I had enlightened her that we may not be able to get on the bus).  Our plan B bus arrived, but we decided to risk it and wait. A few minutes later the San Jose bus arrived and there was loads of space – all anxieties unecessary but such is the nature of independent travel on publlic transport. The tour had been brilliant and a fantastic experience that we would not have been able to do on our own (and we highly recommend Urritrek) but we were excited to cut loose to do our own thing – experience tells is it nearly always works out!

The route today gradually dropped from the mountains towards the coast.  It followed a gravel road, travelling through some spectacular scenery.  The vegetation alternated between unspoiled jungle and planted fields of coffee.  This is the coffee picking season and the berries are picked when they are red; but (like blackberries but with reverse colours) the berries start green and then develop their red colour gradually, with the time to reach the perfect redness varying on a plant. So a single bush has be picked 3 or 4 times across the picking season.

The bushes grow on slopes which are astonishingly steep, and the picking here is all done by hand.  Workers come up from Panama or down from Nicaragua to pick the berries – earning about $3 per full sack.  Costa Rican workers supervise but generally leave the actual picking to these migrant workers. They get paid on a piece work basis; a skilled and quick worker can fill up to 10 sacks a day, and so earn up to $30, depending on the state of the bushes. It looks back breaking work and yet, even at these low rates, gives migrant workers the chance to earn more in a day than they can earn at home in a week.   

We started the day in a small town of San Marcos, which is dominated by coffee roasting factories.  The smell was incredible, with the whole town being enveloped in a mist of roast coffee. We were told proudly that most of the coffee from here goes to Starbucks.  So next time you sip a coffee from Starbucks, give a thought to the Panamanian migrant workers who travelled to Costa Rica for the picking season, the Costa Ricans who tend the plants through the year and operate the coffee roasters, and then transport the product from Costa Rica to whereever Starbucks have their coffee shops.  Needless to say, Starbucks probably shifts its profits to pay tax somewhere else.

From the town we had about an hour’s journey to the starting point of our hiking. The initial bus was rejected by Jairo as he insisted on two four wheel drive jeeps.  We soon found out why when we turned off the tarmac road and as bumped along a dirt road, being thrown about like pebbles. We were driving along the Camino route with spectacular views. Although in one way it would have been incredible to hike the track, it would have been 2 extremely tough days. In any event the ride was an adventure in itself. We got our first views of the Pacific Ocean and stopped at a viewpoint looking down on our final distination tomorrow, the town of Quepos on the coast.

Eventually we tumbled out of the jeeps to start out hiking. Our brilliant guide, Jairo, has adjusted the length of the days to the capabilities of the group – which mainly means reducing the length of the walks for everyone to allow me to ope with the walking.  I (David) feel mightily guilty about this to be honest but the next slowest member of the group is not far ahead of me.  There is inevitably a range of abilities in any group and I was keen for Jairo not to reduce walks to accommodate me, but ultimately he has to make the call and I have to respect his judgement. I have been pretty tired after the walks and so I guess, at least for me, he has got these calls right.

The photos of the day tell their own story, but they do not show the constant and loud background noise of the cicardias, the anthem of the jungle here. The diversity of vegetation was immense.

We ended our walk at about lunchtime at a campsite in beautiful rain forest surroundings. We then ambled down to a river to eat our pack lunches, wrapped in banana leaves.  We swam in a tributary and had our shoulders pummelled by water under a waterfall (and it was not too, too cold).  Then back to the campsite where we decided to upgrade to a “tepee” for the night – a soft bed, spectacular view and importantly a fan. We have been surprised at the cold nights we have had, especially in the mountains but even on the Caribbean coast.  We are now in HOT country.  More acclimatisation to go and no doubt we will soon be craving the cold nights we were complaining about!

Hotel Guatape was the highlight acomodation so far on this tour. Comfortable rooms, plenty of hot water, a beautiful setting and fabulous food. It was run by a Colombian woman who was just getting started with the hotel. All the staff were gracious and lovely.

I didn’t expect high quality food to be such a feature of this trip but it has been amazing. Every lunch stop and night stop have been places run by local people with home cooked food. We’ve not had a bad meal (or one where we wanted greater quantities). Often simple but always delicious and to top it off super healthy – lots of rice and beans, oodles of fruit, vegetables and salad, simple chicken and fish with tasty dressings.

So after another tasty breakfast (omelette and cheesy empanadas) we had a later start, as we needed to wait for vehicles to drop off other groups.  Urritrek have 4 groups on the road at the moment doing 8, 14 and 16 days treks, all along broadly the same route (but covering different distances each day). It must take a large spreadsheet to track where everyone is, where they should be stopping for lunch and where they are staying, especially as all the groups have different numbers of guests. It mostly worked swimmingly – like a swan – but there must be lots of paddling going on underneath.

This morning’s departure was a little less “swanlike” but we finally set off in 2 cars to be driven to where we were to start the walk.  But halfway up the first hill, the car we were in got a flat tyre.  Everyone out and after a bit of scratching of heads Martin, our swiss farmer, strode forward and took charge.  He soon had the car jacked up, the wheel off and the new tyre on (and probably could have milked a few cows at the same time as well). As well as being fantastically practical, Martin is also an excellent photographer and has a highly infectious laugh.  One of the great things about this trip has been the amount of laughing; with everyone joining in and contributing the the wise cracks, even us – although the wierd British sense of humour means there can be a slight gap before the others get the joke.

So on our way again we got to the top of the hill and turned onto the Panamerican highway. The road went up and up until we turned off the main road at the continental divide – we were now officially on the pacific side. Shortly after, we piled out of the cars and started the day’s hike (at a village with a hurch, school and football field). The first part was on a ridge with fantastic views on either side.  We then curved round Cerro La Roca and descended through steep sided coffee plantations. The weather was still on our side with bright sunshine and blue skies, the heat tempered by a cool breeze (we started at 2100m elevation).

The last section was on tarmac and then on a fairly busy road. The temperature had risen but at least we were tramping downhill. The wisecracks had dried up as we plodded through the heat but after 20 minutes or so we turned off the road and into the Hotel Palenque.  Not as picturesque as last night but large rooms and a huge inviting pool.

After lunch some of the group went on a coffee tour, but as we had done this before (in India or Cuba I think) we elected to rest up and lounged around and enjoyed the pool (cold – but refreshing once you got in).