After settling up with Nieves, I set off at around 9 again. The Spanish hikers staying at the hostel had already left by car for their day’s hiking.
This would be the first day when I veered off the trail as described in the Recto-Verso guide. It had been impossible to find accommodation in Villel, the next planned stop (the only hotel was closed for family reasons and the contact that its owner had given me for an apartment rental had never replied to my emails) and so I would be heading for a village called Tramacastiel around 5 km south of Villel before connecting with the original trail again the next day.
The day’s first steps took me through the centre of Riodeva, which was a pretty little place with a fine church tower.
From the village centre, I headed downhill along the main road out of the town to the valley below. At a bend in this road, I veered off onto a very stony track that headed uphill quite steeply for an ascent of about 400 metres. It was very tough going, as shown by the photo below.
Fortunately, there were magnificent views all the way along, notably of a rock face on the other side of the valley with different colored strata. At first, I thought it was a quarry, but the lack of any visible activity or quarrying installations around seemed to indicate that it was a perfectly natural formation.
The end of this steep climb was marked by a cross and a cairn onto which I tossed a stone in passing, relieved that the climb was over.
After this rather tough beginning to the day, I found myself on a gently descending path that was a delight to walk on. Wildflowers were blooming on every side, bees were hard at work, the air was filled with all kinds of different birdsong. And otherwise, total silence reigned. No sounds of distant traffic and not even a plane passing overhead. And the pure air was fragrant with all kinds of different mountains herbs, not just the thyme that the lady in Arcos de las Salinas had mentioned, but many others too. At times, I felt I’d just stepped into a luxury perfume store.
This very pleasant section of trail ended with another rocky and stony patch that had to be negotiated to descend to the valley below. The trail was hard to pick out at times, but once again Komoot proved infallible.
And, once I emerged onto the dirt road along the valley, I found myself walking through groves of almond trees. There were no farms around, but the trees were clearly well looked after. I took my lunch break in one of these groves where I spent about an hour relaxing in the shade, well out of the pretty intense sun, even though it was not that hot a day.
After this break, I set off downhill again, passing more almond groves and some spectacular red rocky hills.
At the end of this descent, I reached the bottom of the valley and came across a phenomenon that I would encounter again over the coming days: one of the numerous ghost villages in the area. The village of El Campo had clearly been quite a thriving place at some point in the past, but now all its buildings were ruins, except for the village chapel that was in perfect condition. It was an eerie spot and I didn’t linger too long there.
From El Campo, my steps led me over the river flowing along the valley. This was where I veered off the trail that should have taken to Villel to head for Tramacastiel instead. From the bridge across the river, it was a trail of my own devising and I quickly realized that I had misread the contour lines on the map. I was expecting a climb of 100 m to the ridge above the village, but instead it turned out to be a 300 m climb. I felt like a real idiot when the truth finally dawned. Plus, it was a pretty steep climb. At least it was on forest trails rather than stony hiking paths.
It was a relief to reach the top of the climb and immediately begin to descend down the other side towards the village. It was some way below and I couldn’t see it right away. But there were magnificent views of the valley and a narrow gorge opposite. I hoped that my route out the next day would not take me up that gorge as it looked pretty narrow and steep (but, of course, that proved to be my way out of the valley).
The trail led downhill in a series of switchbacks and, after a while, I spotted a chapel below that marked the entrance to the village. From there, it was just a short walk to the centre and my hotel near the church. I was greeted by the lovely owner and rather than go straight to my room, I decided to have a drink on the terrace. She had a terrific array of craft beers from Zaragosa, one of which was made with honey and mountain herbs, notably the fragrant thyme. It was truly delicious, so much so that I had to have a second one.
On my way into the village, I had noticed small figurines of witches in nearly every window,  then a life-size effigy of a witch just opposite the hotel. While I was sitting on the terrace having my beers, a number of little old ladies came along and all vanished into the hotel. When I had finished my beers and went in to get my key, I found them all gathered around a table in a dark room just off the restaurant. After the eerie ghost village, the local witches’ coven was the last thing I need that day, so I quickly took my key and went up to my room,  apologizing in my pathetic Spanish for disturbing them (and hoping they wouldn’t cast a spell on me for doing so!)
Dinner was at the hotel with the owner, just like Nieves the day before, bustling to and fro to serve everyone (the hotel was pretty full with weekenders). The standard menu at €12 included a starter, a main course, dessert, a bottle of mineral water, and a full bottle of wine! A simple but delicious meal that was more than welcome after such a tough day.
This was the evening of the Eurovision song contest, and I witnessed quite an amazing scene when the Spanish contestant performed. A TV had been installed in the restaurant for the occasion and all the Spaniards gathered round and sang along with their contestant, before giving a long round of applause and cheers of Viva España at the end of her performance. They then ignored the rest of the contest. Too bad this popular fervor didn’t help Spain win that year.
Footsteps 