Via De La Plata, Part IV: Galisteo Takes Our Measure

Oak Savanna

Goat, nosh nosh

   Again the walk was mostly through Holm oak savannas, and again it was hot. Early enough in the day that we were still interested in such things, we saw a bunny. It ran across the trail and crouched in some grass, motionless and hiding. After  a few moments it realized we were watching -- trying to hide wasn't working -- so it gave a leap, crawled under a fence and bounded away. Like the Via Podensis and the Via Frances animal sightings have been rare (aside from cows. sheep, goats, dogs, and town cats) so watching the bunny was a nice little interlude.

Galisteo

   In the Bunny Region, for several kilometers we walked along a tall, extra heavy double fence with security cameras on tall poles. It was a private hunting preserve, but even with the fence the bunny managed to escape. We didn't see anything behind the fence, but with all the security I suspect it was an area for staged hunts of exotic animals (bunny hunts perhaps a free extra). Whatever it is it's a very exclusive area.

These were steeper than they look

    About 1pm we arrived at Galisteo which, with its wall, is an interesting village. The town dates to Roman times and the town wall is intact from the Moors in the 13th century. The ramparts are particularly interesting as they haven't had any new gates cut through them. They are as they were in the beginning. You can climb stone stairs and walk the ramparts, pretend you're going to repel the Christians or whoever needs repelling, or don't pretend, just enjoy the view and wonder how you're going to get down. The stairs are steep, narrow, straight, and 35 feet high with no railing  We were hot, tired, and encumbered with packs and walking sticks, so the climb was sort of scary (hands were involved in the climb).
   dw: "How are we going to get down?"
   DJA: "Unless we find something better, I'm going to tie my sticks to my pack and back down. I'm sure not going to try to just walk down."

As we walked the wall we found a different staircase with a railing -- we were much relieved.
   The town was very quiet, pleasant, and except for the wall undistinguished, but it does have a church sporting a weird steeple. 

The pointy steeple is stuck on top of the square steeple

   This day was particularly hot (dw's bete noir), but sitting for awhile in shade allowed her to recover.  One bar was open where dw asked the bartender to call a taxi for us. We had been told the next 7K to our stop for the night (Carcaboso)  was along a very narrow shoulder less road -- As the taxi driver said: "Muy pelegroso!" and indeed it was. We felt a bit guilty about calling a cab as the VdlP is supposed to be a walk rather than a ride, but the cab's air-conditioning quickly put paid to such feelings, and besides, the ride was only 7K.

I conducted a small, informal survey concerning a favorite dessert: flan. The best to this point was at Aldea Del Cano, Bar Las Vegas -- I gave it a 4 out of 5, leaving room to go higher. Grimaldo: 2 out of 5, little caramel and watery -- it got a 2 only because I needed room to go lower. Carcaboso: 3 out of 5 -- good flavor and caramel but oddly lumpy.
   
    The legs at the foot of the bed in Carcaboso's albergue were set back two feet. Good for not stubbing your toes, but when I forgot and sat on the foot, the head would spring up and hurl the pillows at the back of my head -- it was like a poltergeist attack.

Roman bridge

    Along with the granite-block trail markers, there are the common yellow arrows, and an occasional large (a ton or more) granite slab with information about the area and the trail. The info is usually (and unusually) translated into English. Extremadura went to a great deal of trouble to renovate, mark, and maintain the VdlP. This portion of the trail has little of the splendid natural scenery that other Caminos have but the trail is consistently interesting with a great deal of history on display and each day's scenery is subtly different. There are so many bits and pieces of ruins that the guide books only discuss the larger sites. ("Oh, that old thing? That's just a 2000 year old Roman bridge. See one, you've seen them all.")

Much of the facing has been lost, and the top is heavily eroded

   We arrived at Caparra, site of the symbol of the VdlP: a monumental four sided arch (c.100 A.D.) From photos we had seen, I expected the arch to be an isolated one off, but there are ruins of a significant Roman town. The site has been excavated and developed with walk-ways, large glass platforms elevated above the ruins and good information plaques. The whole thing is in the middle of nowhere which is possibly why it was abandoned. (A couple of toga-clad Romans walking down a hot dusty street: "Man, why the hell did we build a town here?" "I dunno. Why don't we just leave?" So they did.)

