Zafra, Spain, Monday December 1st

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It might not be raining but at 3 degrees or so at the start of the day, it is pretty cold; cold enough to feel the difference between a shadow and the weak rays of the morning sun. Most sensible beings were indoors, at work or at school. The streets were spotless, yet there was a council worker pushing her barrow and polishing them up some more.A lady in her dressing gown was washing down her steps and then proceeded to scrub her bit of footpath with a hard broom and soapy water. Monica in our hostel was cleaning the life out of rooms that weren’t being used. Maybe it is a Spanish thing because in Mérida, in our second room, half our fees must have gone in cleaning products, the smell was so strong. In Bilbao there had been council workers out on a Sunday sweeping up the bridge as we crossed it.

Quite a few elderly folk were out and about, and it looked as if they were heading somewhere, so maybe it was an elderly citizens meeting morning. There are no traffic lights for crossing the roads in the part of Zafra we are in, nor had there been in the inner part of Mérida. Instead, there are crossing stripes on the roads at frequent intervals and at the intersections, and pedestrians have the right of way on them. All the motorists respect them, and even slow if someone is approaching. At one, we had just paused to look at our map but the traffic stopped in case we were about to cross. This means that the town is very safe for children, older people and disabled people. Instead of needing to make the judgements required in crossing the road, you simply have to stand at a crossing and wait for the cars to stop, which they will.

We had the map of Zafra and followed the walking tour. The first stop was El Rosario’s Convent which was founded in 1528. When we opened the doors, we were in our first church in Spain. We were stopped in our tracks by the magnificent wall of gold painted carving and statues behind the altar. It was so beautifully proportioned and painted in such a way that parts of it shone. There were many statues all around the church, one of Mary with tears on her face, wearing real clothes with a ruffled blouse and a skirt with elaborate gold embroidery. One statue of Jesus as a child was wearing a 1920s style baby dress. A painting made it clear that many worldly and important people were probably heading for hell, which had a fiery ‘swimming pool’ full of those who had not lived by Christian principles, including a monk. They were looking sadly at the angels in heaven above.

The door continually opened and closed, admitting one by one many elderly people who had come for a moment of prayer and to light a candle. Two women, quite agitated and talking all their way down to the front, eventually sat down and one prayed aloud. The other woman watched, and it looked as though she suggested ideas for further prayers. Eventually they left, calmer and perhaps more ready to start the day.

An elegant stork flew from its nest on top of the convent, slowly flapping and circling before gliding away. Its mate stayed behind.Opposite the convent was one of the original city gates. It never fails to stir me to see a city gate, with all that such a thing implies in terms of sanctuary, control and defence, and I love to walk where millions of other ordinary people have walked over the history of a city. Sometimes I almost see them and hear them, and smell the donkeys carrying in the goods for market.We had a bit of trouble finding the Hospital of Santiago, and when we did, it had a spectacular gothic entrance but nowhere further for us to go. An old man arrived and pressed a button, with a door being opened for him, but no indication being made that we should enter too. Two other adults ran down the lane as we were walking away, pressed the button and were in as well. By then, we were distracted by seeing a load of bricks being hoisted up a building for some repairs, and saying hello to the workmen. What the Hospital of Santiago was used for now, we did not know.The inspirationally named ‘Big’ and ‘Little’ Squares were arcaded on all sides and joined by arches.The other square in the town was called Spain Square, and was very large and perfect for eating out and promenading on summer evenings. There are many squares, with just about every crossroad providing the opportunity for a little bit of community living space and some greenery. The houses are all joined, with some streets looking like one long white building with many doors and windows in it.In one real estate agent’s window, all the photos were of buildings that were blocks of flats, or joined houses. Our hostel has courtyards and we have seen other courtyards through archways, but for all the dwellings without outdoor space, the squares and gardens are essential.

The Church of Our Lady of the Candelaria is just off the Big Square, and is a large fairly austere building, constructed in 1544. Like other religious buildings that we have seen in Spain, it was sponsored by noble families. It is full of coats of arms and has many tombstones on the floor which also have heraldic arms on them. The blatant skull and cross bones emblem was often included on the ones in the 1600s and 1700s, and, as Keith said, they couldn’t all have been pirates.The altar piece was simply massive, and impressive, although not as commanding as the one in El Rosarios Convent had been. Perhaps that was because the figure of Jesus on the Cross is at the top in this one, and at eye level in the one at the convent. The organ was particularly grand, mounted half way up the wall with pipes that looked like heavenly trumpets pointing out into the body of the church.The whole time we had been in Zafra, we were conscious of the Alcázar dominating the sky line and waiting for us to visit. It has walls and towers and turrets, just as a castle should, and they are in good condition. The castle was built in 1437 by Lorenzo II Suarez de Figueroa, and restored by his namesake, Lorenzo IV Suarez de Figueroa and Cordoba, the Duke of Feria, in 1600. We circled the walls like a small invading army of two trying to find a breach in the defences, and following a sign that pointed us towards ticket sales. A beggar with initiative came over to Keith and said to him, “Let me show you where the castle is, for a small fee,” with the walls looming large behind them. We were right outside the entry at that point.What a pity that the castle became part of the group of Parador Tourism Hotels, a group that has made luxury hotels in castles, palaces and stately homes throughout Spain, in the 1920s. We could still go in and admire the courtyard, under the eye of the hotel staff, but there was no atmosphere and no chance to explore. Now we would consider it a great loss in tourism potential for Zafra, but maybe in the 1920s it was one way to have the building looked after, and perhaps some ready revenue for the local council.

