Sat, 31 Oct 1998
Fri, 30 Oct 1998
Friday: Santander // at 00:00
Today: 116.3km
Trip: 3103.5km
Avg: ??km/hr
Riding: ??
An absolutely magical day for my last day of riding in Spain. Blue sky, no wind, and a balmy autumn feel to the air. I left around 9:30 this morning, riding along the beach and my bike felt terrible! It was all twitchy and jumpy since this was the first day in almost six weeks that I've ridden with empty panniers!
Where?
Thu, 29 Oct 1998
Wed, 28 Oct 1998
Tue, 27 Oct 1998
Mon, 26 Oct 1998
Monday: San Sebastian // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 2711.2km
Avg: 0km/hr
Riding: 0
In the morning I walked up the hill and around the castle and fortifications, everything was all very wet and green, water dripping out of stone ceilings, moss growing everywhere.
I was sitting and thinking of all the little things I've seen, things I probably haven't written down, things I'll probably forget...
- the goat giving birth in the pouring rain, with the farmer standing by.
- the giant slug on the road
- the little boy on a bike that I raced in Portugal
- the storks, the little snake crossing the road, the road-kill toads and owls.
- the lack of public toilets, and subsequent piles of shit and paper at every castle and monument through the country
- the amazing number of monastries and convents, had me wondering how many people lived outside of them!
Where?
Sun, 25 Oct 1998
Sat, 24 Oct 1998
Fri, 23 Oct 1998
Thu, 22 Oct 1998
Thursday: Agramunt to Barbastro // at 00:00
Today: 109.12km
Trip: 2332.2km
Avg: 20.6km/hr
Riding: 5hr 16’ 22”
I managed to leave around 9:30 this morning and spent the first half of the day riding through flat, ordinary, honest farmland. Mostly piggeries and corn-fields, it was almost pleasant to be just riding — no touristy things to gawk at, no fabulous destination — just riding along, getting gradually closer to Pamplona.
Sticking to the back-roads I had a very quiet day, its feeling very autumnal all of a sudden, after weeks of the south and the coast. Further inland and further north I guess, there's a coolness in the air and the smell of autumn leaves.
Feeling quite tired and a bit sore for most of the day; I'm sure I overdid it in the first few weeks and I'm still not really eating enough. Lunch was a very welcome bocadillo con tortilla at ??.
Cruising along with my thoughts again, spent quite a lot of time thinking about a few friends and when we last spoke.
I contemplated riding on to Huesca but it would be a further 50 km and I don't think I'm up to it, or would collapse if I did, so stopped and spent the night at Barbastro. Barbastro is a very pleasant old town with a very run-down feel to it. As I wrote this I was sitting in the shade having a beer, looking at the autumn leaves blowing about.
An early dinner of fiddly char-grilled rabbit which had me smacking my lips and covered from head to toe in small bones and tasty morsels! Since I was so tired I had an early dinner, alone in the café then went back to bed for an early night.
Where?
Wed, 21 Oct 1998
Wednesday: Montserrat to Agramunt // at 00:00
Today: 118.3km
Trip: 2221.8km
Avg: 20.7km/hr
Riding: 5hr 42’
8:30 am and I found myself sitting half-way up the mountains watching the sun rise up out of the Meditteranean and over Barcelona, gradually lighting up the rocks around me. I left in the dark, coming out at about 7:30 to climb to the top, but with no map, no light and unmarked tracks criss-crossing the mountain I had only instinct to guide me, so I just kept heading up until I found a good rock to sit on, then sat on it!
Where?
Tue, 20 Oct 1998
Tuesday: Barcelona to Montserrat // at 00:00
Today: 63.36km
Trip: 2103.2km
Avg: 13.6km/hr
Riding: 4hr 37’ 4”
Getting out of Barcelona was a bit of a nightmare. None of the minor roads seemed to be signposted and I kept getting directed back towards the Autovias — of course bikes aren't allowed on the Autovias, so I had to keep turning around and heading back the way I'd come. It took me from 10:15 to about 12:30 to get out of the city, a grand total of around 20 kilometres! Even then the so-called “minor” road had solid truck traffic on it and went for miles through industrial estates.