    Again we called for a ride. This time to the Asturias hostel -- a common pilgrim ploy as the hostel is several Ks off the camino (and the ride is free -- provided by the hostel). This particular ride didn't save any walking distance as the next day we needed to walk back to the camino. I was glad for the ride as I was sick. I put on my warmest clothes, wrapped myself in a blanket and shivered as dw was comfortable sitting in her skivvies and reading.  I had no appetite and suffered greatly though bravely. I soaked the sheets with night sweats (the poor room maid) but the next day I felt better and with two subsequent short walking days recovered fully.

Hervas

   Further along we again left the camino proper (walking this time) to visit Hervas, the site of an ancient Jewish village. It proved to be one of the more interesting villages on the VdlP. The old town was built on rock outcroppings so buildings commonly have visible bed rock as part of their foundations. The streets have natural speed-bumps as the bed rock was only partly chipped away. Many of the streets are so narrow dw could spread her arms and touch buildings on both sides and the alleys were so narrow my shoulders touched both sides. Cramped quarters.

Hervas

   As we wandered around, we heard drumming so we headed for the sound and caught a parade in honor of Diane (some local thing, not dw). We arrived at a small square and watched the parade form up. A small band accompanied the drums, followed by a ten foot tall king and queen (big paper mache heads with a cloth body -- person inside) -- as they started to march, ten other men donned other large paper mache heads and a 10 year old  boy in a red costume ran around (pleased with whatever role he played). It was a fun parade that left us clueless as we couldn't tell if it was in honor of Diane The Huntress, Ste. Diane (?), or some other Diane or Dianne.

   The same day we continued on to Banos de Montemayor where we stopped for the night. Banos has been a place to "take the waters" since Roman times. We didn't see anyplace that offered walk-in massages (particularly for our feet) so we didn't indulge but there were many older people wandering around with canes, walkers, or wheel chairs dressed in bathrobes so it seems there was opportunity for healthful massages and baths.   Banos is an attractive town though there wasn't much going on if you weren't taking the waters. Many stores were closed when we did our paseo but still we could have bought a few tatty souvenirs had we wanted, and we did find an open grocery and two open bars. Even though we were massage less we went to bed happy.

TRIVIA: The name Spain derives from the Latin Hispania which in turn probably derives from the Phoenician "i-shephan-I'm" ; meaning "island, or coast of rabbits". Rabbits were endemic to the Iberian peninsula but weren't commonly found elsewhere until the Phoenicians began exporting them from Spain. Proof of Spain as Europe's first rabbit warren is a 2.5 million year old fossil of a rabbit found near Granada.

A WORD: Spanghew -- to strike and cause to fly in the air, especially frogs and toads

ANIMALS: A beaver has such sharp teeth that American Indians once used them for knives (just the front teeth, not the whole animal), and a beaver's butt is supposed to smell like vanilla. I don't think I will ever check that out.

And so it goes. DJA

 
 

 

Via De La Plata, Part III: We Discuss Pinchos

freshly peeled cork oak

Another day with acorn orchards, a herd of sheep, and cork oak trees. We set out at six-thirty, and the day started cold enough that we both put on our gloves (unfortunately the cold couldn't be stored for later), but it was warm in an hour and a half, hot in three, and scorching in four -- the consistent daily pattern. We noticed an interesting micro-climate effect: if there wasn't a wind, large trees, with branches that dipped to the ground, would hold a pool of cool air. It was noticeable enough that we were usually tempted to stop and sit until the pool got hot. Naturally that would mean the rest of the walk would be hotter. A conundrum.
   The herd of sheep was much larger than the one of the earlier day. This herd was a hundred or more -- a shepherd and two dogs. (this time neither dog gave dw the stink-eye) We had an interesting semi-chat with the shepherd (the language barrier only partly over-come). He told us two pilgrims ahead of us had told him we were coming and he had looked forward to meeting us (rare Americans). he had been a shepherd all his life and he enjoyed the work. Again we were struck with how welcoming the locals are towards peregrinos. They seem to consider the pilgrim to be a traveler who belongs -- who is "one of us" and who is engaged in local life (largely true); as opposed to an ordinary tourist (regardless of how "good" the tourist is) who is passing through and doesn't engage on the same level. -- Interacting with local people is definitely one of the pleasures of the camino.

