Today, we made it to Córdoba - 40 kms in less than hour! From the bus station it was a quick taxi ride to our studio apartment in the old town - Hostal La Fuente, where they have hotel rooms on one side of the street and apartments on the other. In the taxi on the way here, we fell in love with Córdoba. Wow. And we are in a great location, in the heart of the old town, near the river - and less than 10 minutes walk from the Mezquita (maybe a little longer for The French at the moment). More on fabulous Córdoba tomorrow.
The French and I enjoyed the bus ride. After a cooler day yesterday, the temperature soared again today. We had read that the Camino path from Castro del Rio to Córdoba, as well as offering no towns, villages or other water source, had barely a tree along the way to provide a shady rest stop. Even the olive groves of the first five days disappear after Castro. We saw all of that in the distance from the comfort of the bus window. We both felt a sense of relief at the decision The French had taken the afternoon before. It would have been a difficult 40 kms in the best of circumstances!
So back to our afternoon in Castro del Rio. On reflection what follows may not be all that interesting to the reader - perhaps a case of 'had to be there' - and it's a bit of a long story, so you may want to skip to the photos. But, for me and The French, it was a surprising and delightful sequence of events we are not likely to forget. And a perfect example of how people can touch each others Iives and create special memories even without sharing a common language.
A quick recap. Our first stop on arrival in Castro del Rio was at Miguel's cafe for a coffee before trying to find the albergue in this town with its maze of white buildings in narrow winding streets.
I said in an earlier post that I would write about the accommodation options in Camino Mozarabe as they are not the same as other caminos I've walked. There are just not enough Peregrinos to make it viable for villages and towns on this section of the Mozarabe Way to have the typical pilgrim resting place - albergues (think youth hostel, dorm rooms etc). Castro del Rio was the first we had encountered with accommodation identified as an albergue - in this case, a municipal albergue meaning belonging to the town, not privately run. And it seemed to be the only option for a bed on the day we arrived.
So, with Miguel's help - in Spanish - we felt we understood the general direction, and sequence of up, left, right, straight, left, straight, right etc. On the way, in passing I noticed a beautiful internal courtyard (typical in Andalusia) and was surprised to find it was the local police station. A couple of photos and a short time later we found the albergue, locked, but with a number to call the policia, or so it said.
There was quite some activity in the street - not to do with us - and an elderly lady began to speak to us in rapid Spanish (is there any other way?). She was instructing us to telephone, telephone - at the same time that The French was retrieving his phone from his pack. We didn't like our chances with our limited Spanish. It's one thing to try to communicate in person, but quite another on the phone. Domi dialled the number with the plan to hand the phone to the lady who seemed keen to help us. As he did so, he got the distinct impression it was a recorded message - but that didn't stop our new friend from having a fairly lengthy, albeit one-sided, conversation. She hung up, handed the phone back and went on her way.
We weren't sure what to do next. We waited a little while, but no-one turned up. The French tried the number again. This time a person answered but did not seem to understand the French's Spanglish and the call was cut short. Given our experience later, I wonder if this was a wrong number - who knows. The French seemed exhausted (not surprisingly having walked 20 kms on an infected foot) and, unusually, not optimistic about the next step.
I said I knew where the police station was - he seemed a little dubious - because it had a beautiful courtyard and I stopped on the way to take some photos. But I wasn't entirely sure I would find my way back without getting lost. Travelling with The French, who has an excellent sense of direction and visual memory, I've tended to rely on him and not take as much notice as I usually would. And although he is unfailingly gallant, this time I felt I must insist that I try to find the police station and he should rest.
Though I wasn't confident, turns out it was easy. I found my way back with no problem. I entered the beautiful courtyard, and knocked on the door. There were two young policemen inside. With a few words - dos Peregrinos, albergue cerrado, abierto por favor - and a pleading smile, they soon produced the key! Voila. I then understood them to say they would need to see our passports, to which I pointed in the general direction of the albergue. No problem, they are open 24 hours and we could bring them back later. Smiles all around.