Turning off at Marotrell towards Olessa was a huge relief, the traffic dwindled to nothing and I just cruised along in the sun besides the river. I could see Montserrat mountain for ages before I circled around it and got to Monistrol de Montserrat. There were a few hostels in the town but I decided to try and ride all the way up with my luggage.
Not regretting that ride, 10km of climbing, 45 minutes of riding and fantastic views.
Once at the top I had a very expensive cold drink and walked around for a while. Chatted to Tony, a spanish cyclist who had just ridden up the hill for a bit of exercise, then ran into two of the Canadian girls from the hostel in Barcelona. They were amazed that I'd got here and declared me to be completely mad.
Where?
Mon, 19 Oct 1998
Monday: Barcelona // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 2032.9km
Avg: km/hr
Riding:
Another day of being a tourist. I shouldn't have bothered with the two day bus pass yesterday. There was very little that I felt like seeing today — I was all museumed out. Did a bit of wandering around the shops this morning and saw a reasonable looking leather coat for 55000P, but not good enough to grab me.
I got off the bus at the bottom of Montjuc and found that half the places were closed since it was Monday, the other half were closed since it was siesta time! Walked up the mountain and looked at two very different views. To the north-east is the city and port, all very pretty, to the south-west is just miles of container shipping docks, incredibly industrial and industrious.
Coming back down the mountain I went on a huge walk down to the bay then around the beach, feeling mellow and thinking about friends I hadn't heard from for a while. I think being on my birthday in the one town I didn't like was what had started this off, then this morning I'd managed to check my email and got a couple of messages from parents and friends.
Later on I got completely lost walking back up from the beach and ended up at the Arc d Triumphe, turned north instead of west and it took me ages to get back to the hostel, stupidly wandering about with far too much money in my pocket since I'd just been to the bank.
Back at the hostel I found that someone had been fiddling with my bike and had removed the front wheel and left it on the ground next to the rest of the bike. I then went through a huge rigmarole with the hostel staff since they wouldn't let me bring the bike inside the hostel, then a tenant from downstairs started telling me off since the hostel guests are forbidden from storing bikes in the courtyard and must keep them inside the hostel! Eventually the hostel staff decided that she couldn't really remember one way or the other and let me put the bike in my room.
Where?
Sun, 18 Oct 1998
Sunday: Barcelona // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 2032.9km
Avg: 0km/hr
Riding: 0
Spent the day being a tourist on the bus, I should probably have only bought a one-day ticket since I managed to see nearly all the places I was interested in. And that was all the Gaudi buildings and Parc Guell.
I could have bought dozens of books on Gaudi and his works but resisted the lot since I'm not carrying them with me! The price of things in Barcelona is denting my budget too.
Most of the people from the hostel decided to go to dinner at a restaurant nearby, after getting there at 8:15 the doors weren't open so we strolled along Las Ramblas for a while, then came back at quarter to nine to find a queue stretching half-way round the block! The place was huge inside, with a main floor, raised mezzanine and a basement room that we occupied, food was fantastic and the service quick. I can see why it is so popular with the queues! Now if only I could remember it's name...
After dinner some went home, the rest of us went out for more desserts and coffee and beers and a good time, then came home in the rain. First time it has rained for weeks.
An excellent day, but the bike and bags are now drenched from being out in the courtyard in the rain.
Where?
Sat, 17 Oct 1998
Saturday: Barcelona // at 00:00
Today: 0km
Trip: 2032.9km
Avg: 0km/hr
Riding: 0
7:30am, sitting in Barcelona bus terminal after a horrible night in the bus. The bus was smoky, the guy in front snored and the lady sitting next to me smoked even though it was the non-smoking half. Her reasoning — the smoking half was full and like most Spaniards, she smokes.
