Camino People (3)

I reached Zafra on Wednesday 20 January. To get there I walked the last few kilometres beside the railway line. An unpromising entrance: dog turds, rubbish dumps, stacked sections of railway track in the ill-kempt station yard. I tried to climb a locked metal gate, but eventually found the right way through. There was a long - a very long - street leading to the town centre. I was tired and wanted a shower, a beer, a bite to eat. I booked into the Hostal Carmen, and was given a lovely double room - with heating! This was more like a nice hotel than a hostal. The first thing I noticed above my bed was this picture - monogrammed 'FW', the initials of my father, who died just over a year ago, and to whom I dedicated this pilgrimage...

Later I found a groovy new bar - with gorgeous, soft red wine de la casa, and tapas to-die-for. The girl behind the bar was the owner of the place, and she was as welcoming as sunshine, smiling and open as summer sunflowers, black-haired and beautiful. She beckoned a regular customer from Barcelona to join me. We talked about this and that, about the Camino, the weather, the town of Zafra - and how it was just like a miniature version of Seville.

And later still, when I came to pay, she told me my Catalan friend - who had left some minutes before - had paid for me. I expressed my gratitude and astonishment. She winked, with an amused look on her face. 'Es España!' she beamed.