We spent two nights in Caceres. The Via de la Plata doesn't have as many small colorful villages as does the Frances or Via Podensis, although some can hold their own against any competitors, but the larger towns, and Caceres is the first after Merida, are beautiful indeed.

section of Caceres town wall

Spanish,Semana Santa clothes (Holy Week)

Plaza Mayor

   Casco Viejo, the old town, is surrounded by its original wall, which probably dates back to Roman times, with additions and alterations from Muslims, Christians, and assorted war-lords (Geraldo the Fearless -- "I'm Geraldo the Fearless and I'm going to kick your ass!"). The Plaza Major, just outside the walls, is a pleasant place to sit and watch the crowds (or the restaurant tout who reeled us in, and who was an energizer bunny non pareil). The old town is full of sights: we visited the Moorish cistern (larger than the one in Merida but without the goldfish), toured one of the (now vacant and city owned) palaces, found a dollar store equivalent where dw bought a hand fan and I bought a small pair of scissors for my mustache which was growing faster than expected. In the newer part of town we watched a roller-blade team (four young women plus a coach) practice their event: In an unused lot they set up two parallel courses -- 20 small red plastic cups 2 feet apart in a line. Two at a time they would sprint toward the lines and then coast through, weaving in and out of the cups. They were really fast and the two older women seldom hit the cups. It was impressive and interesting.

Painting in the Art Cafe

   As we walked toward the last site we wanted to see, we passed an art café which was showing some nice paintings. We sat on the terrace, overlooking a small valley with four horses on the far side doing horse things. As usual, along with our beers, the café served pinchos (a small snack served with drinks -- usually chips (crisps for any who are unenlightened), olives, peanuts, sausages, etc.) At this café the pinchos were chips.
    dw: "Do you like large chips, or small ones?"
    DJA: "Small ones, I think. They taste the same but the large ones can crumble and get on your shirt."
    dw: "Yeah, me too. And sometimes the small ones are extra crispy -- a taste treat."
    DJA: "Of course you can scoop up more dip with the big ones.:
   dw: "Unless they break."
   And so goes an end of day camino conversation.

The trail after Caceres goes through a bleak area, with one small town, a reservoir and some bridges. Few trees for shade, rock spires one to three feet high scattered around and out-numbering the trees. Not a pleasant section.

La Posada Grimaldo is a bit off the trail and totally undistinguished. To get to it we left the main trail, edged through a brushy area, crossed a small muddy stream, and climbed a short very steep hill. The private albergue was worth it. Its owner was a designer/builder who had lost his job and decided to open the albergue. The rooms were dedicated to different notables (ours was Gaudi, another was Garcia Lorca) and each was tastefully appointed with (often) original art and crafts. We loved the place. One of the best of the whole walk. There wasn't a dinner available (the village had two restaurants) but there was a do-it-yourself breakfast with the usual toast, coffee, muffins, and orange juice.

A THOUGHT FOR TODAY: Churches, nations, and races are fantasies intended to evade death -- whereas we should confront "with passion the conundrum of life" --- James Baldwin

FACTOIDS: Siamese cats' color is temperature sensitive. Where it's cooler (as the ears) its fur is darker, where it's hotter its fur is lighter. So in the Sahara they're all white, while in the Arctic they're extinct -- eaten by polar bears -- because they were entirely dark and were easily seen against the snow.
   Mary Shelly (author of Frankenstein) and wife of the poet Shelley -- kept her husband's heart in her desk (after he died of course)

ANOTHER THOUGHT FOR TODAY: When people say: "Doing a little painting, eh?" or "Hot enough for you?" etc. they are indulging in what psychologists call "phatic communication" -- that is to say, talk intended to establish a sense of fellowship, rather than to convey any intelligent meaning. There are a lot of people whose entire conversation is composed of phatic communication. -- Carried to excess it earns them a reputation for phatheadedness.  --- Robertson Davies.

And so it goes.  DJA
 
 

Via De La Plata, Part II -- The Hospitalero Hates Us

The Alcuescar monastery's albergue  -- actually named: Casa de la Misericordia de la Congregacion de Esclavos de Maria y los Pobres (!) -- is  a very tight ship. It's closed from 2 to 4, and if you try to sign in at 2:01 you're out of luck. We arrived at 1:30 so signing in wasn't a problem. But later, Frances and Landon (two pilgrims we had met earlier), dw and I crossed an unexpected and invisible line, putting the hospitalero and his flunky into a noisy, petulant rage.