Observations from the night: The bike survived but the bar-ends rub on the top tube when all folded back, and the whole Spanish coast is an ugly mass of resort hotels, concrete boxes stretching to infinity.
For the first time I was too early to get a bed in a hostel, all the people told me to come back after 10am, so guess what, had a couple of coffees while I waited, then got a bed in the first place I tried.
A shower and unpack then off to be a tourist around Barcelona, which is all a little overwhelming since Barcelona is so big and there's so much to see!
Picasso musem was next and found some figure sketches I liked, together with some almost luminous pastels that I enjoyed, but most of his later works didn't interest me. By this stage my legs were tired and the overnight bus ride was starting to catch up with me as I headed down to the harbour to look at the rich peoples' boats... and then to pay a rich person's entry fee to get into the aquarium.
It was an excellent aquarium, huge and well laid out with impressive displays, shame about the number of people who hammered on every glass panel to get a reaction from the fish, despite all the signs telling them not to.
Nearly asleep on my feet I walked across to the Maritime museum, again fairly impressive, but nowhere near as crowded as the aquarium. And definitely unlike the streets, which are packed with people. Barcelona is the first place I've been where it feels that it could be dangerous to go walking down the wrong street.
Lashed out and paid the money to have a laundrette wash all my clothes, the time has definitely come to get rid of the rotting sock smell that infests my bag.
Spent the evening chatting with the mixed collection of Canadians, Americans and a couple of Aussies, had dinner and a bottle of wine, then tried to go out since it was Saturday night, I was so tired I just gave up and went home early to bed.
Where?
Fri, 16 Oct 1998
Friday: Almeria // at 00:00
Today: 22.59km
Trip: 2032.9km
Avg: 6.1km/hr
Riding: 3hr 33’ 33”
Happy birthday to me.
Stuck in a town I don't like, and I can't really figure out how to get away from quick enough.
11:30 and I've been rolling gently around town, I checked out of the hostel and got a pleasant surprise paying the bill, less than I expected, then went back and forth between bus and train stations, neither making very much sense to me so off to the tourist information and found that the next train to Barcelona is on Sunday, so I booked a bus ticket for this evening.
After a few restorative coffees I rode up to the Alcozabar along what is possibly the steepest road so far, I couldn't see anywhere to park the bike so didn't go inside. From the top of the hill I could look down on a rehabilitation area for Saharan animals with lots of antelope type things. Have I said how hot and dry it is here?
Then rode down and along the beach foreshore for another coffee or two and tried to ring my parents but the phone rejected both my credit cards as not valid. With heart in mouth I went back to town and used the card at an autoteller so I guess he phone system just didn't like my cards.
Large pizza for lunch near the ferry dock then once more along the beach and coasted along staring at my computer to watch the odometer tick over 9,000.0 km. More coffee, spent the afternoon watching the beach, the misty hills, the girls and the world.
7:30pm and I found the bus and got a complete telling off in vehement Spanish from a bus driver who didn't want my bike on his bus. I tried to explain that the tourist office had said it was ok and he relented to the extent that I had to completely strip the bike and stuff it all into a tiny little compartment next to the engine. I'm not sure that the door to the compartment closes properly so my bike may end up somewhere along the highway. Thinking about it, the only irreplacable thing in there is my last notebook, so next time I get access to my bag it is going into my bumbag.
During the early evening we drove through the desolate areas where all the old spaghetti westerns were filmed.
Went to sleep after staring at mile after mile of ugly concrete coastal development.
Where?
Thu, 15 Oct 1998
Wed, 14 Oct 1998
Tue, 13 Oct 1998
Mon, 12 Oct 1998
Sun, 11 Oct 1998
Sat, 10 Oct 1998
Fri, 09 Oct 1998
Thu, 08 Oct 1998
Thursday: Cordoba to Sevilla // at 00:00
Today: 151.91km
Trip: 1392.8km
Avg: 23.6km/hr
Riding: 6hr 23’ 49”
Time to head off on the bike... It's around nine in the morning, I'm sitting in a café opposite the Mezquita being smiled at by the girl who works here, sipping an excellent coffee. It's a tough life...
