FORESTS OF PORK

We had been invited to spend a while in the home of Greta, a German lady who was married to a Spaniard and resident of this little village. She had prepared us a breakfast of such glorious delights, and also offered to escort us, in her car, to a point further along the Camino, where the Tarmac finished and the track set off into the Oak forest. The problem was, that Herman was not too keen to walk the 16km`s along the tarmac hyway. When we saw the road, I could hardly blame him. It was like a rollercoaster, the whole way. I was also only planning to walk about 20km`s myself which would have left me somewhere in the middle of the forest with no accomodation. After Arcos I was not intending to overdo the milage, so this option seemed to fit my idea of sound thinking. With about 15km`s to walk I felt happy that I would be avoiding more pain and suffering, than was needed, on the way to Almaden de la Plata. Though I hate missing parts of the Camino, there are days when sense has to overcome the desire not to cheat. It made perfect sense and besides, I always walk throughout the towns and villages during the afternoons, which adds a lot of extra km`s over a few weeks.
Penance served, we surely enjoyed the new and challenging terrains. Lots more hills and gates to negotiate. We soon found ourselves passing the ranger station for the forestry commission. A while later we got our first sight of pork, there were pigs everywhere. Iberican black pigs to be precise. A delicacy of the area, and farmed in such large herds, we seemed to be tripping over them with almost every step.
A few more kilometres into the forest and we passed a grand house. Set in the forest with lush greenery and trees of many varieties, the Hacienda was a veritable oasis. I began hoping that this was our Albergue. No such luck. A huge pig was guarding the gate, so that no-one could enter. As we continued onwards it seemed as though we had gained some pilgrims, the pigs were following us along the route.
After a couple of hours we eventually mounted the peak of the high sierras, with awesome views of the way we had come, and a sweet and precious panorama of the town below us, just down the hill. Herman and I took some time to enjoy the respite from climbing, with eagles above us and the sun setting in the distance, bringing evening with it. On the way down the hill we joked about putting a loo roll holder on a tree, with a sign saying, "two sheets per pilgrim, 10 cents" and an arrow pointing into the bushes.
As we came to an iron cross, mounted upon a small hillock, I noticed that it was surrounded by a fenced area, filled with livestock with curly horns.
"Hey look, they are the holy goats !"  I joked.
As you can tell, walking long distances in the sun, can have odd effects on your behaviour and humour.
We soon reached the village and found the Albergue to be set in the northwest edge of the village. A note pinned to the door, informed us that we would have to find a woman in a neighbouring street who kept the keys to the accomodation. Again, the place was lovely, and hot showers revived us, though as we left to eat still only four pilgrims had arrived. We ate at Casa de Conchi which was really pleasant, and had our first taste of the local pork dishes. When we finally arrived back at the Albergue, we were surprised to find the place almost full of cyclists, camped out everywhere.
The evenings were cooler now, since only a few days ago when I had been in the south of Spain, but my tiredness soon kicked in, and I was away with the fairies. Not even a dozen or so Spanish cyclists could keep my eyes open. Sweet dreams of Andalucia and black pig pilgrims....