The day's walk was a pleasant path along Roman roads, through oak savanna and orchards of acorn oaks and olive trees, with an occasional walnut tree, three lime trees, and random cork oaks. We walked through low rolling hills with patches of brush, sparse dry grass, stone fences and few other signs of civilization. With an early enough start (6:15) we nearly finished walking before it got really hot. This section was like much of the next two weeks: Pleasant, lovely, each day subtly different from the last, little farming because of the rocky, boulder strewn land, and our passage unnoticed. If a landscape can seem to be aware, this land was indifferent, not seeking to amaze with spectacle, or threaten with danger, or even soothe with restful scenes -- it was as if thousands had passed and would pass and none could leave a mark on this hard edge of land.

   The trail through the length of Extremadura is marked with 18" granite cubes, each with a tile that denotes the direction of the trail, whether it's near the Roman road, or actually on the Roman road. Along with this day's cubes, we passed the Cruz del Nino Muerto, which marks the spot where a young shepherd, on his way to a Fiesta in Alcuescar, was killed and eaten by a wolf (in the far past). In the same area, paralleling the path, was an extra high, extra sturdy barbed wire fence, with an electric strand, which (if I understood the signs) enclosed a pasture for fighting bulls (beware: here be death!) 

Once in town, having avoided any hungry wolves, and having secured our beds for the night, we made an early afternoon paseo. Alcuescar is pleasant enough, if unexceptional. We headed for a 7/8th century Visigoth church but it was too far out of town so we turned back before we reached it. We tried to see the town's church, and the steeple was readily visible but after a series of dead-end streets, blind alleys, up and down hills, twists and turns with the steeple appearing in different places we gave up. It was very confusing and designed (we thought) to keep out vagrant riff-raff.

   We passed a large, seemingly private party. It was centered on a bar with people overflowing into the streets, front and back. The loud music oddly included Yankee Doodle Dandy and Camptown Races. Also featured in the party was a small boy in a stroller who seemed very angry that his dad wouldn't let his stroller just coast down a hill. Although the street was very steep the lad might have survived the ride.

Back at the albergue we learned the strict hours: Doors locked in the afternoon from 2 to 4 -- no one in or out. Doors locked 9PM to 7AM -- no one in or out. Lights out at 10PM (it wasn't clear if the electricity was actually turned off) The locked doors couldn't be opened from the inside. I wondered about fire laws.

   At 7PM the hospitalero led the four of us to the plain dining room. With standard metal folding tables and steel chairs it was a serviceable space and the meal was serviceable, although it ended with a large platter of perfectly ripe, delicious chunks of watermelon. The meal started with the hospitalero and his flunky (who looked like he either slept on a pallet in a closet or in a hole scraped out behind the building) insisting on their specific chairs. After eating we four peregrinos sat around enjoying a post-prandial conversation when the host and his flunky re-entered the room and started washing the dishes. Washing with an amazingly noisy crashing and banging of metal bowls and trays and ladles in the metal sink. They left and the four of us looked at each other with amazement. Someone said: "I think they want us to leave."  We all got up, finished clearing the table and washing the remaining dishes -- then the two hosts re-entered and started stacking the chairs on the table -- again with great crashing and banging. It was extraordinary and among the 20 caminos the four of us had walked, unique. The hosts didn't actually scream at us: "Get the hell out!" but that's what they meant. The four of us laughed about it, but on another level it was very rude and annoying. The hospitalero and his minion were volunteers but they clearly didn't want any actual peregrinos staying there.

Promptly at 7AM the next morning we were released. All four of us burst out of the building and breathed a sweet breath of freedom. Oddly the day wasn't very hot so the late start didn't matter much. This day we passed four Roman miliarios; the mile posts which aren't actually a mile apart, or any regular distance apart. Whatever they measured it wasn't distances. Depending on whether or not they're broken, the posts are four to six feet tall and 18 inches in diameter (1.5 to 2 M, and .5 M ) The inscriptions are mostly worn away but even without special scans some are visible: some dates are legible and one was dedicated to "the Divine Nerva". One of the first we passed is known as the miliario correo for the notch chiseled into it. At one time it was used as a mail drop for the nearby Casa de Santiago de Bencaliz. We put a self-addressed post card into it (with postage) and at some point Angelika from Austria picked it up, added a short note,  and mailed it. We were thrilled when we got home that the card was waiting for us. So we had successfully used a 2000 year old mail box. That was fun.
   Again we walked through a large acorn oak orchard. We finally realized that after the acorns drop, pigs are turned loose in the orchard --- on their way to becoming expensive jamon.
   Our end for the day was Aldea del Cano. Another modest village with a large tree stump/trunk dumped in the middle of the main plaza -- that puzzled us until we got back home and  friends (Sharon S., and Manuel C.S.P.) found an explanation on the web: The stump is the basis for a giant Christmas Bonfire.caceresaldetalle.blogspot.com.es/2016/08/tradicion-del-tuero-en-aldea-del-cano.html  (bonfire photo from the web)