Compared to yesterday, this morning was bliss. I got up, packed up, put my seat up, then got out without having to break out! A quick breakfast and reread a letter from Jo, then the normal morning chores of counting the money and working out how much I spent yesterday.
Eeek! Somehow I can't account for all the money! p3500 seems to be missing. Hmmm, breakfast, coffee, snacks, dinner, room, beers... Aha! It's yesterday's room bill. Phew.
It was a magic day riding out of Cordoba, despite one slight detour, the first 20km along the river were dead flat and I found I was just cruising along at 30km/hr or more, grinning like a fool and singing out loud.
Somewhere just after Almodovar I tried to be clever and put on my sunglasses while riding, no mean feat when the bike is fully laden with panniers. The hill got steeper, the bike got faster, the glasses got tangled in my shirt and I lost concentration. A loud BANG!, followed by thwap, thwap, thwap.... I'd hit an odd chunk of metal that was lying on the road and it had punctured my tyre. Not just the tyre either! It had gone in through the tyre and tube, out through the tube, through the rim tape and punched a hole in the box section of the wheel rim itself! Luckily it came out when it was flung around or it would have shredded the tyre open, as it is, I've had to put a bandage of ruined tube around the inside of the torn spot. No more spare tubes now and I'm determined not to be cocky, no matter how good I'm feeling just keep concentrating on riding!
More flat and cruisy riding along the valley, although I was now erring on the side of caution and stopping to check the damaged tyre every 10km or so, making sure that the tear hadn't worsened and that nothing else had happened!
Lunch under some gum trees at about 90km or so, definitely not as good as my last lunch on the road on the way to Montoro, the bread roll had dried out and was very stale.
Arrived in Sevilla in good time then got disoriented riding in and ended up being turned around and coming down along the river, then stopped at the Tourist Info. for a map and a hostel list. On the way out a guy was busy touting for one hostel and had just grabbed two very tired looking Candaian girls and offered them a triple room. I asked him about single rooms and he just didn't have any, tried to fit me in with the two girls but they wouldn't share with a scruffy Australian cyclist, so he directed me off in down the street and told me to go La Cruces de Patio. The name sounded vaguely familiar and I pulled out Jo's letter and found she'd stayed there a few months ago.
More disorientation, I stopped at a corner to check my map and a guy on a moped started offering me a room “just a minute away”. He sounded very suspect and wouldn't tell me the name or the address, just “follow me,” and “along here a little.” Handed me a business card and it was for La Cruces de Patio, I guess I was doomed to stay there!
Where?
Wed, 07 Oct 1998
Wednesday: Montoro to Cordoba // at 00:00
Today: 50.05km
Trip: 1238.3km
It took me until 10:30 to break out of my room! The strange door handle and combined lock crumbled and broke apart when I tried to open it, leaving me stuck on the inside! I had to unscrew half the doorknob in order to get out. I tried to rehearse how to say in Spanish that I'd broken the lock, but when I went downstairs to pay, two tourist busses had just arrived and the barman was busy with coffees and brandies, he just gave me a quick smile, grabbed my money and raced back up the bar. I rode off — rather quickly — with a guilty feeling, and half expecting to see the hotel owner racing up behind me!
The 40km to Cordoba turned into 50, and were a major hassle. Bikes are not allowed on the Autovia and there doesn't appear to be an alternate route. A half-plowed farm track zig-zags along on one side or the other, degenerating into a plowed field in places, and crossing back under the Autovia through low culverts. Very heavy and slow going.
A note to those who may follow: Stay off the N-IV!
