Béjar to Guijuelo, Spain

We knew it was going to be a wet ride from Béjar to our next destination, Guijillo. We have managed mostly to work around any rain on this trip. Forecasts have been very accurate and we have paid attention to them - staying put if needed. But we had a booking in Guijuelo and we were within 2 days cycling of our end destination, Salamanca, so we “girded our loins” as they say, and headed off after a very nice breakfast in Hostal Extremo in Béjar.

We carefully rode on wet pavement down the steep hill from the town that we had ridden up the previous day and back up onto the Via Verde, the imposing walls of the town fading into the mist and low cloud. We were up high again, just on a different hill and the rail grade would continue to transport us pretty comfortably through a rocky, wintery landscape - until it didn’t.

We eventually got to a spot where it was clear they had recently removed the track ties as they were stacked in big piles along the path, but the path had not yet been properly resurfaced. After the night’s rain, it was a muddy mess. We walked the bikes through it as best we could to see if it would improve but decided to divert to a country road that provided another route to Guijuelo. While we were initially disappointed, it turned out to be a fortuitous change of route.

It was a lovely smoothly-paved rural road with no traffic that took us through one little village and then to another. By this time, it was really raining hard. I was pretty good on the upper half of my body with my waterproof cycling jacket but my rain pants were wet through as were my shoes, socks and gloves. However, it really was the only time we got soaked on this trip.

We rode across an old stone bridge into the little village of Peromingo and Jim was musing about a coffee stop. I was doubtful. However, we heard music and drumming coming from the town and eventually saw a tented area with people milling around. We rode up and found ourselves in the midst of a local annual festival called Fiesta de La Matanza Traditional or the Pig Slaughter Festival. Vegan and vegetarian readers warning - further viewing of this blog may cause trauma! This occurs in many towns in the fall to early spring, where a locally raised pig that has grown to between 300 to 600 lbs is butchered. Yielding a huge amount of meat, it helps unite and bind whole communities, the meat being shared amongst the townspeople, with every bit of the pig used.

We walked up to the tent and immediately saw a freshly killed enormous pig lying on its back on a wood pallet on the ground and several men working on slicing into its underbelly and pulling out entrails. There were many women and children in traditional dress - full skirts, colourful shawls and kerchiefs and men in berets. Two wood fires were burning, one with a tripod for pots of food that people were bringing in and one to cook the pig. I found it utterly amazing and fascinating that we had by chance stumbled upon this most traditional of events on a wet Saturday in a tiny Spanish village. I was surprised that I did not feel the least bit queasy looking at the dead pig being gutted as it just seemed to be a natural part of rural Spanish life, as it once existed.

We were however too wet and cold to stand around for long and had actually seen a little bar close by. It looked to be the only commercial enterprise in this very small village and as we wheeled our bikes over and parked them under a convenient overhang, I had my fingers crossed that it was actually open and serving. It was! And better yet, there was a stove with a real fire burning in it and a table right in front. We took off what wet clothes we could, ordered two cafe con leches and felt like we were the luckiest people ever. Ask and you shall receive - sometimes. Coffee and warmth have never felt so good. We sat there for a long time drying out a bit, enjoying watching the local traffic come in and out in their traditional dress. I complimented this woman on her outfit and asked if I could take a photo of her and she graciously complied.

Reluctantly, we finally made a move as the rain had stopped. I walked my bike over to the tent where the crowd was as I wanted to get a few more photos. I saw that in the time we had been in the cafe, the whole pig was now completely dismembered and hanging on a rack. Immediately, a very friendly man came up to me and we tried a little bit of a conversation about the weather and the event, most of which I could not understand of course. He then insisted on going to get me a coffee from the tables at the back. Who was I to refuse such an offer and when Jim arrived, he insisted on getting him one too. Then he came back with a bowl of stew and some cookies. Jim tasted the stew and said that besides meat he thought there was fish in it too so I refrained. I told him we were from Canada and then he must have said something to some other women and they came up to talk to us too. They were such warm, friendly people who saw weird wet strangers and made a real effort to include us in their festivities. We finally tore ourselves away and called out “Adios” to our new friends. I am sorry not to have a photo of this but it seemed like the entire gathering responded and waved goodbye as we left. I think that warmed me up even more that the stove in the little cafe.