   The afternoon of our arrival, I was sitting reading on the porch of our albergue, when a semi-sober local guy invited me into a bar for a drink. I accepted and it was an experience. He spoke slightly more English than I speak Spanish, but we did communicate: He was from Bilbao and comes down every holiday to visit his 86 year old mother, because he's a very good son. I'm from Oregon USA, and my mother is deceased. His father who he dearly loves died several years ago and he is iffy about dearly loving his mother, but he's a very good son. The area is very hot, but he's used to the heat and enjoys his holiday visits. I had a beer, he was drinking some sort of awful, sweet, sherry like stuff. (the bartender gave me a taste), which is better than beer, but beer is still manly. Finally I convinced him that I had to shower, but he's a very fine man, and I'm a very fine man. We're both very fine men. Which is good to know.

POEM FOR TODAY:
Only the Air Spirits know
What is found beyond the mountains.
Yet I urge on:
Go on and on
On and On!
(Traditional Inuit)

FACTOIDS:

Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven was inspired by Charles Dicken's pet raven "Grip". Grip was featured in Barnaby Rudge: "what was that -- tapping at the door?" and "Tis someone -- knocking at the shutter." Also, Edouard Manet illustrated Mallarme's French translation of The Raven.
 
QUOTE; "Ignorance breeds confidence --" Thucydides

Knock
Knock
Knock, knock
Knock, knock, knock
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock
Who's there?

Fibonacci.

(OK. Not all jokes are actually funny)

And so it goes. DJA

It's A Long Walk To Santiago

It's a long way to Santiago
It's a long walk we know.

It's a long way to Santiago,
Especially when you're slow.

From Salamanca to Zamora
To Ourense way down low --

It's a long, long walk to Santiago
Whichever way you go.  *

*Thanks to Stuart and Sacha, who appear later.

(To be sung to the tune of It's A Long Way To Tipperary -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPLS5nNFWTU)

Two thousand years ago Caesar Augustus realized he had a bunch of retired soldiers on his hands. Soldiers who were trained in mayhem and who were apt to get cranky if they had too much idle time, so Augustus established Augustus Emerita as a retirement/farming community for the men. A retirement home in Extremadura -- The hard edge of civilization.
   Augustus Emerita was at the center of Southwest Spain and the center of Extremadura where it was too hot to march around with sword and shield causing mayhem.
   Emerita morphed into Merida where it's still too hot to march around, but sometimes assorted peregrinos, such as dw and I, set out to walk the Via de la Plata to Santiago de Compostela (more ambitious peregrinos start farther afield in Seville or Malaga, Marbella, Cadiz, or Gibralter)

Merida is a splendid city containing the best, most complete Roman ruins in Spain. There was some sort of civilization that pre-dated the Romans, and a series of excavations uncovered gold jewelry and other relics which no one wanted so the British Museum took them. During Napoleon's Peninsular wars the British chased the French out of Merida and between the two armies the Roman ruins got more ruined, but the amphitheater, the circus, the aqueduct and other buildings are wonderful relics. At some point the Spanish Duke of Corbos built a palace and used the ruins of the Roman Temple of Diana as a front porch but the temple is still interesting. The nearby Not Trajan's Arch is plain (the marble facade was stripped off centuries ago) but nicely monumental, and the Historical Museum (with Roman as well as some pre-Roman relics) is one of the best of its kind I've ever seen.
   Extremadura was the home of a bunch of conquistadors: Cortes, Desoto, Francisco Pizarro (as well as several extra Pizarros) and others --- dw and I decided they went aconquering because it was too hot to stay home.

   Between the Roman times and the errant conquistadors, the Moors ruled Merida, building the Alcazaba -- a walled fortress -- intending to keep ruling the city and area. It didn't work but it was a good effort. Of particular interest is the aljibe -- a small building with stairs leading down to a well (which is like a swimming pool in a basement). It's cleverly designed as the well is near enough to the river so that water seeps in, but far enough away that the water is thoroughly filtered. The well and the building are in remarkably good shape, as are the gold fish that swim in the water. Probably the gold fish are not original.

