On tuesday afternoon Johnny, Shabby and I got our rental car and set off to find a cozy beach to sleep on. It was a good thing that the two girls from Quebec had decided to bail at the last minute because the first thing the car rental guy said when he saw us and all our luggage was "this car is too small for you". A moment of panic as this was the last car available but she turned out to be the perfect size. We christened her Guapita (we decided that this means "little pretty one").
Drove southeast along the coast to Los Canos de Meca and found a good parking space for the car, right beside some steps that lead directly down to the beach. Which was perfect...nearly deserted, separated from homes and their inhabitants by steep cliffs and walls, overlooking a rough patch of the Atlantic and a lighthouse. While the sun set we drank to our good fortune and found a spot for a fire, then feasted on the greatest smoked salmon/cheese/fried eggplant sandwiches ever (why does food taste so much better outside?).
At first we thought someone should stay in the car overnight considering the group of fairly dodgy hippies we'd seen hanging out with their half dead dogs earlier in the day but a nice British passerby told us that the hippies usually disappeared at night. So we ignored the "beware" graffiti that was all over the walls and stairwell and grabbed our sleeping bags and a bottle of local sherry (Canasta?) and settled in for the night.
Have you ever tried to sleep through a sandstorm? Neither had I. I don't recommend it. At least I wasn't awake while the rats were working on the bag of food we had left outside with us. Still, the sky was clear and the moon and stars were out and I could track their progress across the sky as I work up every hour or so. We managed to get a little bit of sleep and the next morning headed back past Cadiz to Huelva.
Found another amazing beach, this time with warm calm water perfect for swimming in and big dunes to shelter us from the wind (and other people).
We bought tinfoil and vegetables and roasted up everything we could think of - garlic, potatoes, bread and cheese, peppers, asparagus, onion...Johnny noticed wild rosemary growing all over the place but when I went to pick some for our meal I went to the wrong plant and came back with some other vaguely rosemary-ish plant instead. Hey, it was dark. This unknown stuff made its way into a little bit of our food before the others noticed it was not rosemary and someone with a better sense of smell went off to find the real thing. It doesn't seem to have been poisonous so all is well.
After dinner we drank our second bottle of sherry and decided that since the beach was completely deserted a little skinny dipping was definitely in order so stripped down and ran through the moonlight into the warm ocean.
The next morning, since the beach was still deserted Shabby and I did the same thing, wearing only slightly more clothing. Smart girl went down earlier than I did...a bunch of lucky fishermen showed up while I was still in the water. Oh well. It's Europe. They're used to that kind of thing.
Johnny fried up some eggs and potatoes and cheese and whatever else would fry and we rigged up a shelter from the sun.
It is amazing how unbelievably cold it can get at night and how unbearably hot it can be only a few hours later once the sun gets up.
Then it was time to head north into Extremadura, exact destination not really known but we knew it when we found it. While Shabby and I slept, Johnny noticed an isolated lake at km 103 on the highway. We stopped in the closest town for yet more provisions (in retrospect three blocks of cheese was overkill) and drove down to the lake. It was beautiful and the photos do not do it justice, surrounded by wildflowers, absolutely full of fish...once again we watched the sun set and the moon rise while we laughed till we cried over our good fortune and various other things.
The crying part may have something to do with pollen since we were running around in the flowers (I've discovered allergies I didn't know I had). Found stones that looked like faces and watched the water ripple as fish chased the stones J threw in the lake.
Once again ate one of the greatest meals ever as J fried up some fish with onions and garlic and sherry and potatoes...a simple simple salad of cucumber slices with lemon. Appetized on a giant jar of Extremadura olives/pickles/onions and drank a bottle of the smoothest Extremadura wine...everything tastes better in Extremadura.
Later J pulled out his poi and taught me how to use them. This went well once (well considering there was no fire. If they were on fire I would not have a face left) until I slammed one into a tree and kevlar exploded all over the place.
Once again we set up our sleeping bags on the ground but this was not so fun as it was freezing outside and there were a lot of mosquitos. It was way too uncomfortable so I decided to sleep in the car. Unfortunately when I started hearing the plastic food bags move of their own volition I got the impression that something else had made the same decision, something unpleasant like a snake or a rat. I went back out to the ground but we never did find any creatures in the car.
After three mostly sleepless nights in a row, plus the past several days in Cadiz at the Hostel of No Sleep we were a bunch of wrecks the next day. Drove further north to a small town called Zafra where we stopped for lunch and a quick nap, sleeping bags and all, in the public park. Just like dirty nasty hippies...oh the shame. At least we didn't have half starved dogs and cats on leashes with us.
Then continued north to Caceres where we expected to find a sleepy little town with plenty of empty cheap hostal beds to welcome us.
Imagine our surprise when, after finally finding a parking space and wondering why there were so many people walking around, we walked into the Plaza Mayor (main square in Caceres) to find thousands of people hanging out, dancing, drumming, drinking and a huge stage set up at one end. It seems that universe did not want us to sleep and sent us to the WOMAD music festival instead. We inquired at a few hotels and even asked the police but everyone told us that everything in town was full. Great. What to do? Buy beer and go dance, that's what to do.
