Distance: 14km
Elevation: 780m
Time: 4h49
Accommodation: El Molinero

I woke after a strangely restless night’s sleep.

At first, having an enormous manor house entirely to ourselves had felt like a luxury. Then, somewhere in the middle of the night, my imagination decided to turn against me. I kept reminding myself how incredibly safe Spain is, but when I checked my phone and realised there was no WiFi and no reception, every horror movie I have ever watched decided to replay itself in my head.

Completely ridiculous.

But I do have a vivid imagination. Sometimes it works against me. Sometimes it helps me write.

We settled into our now familiar morning routine. Twenty-eight conscious connected breaths, a felt sense meditation, Mum placing a few acupuncture needles into my neck, which had helped enormously the day before, packing our bags, doing the obligatory idiot check, taking an “outside the accommodation” selfie and setting off.

Before we could properly begin, however, Dario, our host, had invited us for coffee at his auberge about a kilometre down the road.

What we have since discovered is that Dario is somewhat of a legend in Spanish mountaineering circles. He has played a significant role in helping bring the sport to life in Spain, runs an adventure book publishing company and has been instrumental in helping revive this ancient pilgrimage route.

Knowing that now, it feels as though the interest should have been reversed.

Instead, he humbly spent the morning asking endless questions about us while barely mentioning his own accomplishments.

We sat with a few other guests, drank coffee, answered another round of questions and eventually continued on our way.

He also kindly took some beautiful photographs of us. Looking back, now that we understand more about his work as both a photographer and writer, perhaps we should have thanked him more. Then again, maybe that is part of the magic of travel. Sometimes you connect with people simply because you enjoy their company, without fully understanding who they are or what they have achieved.

As we walked away, I found myself feeling incredibly proud of my mum.

Her body has been so strong throughout this trip and she starts each day with genuine excitement. The last few mornings have felt a little harder for me. I have found myself slow to get going and struggling to find momentum.

Then today my period arrived.

And suddenly everything made sense.

The wonder of being a woman.

My silent walking practice this morning was spent dreaming.

Dreaming about the next chapter of my life, what I want it to look like, how I want it to feel, what qualities I hope my next partner brings into my life and what kind of love I want to surround myself with.

I dreamed about future breathwork events and opportunities with Healthy Hunnies.

I dreamed about more hikes with my mum.

And I found myself wondering whether there might be more to these adventures than we realise. People are constantly amazed by what we do, while Mum and I tend to shrug and see it as something completely normal.

Perhaps it isn’t.

The morning light was particularly beautiful and there is something about being awake and moving through the world at that hour that always fills me with gratitude.

Eventually we arrived at the most delightful little coffee stop.

El Respiro One.

A tiny wooden hut perched beside the road, shaded by beautiful trees and designed entirely around the idea of community.

As we sat drinking our coffee, I noticed writing all over the tables and initially felt a little disappointed. Then I spotted a sign explaining that guests were encouraged to leave messages and tag the café on Instagram.

Such a clever idea.

I immediately asked for the basket of pens and added our own message to the collection. There was something special about leaving a tiny piece of our story there.

Had we known what was waiting for us next, we might have ordered a snack too.

For the next five kilometres and almost two hours, we climbed.

And climbed.

And climbed some more.

The road seemed permanently stuck at around fourteen percent, sometimes even steeper, carrying us relentlessly from the valley floor towards the mountains above. The views were spectacular and, because we were now overlapping with the Camino Lebaniego, we started seeing more walkers.

Every single one of them was heading in the opposite direction.

Which finally explained the puzzled expressions we kept receiving whenever we told people where we were going.

Nobody can quite understand that we are not actually walking the Camino.

Trying to explain what we are doing usually takes several attempts.

The climb fully recruited the glutes and hamstrings, but if I’m honest, it felt good.

I do have that competitive edge in me and my body enjoys a challenge.

When we eventually reached the forest, the shade was glorious. It was noticeably more humid than anything we had experienced so far and by the time we stopped for a break we were both sweating.

Unfortunately, there were so many flies that lingering wasn’t particularly enjoyable.

So we carried on.

This did mean that once again we had completely failed to prioritise our nutrition.

By the time we had covered around twelve kilometres, I think I had consumed little more than a spoonful of nut butter and a stick of droëwors.

Not impressed, Natasha Day.

Thankfully, what followed was one of the most magical forests I have ever walked through.

If I had imagined an enchanted forest as a child, it would have looked exactly like this.

The forest floor was soft beneath our feet, layered with years of fallen leaves. Shafts of sunlight streamed through the canopy overhead. Ferns appeared wherever there was space. Ivy wrapped itself around trunks and branches, stretching upwards in search of light.

The rocks, tree roots and stone walls were covered in thick blankets of moss that looked impossibly soft.

I found myself imagining fairies and gnomes living amongst the trees. Potions being brewed in hidden corners. Butterflies carrying messages between creatures. Birds singing songs to anyone patient enough to listen.

I was completely captivated.

My writer’s mind was racing, desperately trying to find words worthy of what I was seeing.

I tried to capture it in photographs.

It is up to you whether I succeeded.

Unfortunately, by the time we emerged from the forest and began descending, both Mum and I could feel our blood sugar dropping rapidly.

Food had become a priority.

A very urgent priority.

I searched Google repeatedly but nothing seemed to be open and everything appeared frustratingly far away. The closest place serving food was nearly seven kilometres from where we stood.

That simply wasn’t happening.

So we bypassed an additional loop to a waterfall and headed directly towards our accommodation.

The manor house was protected by a magnificent black wrought iron gate. Mum filmed me as it slowly creaked open and we walked up the gravel driveway.

It felt incredibly cinematic.

Nobody was home when we arrived, but within a few minutes the lovely manager, David, appeared and helped us check in.

He immediately launched into suggestions for the area.

Perhaps we could hike up to the communications mast and see the highest viewpoint in the valley?

David.

No thank you.

Where can we get food?

Smiling, he explained that there was really only one option nearby. Alternatively, we could walk fifteen minutes to a food truck which may or may not be open.

At this point, my sense of humour was rapidly deteriorating.

We dumped our bags in our beautiful room, admired the endless views framed by stately windows, appreciated the high ceilings and original mirrors, took quick showers and immediately headed towards the only restaurant that might feed us.

By the time I arrived, I was operating at approximately minus one energy.

When I asked for the lunch menu, the distinctly uninterested barman informed me that the chef wasn’t there and might return at 2pm.

Might.

I opened Google Translate with more force than necessary and typed:

“But he will be back and there will definitely be food?”

He laughed.

“I don’t know. Do you want a beer?”

Fortunately, the chef did return and at 2pm we were finally rewarded with a delicious and desperately needed meal.

We shared a pasta with chorizo, a pork stew with rice and, most importantly, a very generous bowl of chocolate ice cream.

The ice cream was exceptional.

Good enough that we are already considering returning for another bowl this evening after a dip in the waterfall.

In fact, I know I need that swim.

The storms are beginning to gather and if I don’t finish writing soon, I may miss my chance.

So for now, I am putting down the laptop, pulling on my costume and heading towards the water.