After two nights and a day spent touring the city we started walking. The first few miles were on a green painted bicycle/pedestrian path followed by a packed sand path with quartz crystals sparkling in the sun. On this first day we passed a Roman dam (Proserpina), still functioning, though it's largely a recreational lake now. The dam is quite large and has clever elements such as back bracing so it doesn't collapse when the water gets low. Those Roman engineers knew their stuff.

    During the day we were passed by six walkers and four bikes. More pilgrims than we expected. (we expected to be passed -- nearly everyone we talked with on this walk had done multiple caminos -- they all knew their stuff, were ready to put in miles, and with very few exceptions were faster than we were). But we were surprised on this day by the number of peregrinos. In fact on this first day we met more pilgrims on the trail than on any other day until we passed through Ourense nearly at the end of the walk (most days we didn't meet any fellow peregrinos).

In the early afternoon, shortly after El Carrascalejo, we met a herd of 40 dingy gray sheep; each wearing a brass bell, and each bell with a pleasant mellow tone. The soft crunching of hooves and mixed chiming was a delight. We stepped off the path to give them room. The herding dog really gave dw the once over -- checking to see if she was up to no good. She didn't seem to be, so he went about his business threatening the laggards.

   Later we passed a herd of 30 cows who found us fascinating, so we entertained them with a short song and dance routine:   We're having a heat wave,
                                         A tropical heat wave,
                                         The temperature's rising,
                                         It isn't surprising,
                                         She certainly can can, can

                                   

The cows loved the song and soft-shoe. They all moved closer for a better look and paused their cud chewing. We kept it short, as we were near our stop for the afternoon and we wanted to move on. "Thankyou, thankyou verymuch."  --- A bow, tip of the hat, and two more kilometers to Aljucen where our first day ended. The temperature was in the mid-nineties (35C). Barely tolerable. dw: Barely survivable, you mean.

SOME ROMAN STUFF: Emperor Trajan (98 to 117 A.D) was born near present-day Seville. He was celebrated as one of the five greatest emperors. After Trajan, and for the rest of Roman history, emperors were honored by the Senate with the prayer: "Felicior Augusto, melior Traiano" -- "May he be luckier than Augustus, and better than Trajan." In Dante's Divine Comedy, Trajan is the only emperor allowed into heaven.

TRIVIA: The coat of arms for Appenzell Switzerland features a rampant bear with an erect penis.

A CURIOUS EVENT: Many years ago, when I was a letter carrier, one of my customers was an older (65 or so -- older to me at the time) woman who lived in a small, slightly shabby house. She was a pleasant, if rough edged woman and I spoke with her most days. One afternoon, as I approached her house, she was smoking a cigar and stomping back and forth on her sidewalk.
   "Gee", I said, "What's the matter?"
   "I'm so mad I want to kick a dog or something!"
   "Oh, that's not good, What happened?"
   She stopped pacing and looked at me: "I just found out the man I've been living with is my ex-husband! If I can find that son-of-a-bitch I'm going to shoot him!"

   Truthfully, I didn't know what to say: "Wow, that's --- shooting's not a --- "
   She glared at me, eyes squinted against the cigar smoke, and growled: "I mean it!"

   I think her life had been significantly different from mine.

---------- And so it goes, DJA ---------
 

 
 
 
 
 

But I Digress

---- The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
------
"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."
------
But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:

------

Four other Oysters followed them,
And  yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more --
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing-wax --
Of cabbages -- and kings --
And why the sea is boiling hot --
And whether pigs have wings."

     Our first thought was indeed to walk along the sea, but without the Oysters -- Neither of us are oyster fans. Wretched things, oysters,  and the thought of slurping down a raw oyster is disgusting. Humankind spent a few million years trying to discover fire and now certain people choose to revert many millions of years and eat raw oysters -- secretly delighting in tiny burbling oyster screams as the poor things slide down gaping maws. --- But I digress.

We've been walking a lot lately, covering and re-covering North and Northeast Portland (with an occasional foray into Southeast and Southwest) and repeated trips into Forest Park. Frankly it has become boring, and we look for interest wherever we can find it.
     "Which way did you walk?"
     "Ainsworth to Denver, then I zig-zagged over to Alberta and Williams, and etc., etc."
     "Did you see anything interesting?"
     "Well, letmethink --- No."
And so it goes, with some occasional variety:

The other day as I walked past an elementary school, I saw a group of 6 year olds playing some sort of game with a large piece of multi-colored nylon. As I came abreast I heard their leader (a 13 or 14 year old) say: "Lets put the tent away, and then we'll play Red Rover." A little girl plaintively replied: "I don't know Red Rover."

