Our grand tour of southern Spain January 28th Day Fourteen

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Saturday 28^th January Day fourteen

Cycle ride today! We head out of the campsite northwards through tiny villages along narrow lanes and gravel farm tracks through a rural landscape, predominantly flat to the north with just occasional elevations. Groves of cherry and damson trees just beginning to blossom, a pink tinge covering their bare branches. Lemon groves, olives trees on well furrowed soils of many hues. Farmers here plough in such a way to encourage stones to gather at the surface. A clever way of retaining ground moisture.

Extensive fields of lettuce and spinach in neat furrows with the occasional orange hi viz clad workers, walking the furrows to check on crops. Occasionally, tinkling bells betray the presence of small herds of goats in the steep sided dried river beds (Ramblas), often accompanied by a goat herder. There are lots of isolated farmsteads, all shuttered up but all guarded by dogs. The Spanish clearly love their dogs. You hear them at night barking away. Some of the poor things far out on these isolated farm steads look lonely, thin, mangy and even neglected. Some stand and watch you pass by, loneliness in their eyes. Others bark and chase you, running the fence that thankfully separates you from their teeth.

Some long poly tunnels where they are just planting crops. They reflect the sunshine and from high up look like a billowing sea. The neglected abandoned ones, torn and shredded in the winds blow and flap like creamy brown versions of Harry Potter dementors.

We head back south, crossing via a bridge over the small dual carriageway. Here the landscape changes to one of rounded hills with one or two steep but very short inclines. Terraces abound. The rocks are metamorphic slates and schists. Through little outlying villages we pass, stopping off at a bar for cokes and then our picnic lunch in a little square with a beautiful church and a bust statute tribute to a local much-loved doctor. Past an extraordinary Roman monument ...... an old Roman sandstone quarry with extraordinary rock sculpture patterns ..... Creamy yellows and wind sculpted in places.

Back at the site, feeling reinvigorated, Bryony gets a clean out, a much needed tidy up and an internal polish. Oil and screen wash are checked. We are low on gas. Only three tank lights illuminated. Means around half a tank left. We have been chomping through the gas but not by choice. At each site we've stayed, the electric has been intermittent, often switching off at night without warning. Consequently, Bryony has switched heating and fridge over to gas automatically. Quite frustrating when you've paid for an EHU!