Alone by the side of a track in the rolling plains overlooking 'Segovia' and its magnificent cathederal.
"Ahhh; that's better Tanya, peace and quiet with nobody to bother us".
It was not long, Tanya had only just finished her tea and I had just sat down with my cup of tea, before my peaceful illusion was shattered. A young child came whizzing by on a bike as an adult stationed himself immediately outside Foxy10 and directed the other twenty or so children on bikes down the rough track to the front of us. There is just no peace for this 'wicked' motorhomer not even in the high plains of mid Spain.
The spot is beautiful though and earlier I was watching thru binoculars a solitary high flying Stork being harrassed by a group of beautiful soaring Buzzards (might be wrong on that one as I am not the best at knowing my Eagles from my Buzzards)
My wild spot of two nights ago was also 'a crowd' one. I'd arrived in 'Badajoz' at the free Aire for motorhomes. It was nearly full and the only spot available was tight between a French and a Spanish motorhome. We squeezed in. Tanya and I then exited and headed across the road in the thirty degree heat for a walk in the park by the river. I inwardly cursed as we entered. The place was loaded with geese who upon spying Tanya set up an unholy racket, lowered their heads and made sure, in no uncertain terms, that one step nearer meant goose invasion.
"Sod it" I said to Tanya. "It's stinking hot, a rubbish camping spot and your walk is blocked by bloody geese; we're leaving!" and we did.
Ten minutes later I was parked up by an old mill which I'd spotted, by chance as I glanced between two tall disused buildings. I'd also caught the briefest glimpse of someone swimming. "Now we're talking." I muttered as I negotiated Foxy10 down a rough but short track and stopped right by the old mill and under a tree too, a real bonus of some much needed shade for Foxy10. There was group of about eight local lads and girls plus various tattoos, smokes and states of undress. They were an alright group though and despite no language commonality they acommodated /tolerated me well and pointed out where to dive in and more importantly where not to. There was one girl in particular dressed only in bra, pants, tattoos and purple Mohican haircut who while swimming around showing me "Nada, nada" (no) or "Bally, bally" (ok) kept one hand and her ciggy above water at all times. Most impressive; but I chose not to follow her as she slid down the slippery and green slime covered weir into the froth below. Neither did I see whether the ciggy survived that one as by then I was too busy enjoying my own cooling and unexpected bonus swim around the satisfyingly deep green millpond.
..........
"If I'd read the rough guide properly I'd have known it closes on Lunes (Mondays). Ah well tis their loss not mine".
Foxy10 was parked on the steep uphill roadway right outside the locked gates to 'Numancia'. This Iberian Celtic stronghold was one of the last places to resist the advancing Romans. Finally in about 334bc Scipio, erstwhile Roman General, sorted em out. Quietly mind. He just built a bigger stronghold all round them and waited till they all starved or did themselves in rather than be slaves. Nice guy, would make an excellent politician today don't you think?
However; I did leave my mark. Foxy10 being at just the right steeply backward angle of repose had her waste tank tap opened. A satisfying gurgling rush of shower and washing up water gushed down the grassy slope and disappeared within seconds into the arid dry ground. Naughty I know but I felt much better after that, and anyway the Romans are long gone by now, wasn't a sign of them guarding the gate, so no harm done.
The secondary road onwards took me over the high Sierra toward 'Tuleda' and 'Rioca' country. High, wide, empty and somehow I just love it. Maybe it's my agricultural history in and around the wide open Cotswolds that instilled in me a love affair with such places. Who knows; what I do know is you could pick the Cotswolds up and tuck them into a neat corner of these vast low density agricultural Spanish Sierra's so I truly was 'ensconced in my affair' today.
We stopped for lunch at one of the many 'Ermita de la Virgin.... of whatever/wherever'. There seems to have been a preponderance of historical saintly virgins all with their own hermitage in this area. Can't say I see many about just now. I blame t'internet and social media myself. But who knows. Maybe that group of female teenagers who nearly mowed me and Tanya down in Segovia, because they were all heads down and two thumb texting, were all busily texting their daily devotions to the... 'Become a saintly virgin and claim your own hermitage' social media site?
Hmmmm: I wonder!
No comments:
Post a Comment