Not to brag, but I could have told her all about Red Rover. I could have chilled her little heart with tales of Red Rover, for we played Red Rover when I was in elementary school. My school was one room (later expanding to two) with the normal age range of 6 to 14, except the school drew from a logging and a farming community which were largely transient so there were many kids who had moved from school to school too often and been held back, so the age range expanded to 16 or 18 or 23 or so it seemed.
     For anyone who doesn't know Red Rover, the rules are simple: Players are divided into two teams. Each side holds hands in a line, the lines separated by 20 feet, and in turn, the captains would say: "Red Rover, Red Rover, send Jimmy right over." And little Jimmy, legs churning, would dash between the lines, bash into the other side, and attempt to break through. If he succeeded, he would choose an opponent and both would return to Jimmy's original side. If he failed to break through, he would join the other side. The goal was for one team to capture all of the other players.
     Strategy is complex: If the captain calls for little Jimmy to come over, there's a good chance Jimmy will be captured -- however he'll also be a weak link, introducing the chance to lose a 24 year old. Eventually all the "big" kids will be on one side (Unless it's necessary, no captain would ever say: "Red Rover, Red Rover, send Bubba right over.") but in the end the Big Kid would be called and he, or she, --- at 28 and muscled from gnawing down trees, would come roaring between the lines. Bashing into a line of cowering 6 and 7 year olds, flinging them about like tiny tenpins, ricocheting off the outhouse and flying into the blackberry thicket. --- That was Red Rover.
    We didn't always play Red Rover. Another popular game didn't have a name, but could have been called: "Fling the little kid into Roaring River" A corner of the school yard had a modest grove of Douglas Fir trees, one of which had a large, long and thick branch which came close enough to the ground that a Big Kid could jump up and grab it. Several would then pull it to one side, a Little Kid would climb on, cling as tightly as possible -- the Big Kids would let it loose and the Little Kid would get a low-budget carnival ride --- If the Little Kid didn't hold on tightly enough he would be flung into a nearby fir trunk, or perhaps fly down the hill toward Roaring River. It was very exciting.
     Also exciting but in a different way (and in truth frowned upon by adults) was "Mumbly-Peg", or "Stretch-em" -- a game involving pocket knives. The players would stand three feet apart, throw, and try to stick their knife into the ground. In turn, each player would throw the knife near his own foot: the goal was to stick your knife into the ground as close as possible to your foot; and wherever the knife stuck, you would move your foot next to it. Your feet would get farther and farther apart -- the loser would be the one who couldn't move his feet any farther apart or who fell over. If you actually stuck the knife in your foot, you won. Adults didn't like the game because it could damage shoes. (yes, we did carry pocket knives to school -- some (dw) have claimed the knives were used to sharpen quill pens but that isn't true)
     My sister will (I am sure) verify that this is all sort of true. But I digress.

dw and I decided we would walk another Camino, and we've been training. We considered the Northern Route -- along the Bay of Biscay (too hilly, and perhaps too urban), The Portuguese Route -- along the Atlantic (the first half from Lisbon seems highly urban and industrial -- not pleasant), and after consideration we decided to walk the Via de la Plata. We won't walk the entire route, instead we'll start at Merida -- still walking about 500 miles -- certainly sufficient for us. The route follows, and is about 50 to 100 miles east of the Portugal/Spain border. It will be different from the other two we've walked. The Via de la Plata is much less traveled and passes through a more lightly populated region. It'll be interesting.


Some  sights in our walking area:

JOKES: Plateau -- the highest form of flattery.

How do you think the unthinkable?
   With an ithberg.


TRIVIA:  Odin rode an 8-legged horse, which will be eaten by a wolf at the end of the world. So the wolf will be eating a hairy, meadow-muffin producing centipede.

When he played Micawber in "David Copperfield", W.C. Fields insisted on including a juggling scene. The studio heads vetoed the idea, noting that Dickens made no mention of juggling in the book.
     "He probably forgot." replied Fields.
When that idea failed, he suggested that after the funeral of Copperfield's mother, Fields should do his pool table act while telling a story about a snake. That idea was also vetoed, but it certainly would have made a different movie.

---------  And so it goes. DJA --------