DAY 10 STAGE FROM HELL July 1
I had failed to find the way out of Granada the day before, but I was luckier in the morning. Go to Plaza de Europa and then to the next roundabout where the walk to Maracena begins. Maracena is pretty much a suburb to Granada but a pueblo in its own right. Already here, I noticed that the waymarks began to deteriorate. No big deal, I just had to be extra cautious when walking through Maracena, and then Atarfe a few kms later. Breakfast in Atarfe: all good so far. Right after leaving the center of Atarfe, though, there is a dreadful industrial area that transforms into a single road, on asphalt, that runs forever and ever next to the railway. So all the way from Granada to Pinos Puente it is 19 kms on tarmac. I actually don't mind this kind of terrain, it never makes my feet hurt. But after nearly 20 kms, and a large part of it in a straight line... It was a bit monotonous. When sipping on a café con leche in a bar in Pinos Puente, I thought: I hope there is more of a country walk to Moclín, because I am quite tired of the tarmac now.
Beware of what you wish.
I had decided to go to Moclín the same day, which would make about 35 kms in all. I was well aware of that, and of the steep climb up to Moclín at the end of the stage. But from Pinos Puente to Moclín there would be "only" 13 kms. I thought I would be in Moclín in the blink of an eye. There would also be another pueblo, Olivares, after nine kms.
I left Pinos Puente on the carretera, more asphalt, ok. Then the track veered off to a country road, just as I had hoped. For some km I walked next to an irrigation canal, on my left. Then hell broke loose.
First, the arrows led me into some heavy bushes, a path that was totally overgrown. By now there was the canal to my left, and a small river to my right (but it was getting wider and wider). With this amount of water, the vegetation must grow easily in summer. Perhaps you can get through in April or May : I tell you, the grass was higher than my head. I couldn't see where to put my feet and for some time I walked on just by intuition. The carretera was barred from access because of the river that was running on my right side.
Sure, it only lasted for a few hundred meters, then there was a bridge that could have taken me over the river to the carretera - I wish I had taken the opportunity. But you want to follow the arrows, right...?
After walking in the jungle, the arrows took me to a field with olive groves. I had to slide around in the sand, there was nowhere else to put my feet. By now it was midday heat and I began to panic as I didn't know how long I would have to "walk" in the sand.
Then I had to cross the stream on my right. This further slowed me down. Remove shoes, remove socks. Walking ON STONES with your bare feet. Waiting for your feet to dry before puttning on shoes and socks. (After the walk in the jungle, my socks and shoes looked like hedgehogs so I had to spend an eternity to remove each and everyone of the sticks in them).
At least this brought me nearer the road on my right side. The Camino eventually crossed the road. But you STILL want to follow the arrows, right? So now I changed to the countryside on the right side of the carretera. The arrows took me straight up a hill, that became steeper and steeper until I couldn't go any further. The path wanted me to climb some kind of hill but it would be a suicide mission for anyone, especially with a backpack. I searched for some alternative way to continue and I still had to literally CLIMB to get up that hill. Half-way up I thought my heart would snap, and I never felt that on any Camino. This was not Walking uphills, this was CLIMBING. And I dare you to tell me that those arrows do not point in that direction...! Ok, at the point when I was in the midst of the climbing, when I said my heart would snap, there was no arrow. But there were several ones guiding me up that hill.
When I got to the summit - by crawling on hands and knees and where falling backwards would have broken my neck - and on to a new road amongst the olive groves, there was a bumper sticker, half torn away, on a sign. I drew the conclusion I should turn left. I could see a town a few kms away, to which the road descended. It is just that neither the climb, nor this long descent, figured on my map. I was therefore sure that this town couldn't be Olivares. I decided to go there anyway because after the climbing in the heat I was beaten. Running around up there searching for Olivares would have killed me. I just had to reach some sort of village, anyone would do.
To my great surprise, the yellow arrows appeared as I walked downhill. From where??? Apparently I had followed the Camino. Which surprised me, because half of the Mozarabe pilgrims would be dead by now if they had followed the same way as me. At the same time I was increasingly irritated over the fact that those changes in elevation, to put it mildly, didn't figure on the map???
In Olivares, I dragged myself into the first bar to order something to drink. In the bar there were ten to twelve men screaming at each other. There was no TV or music that made them do this: they were screaming instead of talking. I couldn't stand it so I ran away and luckily found a deserted bar in the center of the village, where I could get some rest.
I was only a few kms away from Moclín so I had to finish the stage. Now the afternoon was approaching and it got even hotter. When leaving Olivares the road splits in two. I inspected the spot but didn't see any arrows. So I took to the left. I walked 100% uphills (again) for at least half an hour, until I saw a town on the other side of the mountain. It made me suspicious as I felt I was walking in the direction that I came from. So I walked down again to the split and when looking closely I saw an arrow. I should have gone right. So this added another extra hour upphill-downhill to the stage. I thought that my five-year-old niece could have done a better jobb painting the arrows on this stage. (That was the least evil thing I said to myself this day. I prefer not to tell you the rest, or the moderators on the Forum will have a very busy day.)
The same was true for the mountain part on the way to Moclín. When there are four different paths crossing in all directions in front of you - who paints an arrow that just points somewhere up in the sky? I spent even more time up there looking for which path was the right one. Once I got to a wider road it was pretty obvious where to go, ok. But when a sign said Moclín 1.8 kms, it might as well have said 18 kms, I didn't care anymore. By now it was 4. 30 pm and I had been walking since 6 am.
Luckily I knew where the owner of the Casa Rural kept the key so I could walk right into the Casa when I arrived. What a relief. An enormous house with all the facilities. But all I could think of was to lay down and rest, to prevent the effects of a heat stroke. At least Moclín was some kind of reward as I really liked the pueblo, the bar and the casa rural... The owner came over later and gave me some info about Moclín and of the stage next day. The town is small so I met him again in the bar and we could keep on chatting about the camino. I watched some of the football in the bar, ate a heavy dinner and slept like a log until next morning...
To be continued
BP
