The Sherry Triangle

left La Banda early and it was only when I was walking out of it that morning did I appreciate how Sevilla sprawled southwards, calling for the relief of the sea. The night shift guy didn't seem too pleased that I wanted my toast and tea so early, and I mumbled my apologies sleepily, feeling underprepared for the hike after a weekend of drinking and no rest. I passed the usual strip joints, one which was slightly disturbing, with a female mannequin beckoning out of the window for a night of seedy lovemaking. The first day after a break is not usually that hard, your muscles have forgotten to hurt and you rediscover the novelty factor to a certain extent. The second day is a drag because you realise you have to do it all over again. I found a room to stay in at a family pensiones and the woman came in half way through my nap to pick some oregano from the plant on my windowsill.

The next days walk to Las Cabezas was a killer. The path zig zagged when there was own and when there wasn't the road felt hard and endless beneath my feet. There was less general interest in what I was doing by passers by which I should have appreciated but sometimes it felt unfriendly. As midday approached I saw sadly that the road diverged far west of my final destination before dropping down for another three miles. Just then a lorry with plants in the back slowed next to me and two council labourers asked me if I wanted a lift. I hopped in with my rucksack on my lap and the elder guy mowed down that awful dog leg in 7 minutes whilst the younger had his arm across me, tapping cigarette ash out the window. They dropped me at the turning for Las Cabezas and I marched up the hill that would eventually drop down to the town. A hippy van passed me, hooting with encouragement but I would have preferred a lift and with the town in my sights I decided to take a nap in a crook of the hill. I jumped off the road and into a field where buttery snails clustered the stalks of crops and various six legged creatures went about their business. I lay down and dreamed in and out of consciousness for the rest of the afternoon, catching snippets of the audiobook I'd put on. When I got into town, the hostal I'd found was shut down and it seemed that there was nowhere else to stay, until I asked a waitress at a snail bar and she pointed to a sign. A Camino sign. Above a bar. I marched towards it, swinging my pack around like a proud Brownie who'd just earned her orienteering badge. I went into the bar, asked for the keys, got the number for the guy who had the keys, called the guy, waited in the bar and was stared at, dishy Albergue guy arrives with keys and opens the door to a bloody nice apartment with a washing machine! Wave off dishy Albergue guy manically and rush to get guacamole to celebrate. Fully vegetabled on the sofa, I watched the weather report and saw freaky electric storms coming my way. I guess I wouldn't be walking tomorrow. 

Two days later I arrived in Jerez and was surprised by the number of tourists in the town. I found a small room close to the centre of the town and after a sleep I decided to go and find the anthropological museum. After an hour or so of getting lost and discovering a very beautiful church, my attention was diverted to finding a pistachio ice cream, which was similarly fruitless so I settled for a banana and caramel. The acrid taste stayed with me as I turned in for the night and dreamed of seeing the sea the next day.

By 10 o'clock I had arrived in El Puerto de Santa Maria and found a hostal which was meant to be closed for the weekend because of the local feria but they let me stay anyway. I walked along the beach and tried to think about what it all meant, me being here, wether it was at all significant, even to me. The trip had been fraught with frustration and disappointment but not the sort of hero worthy challenge I had hoped for. Maybe because I was afraid, I repelled the very thing I was looking for. The ocean spread out in front of me like a big full stop, interrupted only by the peninsula of Cadiz. Tomorrow I would take the boat out but I couldn't help feeling I should swim, the way monks wear horse hair vests. I shoved my hands in my pockets. Insatiable.