A funk band was playing, featuring a tiny wizened old guitar player that we originally thought was a woman but who turned out to be a man...people were dancing with kids on their shoulders and storks were flying overhead wondering what the hell was going on. Blood sugar started dropping and we ate two large pizzas in record time, "like frat boys" as J put it. Our appetites were a major theme of this trip, at least for Shabby and I...we were eating like maniacs, all the time. Constantly hungry for some reason. Johnny would sometimes just sit back and watch us like the circus freaks we were.
Eventually, around maybe 2 a.m. after some time spent around a drum circle (and if you can fall asleep in that noise you really need to go to bed) we needed sleep. Desperately. The inital plan was to sleep in the car but this was really not appealing expecially since the car was starting to smell of old food. We drove around the town for a while, hoping to find a motel (North America style) on the outskirts. Nothing. J drove to the next (tiny) town where S asked someone at a bar where we could find a motel. Nothing there but he led us partway to the next town in his car and told us about a couple of possibilities. The first place was staffed by a suspicious looking fat man who said "completo" and sent us packing. The second place thank GOD had a triple room and we finally finally slept through the night. I have never appreciated a bed more in my life.
Saturday we felt a million times better and drove to Trujillo where we hung out in the square and watched the storks and made tuna sandwiches for lunch.
Then drove waaay back down into Andalucia to Ronda where we had brief scare when it looked like there was yet another event happening (a bike race). Happily we were still able to find a room and spent the evening wandering around Ronda, eating dinner in the square and watching teenagers tamper with the fountain. A beautiful girl no more than 15 but dressed like she was 21 and on her way to a club walked by a couple of times to the delight of some skeevy guys at the next table.
The next day we got up and wandered around old Ronda, came across yet another spectacle (Spain is one spectacle after another after another)...a religious parade winding through the streets.
We also saw the best preserved Arab Baths on the Iberian Peninsula and drove to some small town whose name I forget and ate gazpacho and some other thick pasty soup and some of the most delicious beef I have ever tasted.
Our waitress was adorable, bullfighting was on the tv, and the power went out every 5 minutes or so.
We then tried to drive up to a mountain (again I forget the name) but partway there the clouds were so thick that there was no visibility so we decided to decend.
Here is where things started to get dodgy.
According to the map, and various road signs, the road we were on would take us all the way to Malaga which was the direction we wanted to go. Unfortunately we were extremely low on gas and the road kept getting narrower and cloudier as we went on. We came to a fork in the road with signs that pointed to Malaga in both directions...we took what turned out to be the wrong road which started to climb again and turned into a one lane barely paved track which had cats lounging in the middle of it and inbred looking dogs lurching out at passing cars on dangerous curves. J finally decided he had had enough and turned around back to the fork. Thank god because THAT road led to an actual real highway and a real town with a real gas station. Lesson in this is to stay on the thick red and green lines on the map, not the skinny white ones that run through the mountains.
We stopped in some resort port near Marballa and tried to figure out where to go...S made a reservation with a hostal in a nearby town called San Pedro de something and we took off to find it.
When we got there we drove around for a while before finally nabbing a parking space right around the corner from our hostal; this town was full of parked cars and we were ecstatic to find a spot. So ecstatic we neglected to look for signs re: parking rules. Dun dun dun.....
Grabbed our packs out of the car and walked to what should have been the entrance to the hostal. I noticed a man wearing too short shorts taking out his garbage and looking at us curiously. We got to the hotel door and pressed the button but there was no response and no sign of life. After the couple of minutes Shorts Man came over to us and started speaking to us in rapid Spanish that none of us could understand. Something about another door....so we followed him around the corner while he tried a key that didn't work on another door. More unintelligable spanish while we follow him back around the corner and he starts pointing at a building across the street. At this point we are looking and whispering at each other about finding another place while Shorts Man follows us saying something about a mother and baby. Then another guy shows up who may or may not work at this hotel but there is still nobody to let us and and frankly at this point we are a little weirded out.
We find another place down the street and dump our stuff. When we go outside again Shorts Man is standing on the corner and we carefully avoid him.
The next morning Johnny gets up to get some food or use the internet or something. He comes back more quickly than expected with very very bad news...Guapita has been towed! This leads to a day long ordeal which features Shabby running around trying to find the police station, then coming all the way back to where we are to get the car key, then going back to the police station, then running to find a bank machine because they only take cash, then taking a cab out somewhere because the car is not actually at the police station, then driving back downtown to find us, sans navigator. I should mention that she only learned to drive stick about 5 days ago and first gear has continued to be a problem. Trial by fire! Meanwhile I mostly sit on my ass and eat cheese.
When she finally drives past us we cheer and Johnny runs to haul her out of the car so he can park it. Then we feast on chinese food.
What a way to start our last day together...
Things improve when we drive to Tarifa and find a hostal with kitchen where we can cook our Last Supper. Once again this is mostly Johnny cooking up a kickass pasta and steak combo while Shabby and I work on the salad and pre-dinner cocktails. At 10 the night manager came up to kick us out of the kitchen so we retired to our room to get wasted on gin and end this trip RIGHT.
The next day we get up just barely in time to check out, eat our dinner left overs for breakfast because there is no power for cooking eggs for some reason, and then say good bye.
The timing is impeccable because just as they walk out the door Tara, my Australian travelling partner for Morocco, walks in. Turns out she knows Johnny from Granada...small world, the hostels of southern Spain...
And so I hug J and S and Guapita goodbye
(and forget half my stuff in the car so they have to come back and return it to me) and get ready for Morocco.....
