Yesterday? Pretty long. A Polish guy walked into town too, which felt like hitting the Camino jackpot. Of course we were thrilled to see each other — there's nobody else out here. Solitude sounds romantic in books; in reality it starts smelling faintly of insanity.
We went for lunch together, which miraculously turned into dinner. Beers? More than enough. His company was so good that time flew at light speed, and it wasn't until 10 p.m. that I realised I'd need to sleep if I wanted to survive the next day. Spoiler alert: barely did.
We stayed at the same place again, each in our own room.
Since I'd set myself the goal of walking 50 km the next day (because apparently I enjoy suffering), I set my alarm for 3 a.m. Of course I slept through it — my head was so heavy it could've anchored a boat. Got up at 4 a.m. Darkness. Silence. Me.
A forest? Alone? At four in the morning? No thanks. Went for the asphalt instead. Right about then, another brilliant idea struck: down two 400mg magnesium tablets so cramps don't eat your calves alive. Genius — unless you don't happen to have your own toilet on you.
My toilet? By the side of the highway. And I got there one second too late. Romantic? No. Legendary? Also no. Just humiliating. Haven't experienced anything like it since kindergarten. But hey, the Camino teaches you humility. Or at least how to crawl out of a bush without losing the last shreds of your dignity. Thank God there wasn't a single car on the road.
But the drama wasn't over. My digestive tract was determined I'd never forget this morning. This time I made it to a toilet — bravo me — but with no toilet paper. In a panic I used a €30 T-shirt. Yep. Expensive toilet paper, but better that than a credit card. #priorities
And then my constant companion: ankle pain. Present from the very first step of today's walk. Nothing better than waking up and immediately knowing it's going to be a rough day. I'm not scared of blisters — pop them and keep moving. But ligaments, inflammation? That's already Spanish-soap-opera material. I took a painkiller that kicked in after a good hour — just long enough for me to wonder if it had actually just been vitamin C.
Up until my first coffee I kept thinking about how to handle the pain. I like walking. Right there I made the smart call: today I'm only doing 6 more km. That's enough. The leg needs rest. Yesterday I forgot to ice the ankle, after all. Why do something logical when you can suffer first?
If the pain's still fresh, I've still got a shot at shaking it off. Better 6 km and an ice pack than 22 more days of Camino in tears.
And no, I don't want a repeat of my first Camino, where I walked 500 km with torn ligaments. My body still hasn't forgiven me for that.
After coffee, ice, and a few internal monologues, I managed (classic) to get lost in the village. The villages here really are like something out of a cartoon — one street, a hundred turns, zero logic. I spun around with Google Maps in hand like a headless chicken. The locals probably had a good laugh. Me too. A little. With a sour face.
The last 6 km flew by. I made it to my destination before 10 a.m. The village was still asleep. Not a soul in sight. I get to the accommodation — locked. Great. I call the owner. He doesn't speak English. I don't speak Spanish (aside from the three phrases every tourist knows). Frustration in full bloom.
Luckily, a friendly girl walks by, fluent in English and kind on top of it. She tells me I need to get the key from the info point in the village centre. Not only did she tell me — she walked me there. My translator, my saviour. Thank you, good soul!
Once I sorted out all the formalities, I headed to the shop for ice, then to the accommodation to shower off... everything that had accumulated on me.
The place? Nice, clean. Only problem? I managed to break the shower door handle. Luckily, from the outside. If it had broken from the inside, I'd be writing this post from the shower right now. Camino — reality edition.
Since absolutely nothing happens in this village after 10 a.m., I started considering just pushing on to Zafra. Only 17 km. And again: an epic battle in my head between Sensible Tina and the Tina who always bites off more than she can chew. This time the sensible one won. Shocking.
I call the Polish guy, ask him where he is. Answer: "In a bar, on my second beer. Considering a third." I start laughing, tell him that might not be the most brilliant idea in this heat, and ask if he's planning to keep walking. He says he'll take my advice and join me at the accommodation instead.
So he starts walking my way, and I head to the shop to cook us something decent. Lunch for two? After all this... we've earned it.
Camino? Never goes to plan. But now that the Polish guy's joining me, I definitely won't be bored. And if I have to suffer in this village anyway, at least let it be in good company.
Stats of the day:
📏 Walked: 28 km
⛰ Elevation: 222 m (not much for the Camino, plenty for the ankle screaming)
🛏 Accommodation: €10
❄️ Ice for the leg rescue mission: €2 (cheapest physiotherapy in history)
Total: €12