I almost ran back to the albergue. As I rounded the corner. I called out 'Hola Domi'. And dangled the key. He seemed extremely surprised, and very happy, that I had found my way back so quickly (or at all), key in hand.
After a short time settling in and freshening up in 'our' albergue, it was time for lunch. We decided to head back to Miguel's so we could thank him and try to explain our visit to the police station etc. he seemed very pleased to see us and, again, with no shared language we somehow managed to continue our 'conversation'. His tapas menu was filled with dishes we didn't recognise - all local specialities. We ordered glass of vino each and decided to ask him to choose a tapas dish for our light lunch. He seemed very pleased - as were we. Not sure what it was, but it was delicious.
As we were finishing up, Miguel retuned to the table and indicated that he wanted to show us something on his phone - pictures of a beautiful internal courtyard (the Spanish call them 'patios'). 'Andalusian' I said. 'Cordovian', he answered and we understood that this style was more particular to the Córdoba region. We told him how beautiful it was and he said it was the home of the mother of his wife, here in Castro del Rio. The next thing we knew he said he would call her and we could visit! We said we would not want to trouble her, but he insisted she would be very happy to meet us. This entire 'conversation' took place with him speaking Spanish and The French and I speaking English.
Next problem was how to explain the location of her house. He started to speak rapidly and to draw a very complicated map on a napkin. We were soon lost But at the same time he was pointing in the general direction up the hill towards the albergue. I had an idea. I got out my camera and started scrolling through the photos I'd taken earlier to see if we could find a nearby location. In no time, he stopped me at a photo of a plaza not far from the albergue. That became our starting point.
That's already way too many words. The rest of the story is told with the pictures below. What a magical afternoon.
Before I sign off - thanks so much to Cathy, Michael, Audrey and Helen C. for your good wishes for a quick recovery for The French. He took it easy today but still has a way to go. I'm pretty sure we will have a few extra nights here in Córdoba, before we make our next move. It will hardly be a hardship. We love this place already. More on that tomorrow.
Sending love and best wishes. Hasta luego
Jenny and The French. xxx
Our new amigo, Miguel
Albergue Municipale
An official visit to the police station, in hope they would let us in.
The 'visitor' book with just 90 comments since January 2014- this one showing special appreciation from another French.
With packs settled and after a quick 'refresh' it was time to head back to town for a late, light lunch. To show our appreciation to Miguel for directing us to the albergue we made our way back to his cafe.
A photo I'd taken earlier - Miguel used this to explain the location of Isabel's house. Go down the narrow street on left side of the centre building turn left, the turn right - not in words, he drew it on a napkin.
Miguel phoning his mother-in-law Isabel to let her know we are on our way.
Isabel and her grandson at the door. She welcomed us with a warm smile - he wasn't so sure.
What a privilege to visit this private home - such a beautiful example of a Cordovian courtyard (patio).
Leaving Isabel's street.
Later, on our way to dinner (at Miguel's cafe again - where else), back to the police station to provide our passports and say muchas muchas gracias. I asked if they would pose for a photo. The bald one spoke a few English words and told us no-one had ever asked to have a photo with them before. They seemed genuinely touched that we were so grateful and wanted a photo. And were even more delighted when we told them there were some lovely comments about the local police in the Peregrinos book in the albergue. The bald one told his colleague and said they would go and have a look! What fun to meet them!
Leaving our 'house' in Castro del Rio this morning.
Coffee in another Castro del Rio cafe this morning before heading to the bus stop. Not Miguel's, this time. He explained that there was an important football match on last night so it would be a very late night at his bar - and he wouldn't be opening this morning til around 11 am. The Spanish way.
Just a few hours later, we are enjoying late desayuno in Córdoba, a very short stroll from our apartment.
And the French begins his rest and recovery in the delightful Cordovain patio of our Hostal.