On we went on winding, hilly country roads through another small village with not a soul in sight. It was absolutely beautiful, if somewhat desolate, with all the old rock walls, and treed slopes even on a heavily overcast day.

I have been on the lookout for the Roman mile markers and finally saw one that day. They are stone columns, known as milaria or milestones that served as vital waypoints in the vast, interconnected Roman Empire. They were carved with inscriptions and Latin numerals, often with the name of the emperor or local authorities, and symbolized Roman cultural and political dominance.

We were also surprised to run into a Camino walker on this deserted little road, on such a dreary day, though it was a Camino route as indicated by this yellow arrow. When you see someone in the middle of nowhere, or so it seemed, you want to know more, and we had a brief chat with Axel from southern Germany who is walking the Camino in stages as many Europeans seem to do.

We were climbing gradually much of the day and then found ourselves finally doing a long descent into the small town of Guijuelo, still perched at 1009 m., population 5500. The archeological remains confirm settlement here before the Romans. It was repopulated during the Middle Ages when it was a bastion defending the border of Leon against Castile. It grew further with the arrival of the Via de la Plata railway in 1896. Guijuelo is famous for its jamon - hams and sausages of Iberian pigs - some of which I saw on the road coming in, rooting happily in the mud as pigs like to do. Apparently there are 173 companies in Guijuelo dedicated to this industry, employing 65% of the working population. It is considered to have an economically privileged population with one of the highest capital incomes in Spain. Who knew?

We had the one hotel we could find booked, on the edge of the town. We were not able to check-in until til 3 however - no one would be at hotel reception until them, I guess due to few guests. There was a lovely horse in the field behind the hotel so we had a chat.

We headed back into town. I was in need of warmth and some food as I had not had the stew Jim had at the pig festival. We found the main square and a busy little bar and got a table. They had great looking tapas and I had several plates and we enjoyed watching the locals socialize until it was time to head back to the hotel.

Hotel Entredos, a 3 star (€77/night) turned out to be lovely, even though on the edge of town, it didn’t have much of a view - mainly of the old train station and some not wonderful architecture beyond.

But it was modern and tastefully decorated - even the hallways were nice - and we had a spacious room. We were able to store our bikes in the underground parkade with an elevator back to our room. The hotel restaurant wasn’t open and we could have walked back into town later for something to eat but neither of us was hungry enough to make the effort. It really was cold out and we had paid for a buffet breakfast the next morning.

I think the same festival was going on here as well, and about 11 pm we could hear music and announcements emanating from the downtown area where we had seen a big tent set up. No doubt there was a pig roast in progress. Closing the window was enough to eliminate the sound and we had a good night. Boy, they start partying late though!

We were surprised to other people in the breakfast room when we went down. We felt like we had been the only ones in the hotel. The couple at the next table were driving back to the Netherlands from Portugal and as frequent tourists there, she confirmed our decision not to bike there, saying they used to take their bikes but decided it was just too dangerous on the roads. Surprisingly, the breakfast buffet was one of the best we have had. And I loved this painting, very reminiscent of so many scenes along the path.

While we were eating, Jim pointed out the window and - it was snowing! Snowing!!! And I noticed this young boy in ski clothes. Yikes, what are we doing here? The horse in the field right beside the hotel was also not impressed. I took him an apple from the breakfast buffet and he seemed happier.

We waited it out before we left, less concerned about the day ahead as we were descending to a lower elevation. The very nice reception guy agreed we would soon leave the snow behind and also confirmed that the rail line path that we noticed directly below the hotel was usable, possibly as far as Salamanca. Good news! So we departed the little town of Guijuelo for our last day on the cycle path. Let it snow, sleet or rain - Salamanca here we come!

Our day - 30 km. Elevation - 416 m.

Our day - 30 km. Elevation - 416 m.