A light moment came when we rounded the corner, and found a beautiful statue of Our Lady, baby and bird.

We skipped the last item on the walking tour list, a cattle fair, since we would have had to wait until next September, and much as we were enjoying Zafra, that was a bit too long. We did a little tour of our own, looking for public toilets, and eventually found out at the tourist office that there are none. Mérida had many toilets and no internet cafes. The ideal town has both. We raced back to our hostel and rang the bell to have the chained door unlocked to be let in. Jiggle, jiggle.

We had had some withdrawal symptoms from our Chemin St Jacques de Compostelle walk, and it was intensified because every town we passed through had signs for the same pilgrimage, known here as ‘El Camino’. Even when we changed buses at Burgos, an old lady also travelling had thought that we were pilgrims, although quite clearly the bus taking type. She had a long one sided conversation with me before she paused and I could say that I was not a pilgrim (una perigrina), although I had been one in France, and I can’t speak Spanish. Here in Zafra, the Camino signs were right in the middle of town and, with a free afternoon, we couldn’t resist. We set off on a road called San Francisco Rd, our antennae on the alert for the Camino markers. Very soon we were climbing out of the town and up towards a ruined tower, the Tower of San Francisco, which is all that remains of the Convent of San Benito from the 16^th and 17^th Centuries. It was completely wrecked inside, and it was a pity that a benefactor hasn’t restored it before it eventually collapses, or developers want its land.Just beyond the tower there were new estates of many identical, joined houses, and past them, we were immediately out in the country. Large houses as well as fields of ploughed land and olive trees, intermittently lined the road. The territorial Spanish dog was out in force at every gate and behind every fence, singly and in groups. One old timer did his protesting from a sitting position a long way from the gate, but the rest barked themselves into frenzied states and passed the message up the hill, to come out and carry on. So much for peace and quiet.

We reached a point where the markers directed us down the hill and into the next town, but we chose to follow the ‘green circuit’, as shown on a sign. It meant walking around the top of the hill, and down into an old quarry. We were glad to be walking at a good pace and to be warm because of our exertions. In the quarry, there was a set of steps which led up to a higher point where the main showcased view seemed to be of the tip. We watched some people looking for items worth taking, and then turned our attention to the town of Los Santos de Maimona, although we were to see better views of that later. The hill was covered in pines, and we wondered if they had been planted after the quarry was abandoned and whether it was an indigenous tree. The land all about was cultivated and the hills in the distance looked bare from here, so there were no clues as to what would have grown here once.

We walked back home, just as a bitter wind came up to meet us, but luckily before the rain. It had been an invigorating walk and just what we needed. It had not cured us, though, only made us long for more.

That feeling was increased when another lodger, a French pilgrim called Antoine, arrived at the hostel. He had walked from France to Santiago de Compostela, across the pilgrimage trail in Portugal, and was now in Southern Spain, glad of better weather, and would eventually walk all the way to Rome. He was older than us, and had no family so he said that he was ‘free’. He gave us much advice on balancing your load, using two batons for maximum effect, and considering your centre of gravity when placing things on your body. He demonstrated how to use two batons for dog protection behind while walking on. He carried a tent and a thin mattress, and encouraged us to do the same next time, for economy and convenience. He was a quirky character. We cooked a combined meal and drank some of the wine in the five litre bottle on the shelf in the hostel kitchen. We didn’t have any vinegar for Antoine to make a vinaigrette dressing for the salad, so he used the wine for that as well, which gives you a bit of an idea of what it was like. It was so strong that you could dilute it by half with water and not notice.

Antoine had been a welcome diversion. I was feeling generally bad, having heard from the principal of my school that she would not grant me a reduction in time at work for next year, and knowing that I would have to sort through those issues at such a long distance was daunting. I managed to fall asleep after a long time, but woke later, trying to work out what I should do.

What do you do with your power cables in a town that was established hundreds of years earlier? There is definitely no room in the narrow streets for poles, so they are attached to the outsides of the buildings.

Although impressive, the entrance to El Rosario's Convent, with its somewhat primitive sculpture above the door, was in stark contrast to the amazingly ornate and sophisticated adornments within.

Above: White and red are the dominant colours in villages in southern Spain.
Below: Keith checks out a eucalypt on our walk up the hill from Zafra. Many eucalypts can be seen in Spain, often growing to huge dimensions.