One funny moment was when I came over the brow of a field and saw two police cars parked side-ways across the dirt road at the bottom of the hill. My guilty conscience about the hotel door caused my heart to leap into my mouth, I half expected to be hauled back to Montoro. Nothing of the kind, it was just two highway patrol cars parked off the main road while the officers relaxed in the sun with a coffee!
I was hot and tired when I finally made my way in through Cordoba, missed the tourist office and had to double back. The first couple of places I tried were booked out so I half paniced and took a double room as the only room available at the next place, rather than keep on looking and risk missing out entirely.
The rest of the afternoon I looked around the tourist shops, all of which I enjoyed far more than the same in Toledo. There's lots of leather and ceramics, nothing I really wanted, or wish to carry on a bike! There are masses of handbags and a few half-decent hats, but the largest I could find was a size 60 and wouldn't go on my head — un cabo grande. After shopping I headed around towards the Alcazar, somewhere walking around the outside I was stopped by a police car and told off — I think. I have no idea what I was doing wrong though, the safest approach seemed to be to smile, nod, and walk off in the direction that he was pointing. Maybe I wasn't meant to walk on the grass.
Followed the tourist throng into the Mesquita — 800p entrance fee, a bit of a shock — and it was magnificent. Shame that the christians made such a mess of the building turning the mosque into a cathedral! Slightly annoying with the constant flickering and flashing of all the (forbidden) cameras, but the guards were ignoring them, so I did too.
A fascinating effect studying the building, focus on the details of a niche or a wall or a chapel and it appears to be Christian. Step back and look at the larger structures and it changes completely, back to Muslim, impossible to disguise.
Where?
Tue, 06 Oct 1998
Tuesday: Ciudad Real to Montoro // at 00:00
Make k's while the sun shines...
Today: 168.2km
Trip: 1185.9km
It was a very long day, not really tiring, just so many things happened!
The sun was out when I left at 9, but it was only about 10°C or less, I was glad I'd put on my warm jersey for the first time. I grabbed some pastries from a café and headed out of town.
Feeling pretty good, I initially thought I'd see about riding all the way to Cordoba — guessing that it might be around 140-150km. The first road sign I saw was a very large, and very clear “Cordoba 198km.” There goes that idea!
The first two hours were into a cold headwind, almost straight south across the plain. Rather than go into Puertollano I tried to follow the detours around the town — labelled as a truck route. Somehow I ended up circling the town and accidently came back in from the south. Bought some water while I was there and thought about stopping for lunch, but it was still early so I headed on out through coal stockpiles, rail yards and a power station.
The next 40km were some of the most desolate country I've ever been through — treeless, bone dry paddocks with a few sheep, and the sight of mountain ranges in the distance. I climbed the first pass past Brazatortas (circa. 850m) and the view back to the north was impressive. I was going to have lunch at the top, then decided to roll on down to the flat... Once down on the plain again there was nothing until the next ridge, so on I went.
I finally stopped at the bottom of Puerto de Niefla for lunch, and had one of those thoroughly satisfying outdoors meals of bread and sardines and chorizo, washed down with cold, fresh water, then got back on the bike for the ride on up the ridge — 950m this time.
Once over the top I was in the mountains, the riding wasn't too bad and the scenery was a vast improvement, mostly pine forests reaching right up to the road. I eventually came to a campground at about the 100km point, but since I didn't really have much food with me, I decided to continue on for a while and see if I could find a town...
Azuel was too far off the road, Cardeña didn't seem to have any hotels, so onwards I headed for Montoro. Due to roadworks I took the scenic route (C-510) rather than the “main” road (A-420). A brilliant decision that was, I could almost touch the trees on either side of the road, there were no cars for at least an hour, and then when the valley finally opened out I could see for miles. Along the way I kept seeing deer in the forests and at the side of the road.
Montoro is very picturesque, on a hill above the river, and I think there must have been a bike race through here recently. Huge slogans painted and chalked on the road gradually crept into my subconscious as I recognised the names and teams — I guess it must have been the Vuelta... Somewhere along the way a pannier bolt disappeared too. Two young boys brought smiles to my face when they ran alongside me up through the streets calling out “Miguel, Miguel....”
I toured around and around the very hilly streets of Montoro, didn't find a hotel or any accommodation, but did discover that their week long festival starts today! I headed on out of town towards the main highway, and found a Hostal at the junction. Showered and changed, then headed back into town to experience the fiesta...
I need not have hurried, after a few beers I found myself wandering around at about 10pm, since nothing starts until midnight! I walked up what I thought was the driveway of a derelict hotel — it appears to be nearly new, but empty and completely overgrown. The view was great, down over the town and river under the light of the full moon, but then some torches came on up on the balcony and made the adrenalin jump! I didn't really want to meet any angry Spanish security guards — my chances of successfully talking my way out of trespassing being nearly zero — so I tried to sneak out through the gardens. Heading up the hill I ran into a row of fences and set off some mean sounding dogs, so this way wasn't working. Then down through overgrown shrubs I finally found myself at the top of a 6m wall, concreted for most of its height, and and one that dropped straight down onto the road! Not only that, but I was stuck in a blackberry thicket. Extricating myself I finally managed to back-track and then walked quietly and briskly out through the main hotel driveway!
After all that excitement it was nearly midnight, I made it back to the town centre and listened to the music for a while, then back to the main part of the fair for a few drinks and some dancing. A couple of girls came and danced with me, then tried unsuccessfully to bridge the language gap. One spoke a little English and had a boyfriend, her cousin didn't speak any English and wanted to dance with me... We smiled, we danced, we toasted and drank each other's health, but the lack of communications got the better of us and they laughed and left.
A few more beers and a long walk back to the hotel. It was 2am, all the doors were locked, and I only managed to get in because a cleaner was leaving and saw me in the carpark! What a day...
Where?
Mon, 05 Oct 1998
Sun, 04 Oct 1998
Sat, 03 Oct 1998
Saturday: Oropessa to Toledo // at 00:00
Today: 118.6km
Trip: 890.3km
A crisis of conscience this morning; will I ride alone, or will I ride to Toledo with the other four? Nearly drove me crazy yesterday, but they were just too nice to say no to. As a result I ended up riding slower than I would have by myself, sat out the front for the whole day, tried hard not to get too impatient with all their stops, etc. etc.
Since it was the last day of their trip they were in no hurry and didn't really want it to end, we didn't get away from Oropessa until 10:30 and it was already very hot and sunny. I think we all got sunburnt again riding across the plains. Dianne was sick all morning and riding very slowly, she and Peter left the rest of us to ride along at their own pace and caught up at lunch in Talavera de la Reina.
Lunch in a park in Talavera de la Reina was a feast of bread and cheese and turkey and pastries in a lush green park — a wonderfully cool change from the dryness of the plains all morning.
Its grape harvesting time and a few of the smaller vineyards are already doing their picking, gypsies and other itinerant workers bent over in the vines as we rode past. Dianne stopped to take a photo of one group and I don't think she had their approval, they got very angry and started screaming and shouting and were about to start throwing stones at her as she hastily packed her camera and rode off!
The closer we got to Toledo, the slower they all wanted to go. A few more photo stops, more rests than were necessary, they wanted a good hotel for their last night since they were flying out tomorrow. It was around 6pm by the time we finally reached the city and parted ways. I said my goodbyes and started the task of hunting for backpacker accommodation in a tourist city where everyone else has arrived by bus or train in the morning or noon at the latest!
Around and around I went, absolutely everywhere was full and not a bed to be had. It was getting dark as I was heading back out of town, thinking I'd have to camp somewhere off the road and as a last resort I tried the Youth Hostel, which is in an old castle. I was thinking that it too would be full — but amazingly they had plenty of vacancies, maybe because it is well outside the city. I didn't care why, just thankful to find somewhere to stay.
Where?
Fri, 02 Oct 1998
Friday: Trujillo to Oropessa // at 00:00
Today: 108.0km
Trip: 772.5km
A big difference riding today, I was riding with four others — the four Americans that I met yesterday. Over an hour of stuffing around getting ready and making sure that everyone was ready and everyone had everything, then a long mother-hen lesson in the correct hand signals to use to indicate small pieces of gravel, minor bumps in the road, corners, etc. Once we were finally out on the road I was then told off for riding too near the traffic, then for riding too fast, etc. etc.
On the plus side, riding with people and having someone to talk to was very enjoyable!
Where?
Thu, 01 Oct 1998
Thursday: Cáceres to Trujillo // at 00:00
Today: 52.0km
Trip: 662.2
I think I've recovered from yesterday... and mostly from Tuesday, although I have a huge bruise on my bum, together with a sore neck, thigh and right shoulder! 9AM and time to get organised and on my way.
I said goodbye to the girls this morning, they'ld been looking at houses for somewhere to live for the next few months, slept through their first appointment but made it to the next few. They were hoping to have a better day today too — yesterday their car got towed away when they left it in the plaza while they were lying in bed with their hangovers.
A little luck and the assistance of my guardian angel and I managed to find a bike shop — a window display in a clothing store had some bike components as props, a small card stated that these were “supplied by ...,” so off I went following the map. The shop was closed for October, but the owner happened to be there as he was moving to new premises. I pointed and smiled and tried to work out how to explain “buckled wheel” in Spanish, he laughed and understood, and for 800p I had a new spoke and restored wheel.
I headed out of town at a very leisurely pace, determined to drink a lot of water, not to stress myself, and to pay a little more attention to the road surface... In two and a half hours I had reached Trujillo.
The first 20km or so were flat, just empty rolling grassy plains, no trees, nothing except wheat or whatever grain they are. Later on there were olive trees, then pigs and sheep, cattle, even a few donkeys. Circling overhead I saw numerous large hawks or buzzards, I think there's a national park nearby and that they're a protected species, but I can't remember what they're called...
I came over a hill about half an hour out of Trujillo and the town was just sitting there in front of me. High on a hill with the road leading straight up to it, stone walls and ruins and farms all around, it looked to me like something out of mythology.
Spent the afternoon sitting in the Plaza Mayor with a coffee — I think they gave me a double — sitting in the sun and writing. I should probably post a few postcards, but they're back in my bag in the Casa Roque. The pension I'm staying in is the Casa Roque, the Tourismo was closed, but the old man that runs the place was lurking outside and pounced on me when I arrived, not quite, but that's the general idea... I think cars need to banned from a few more of the plazas in the towns, make them even more enjoyable to sit in and pass the time.
I keep getting overwhelmed at the thought of trying to speak Spanish and ask any non-trivial question or conversation, and don't even try — so far I've managed to ask for beer, wine and coffee, but that's about it! It's amazing how far you can get in the world just being dumb and picking things up in the supermarkets...
I've been exploring the ruins of the castle, and the Francisco Pizarro museum. The views from the castle walls were phenomenal, there are no other hills for 20 to 30km across the plains, and there was nobody up there but me and the rooks — at least for a while. A slight amendment; just me and the rooks and the usual piles of litter everywhere. Very peaceful and majestic.
I arrived back at the pension from my rambles and had the shock of my life. No longer was there one touring bike sitting in the courtyard — there were seven! A group of four Americans are following pretty much the same route as I, and there's another couple here who's paths have crossed ours.
Diane, Peter, Susan and Michael — I think — invited me to join them for dinner and so the five of us went and had an excellent meal in the Plaza. It was Susan's birthday and they had bought her a cake. We all sang happy birthday, and then sat around and talked long into the night. The four of them are lawyers, all the same age — 31, and all here for a two and a half week trip from the US.
Where?
