Now this is more like it – brilliant sunshine and deep blue skies.
We did our usual morning routine and I went for a shower and was very happy. The shower cubicles were self contained with your own loo, washbasin, big mirror and numerous hooks. The shower had a tap and you regulated your own temperature. I was in heaven.
We decided to visit the Monasterio de Piedra, some seven minute drive up the road – sort of Spanish National Trust – and parked in an ample car park. We wandered in under an avenue of trees and went to the gate to get in. The man at the gate, peppered us with rapid fire Spanish, but we soon realised we had to get tickets from the shop that we had just passed. Once we had accomplished that, we spent a glorious few hours wandering this delightful park – there was a map showing the different routes, but it was also signposted with arrows, so we just followed them, through trees, tumbling streams, little towers, small ponds until we reached the waterfalls which were just a sight to behold, cascading down rocks and cliffs. We stood for many minutes in awe. We climbed up steps, we walked down steps, we stood over a valley and watched beautiful birds of prey riding the thermals. It was fabulous.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monasterio_de_Piedra
https://www.spain.info/es/lugares-interes/monasterio-piedra
We strolled back to the exit – there were photographers posted throughout the walk wanting to take your photo to which we had declined. Yet again, we were accosted here and were replying in very broken Spanish “no photos, thank you” to the young girl who was pointing at the Pup until she finally said “Exit” and pointed through the entrance. The official exit was a turnstile affair with no chance of getting our four legged friend through – this lovely photographer was trying to help. Suddenly it dawned on us on what she was saying and feeling a touch stupid, we thanked her profusely and smiled apologetically.
We were hungry so we went to the restaurant bar -no dogs inside, but we could sit on the terrace which was completely empty. Billy No Mates. So we wandered up to the monastary, to kill some time, which again didn’t permit dogs, but we decided to go in one at a time for a quick look and was so pleased that we did. We’re not normally ones for stately homes and such like, but this was a gem. Part of it was attached to the very upmarket hotel, so you could see into the lobby, but further down there was a beautiful courtyard with archways. A little further was a wine exhibition over two floors and beautifully displayed. Wandering down the side of the courtyard, you then came across the original monastery, with its roof missing and open to the elements, the walls still intact and standing. I stood there amazed with my mouth open – it was simply beautiful and serene with the cream stone against the azure sky. I could of stayed there all day. I went back to do some dog sitting while Hubby went in and had a look and he came out equally astounded at what he had seen. What a beautiful little gem.
The restaurant terrace was busy by now and we sat in a sunny corner. We got the gist that you had to go in and order, so I did. The coffee and the tea arrived at the counter first (a cup of watery milk with a teabag (black tea, not green like I got the other day) on the side) while I wondered what happened with the two sarnies I had ordered. It was while I was in a state of total indecision and on the urge of using Google Translate to voice my concerns, that the sandwiches arrived and my next dilemma was how to get everything outside (no trays), so I did two runs. Hubby had a bacon y queso (cheese) in a baguette and I had ordered a patata omelette squeezed into a baggie – weird, but very nice.
We had kind of exhausted the Monasterio de Piedro and we also had a two and a half hour journey across the Aragon region to our next campsite – it was gone one o’clock already. So we jumped into the Van and headed off, along twisting roads, valleys and ravines. This was definitely Spaghetti Western country, so we looked it up to check – Aragon and the north east of Spain were definitely used as locations in 1960’s and 1970’s as Mexican deserts, though it was further east. This landscape wasn’t too far off and with a little imagination, you could see Mexican snipers high in the hills ready to pick off Yul Brynner.
The terrain changed soon after – we came out on a wide plain with mountains in the distance and a long straight road ahead of us. Satnav said to stay on this road for 29 kilometres and we hoped it might bend between now and then. The road was essentially a back road with hardly any traffic bar the odd tractor – it gave our Van’s suspension and our backs a good work out. The odd village appeared out of nowhere, it’s dominating church tower pointing skyward, which the road circumvented (we never went through the centre of these communities). There were lengthy patches of brand new tarmac along this never ending road which were a delight before they abruptly ended and the bumpiness resumed. The ground was a reddish colour, the fields tilled but full of small rocks – every now and again, stacks of rectangular hay bales stood in the fields, recently harvested.
The lowland hills beckoned and now we were back into woodlands, crags and lolling hills. Some trees were in their full autumnal glory. It was like turning a page in a book and the plot changing. It was certainly an interesting landscape and we spent a lot of time gasping as we came around bends. At Calamocher, a sizeable town, we finally went on a bigger A road and went over the A-23. The land briefly went flat again, travelling across arable farmland, the soil changing colour and gradually we wheedled up back into the hills – we reached the giddy heights of 1260m above sea level before we rolled back down again. I stopped taking photos – the panorama too vast and wide for the camera to appreciate – you had to be there to be able to take in the ever changing vista.
The terrain then turned mountainous again, we bypassed little towns and villages all in that look of disrepair. Our road was wide with large junctions, but there was hardly any traffic on them – it seemed new in places with gleaming barriers. The engineers had also blasted through rock obstructing their path through the mountains as there was no other way, but it seemed wrong to destroy such beautiful surroundings.
We finally came up to a roundabout which was a bit of a shock after all this time of non stop driving. It felt that we had been in a coma. We only had a few more kilometres to go before we circumvented the town of Mas de las Matas and sitting on its southern edge our campsite, Camping la Palanca del Mas, a small, but compact little site. We found a sunny spot and set up home, the German guy camping next door coming over to explain everything to us. Later another German couple turned up in a camper with a huge Bernese Mountain dog lumbering out – that must be cosy. The woman had a chat with us in a mixture of English and German though she said she was better in Spanish. I was just rubbish in both languages and sometimes English too. After a well earned cup of tea, we wandered into town, some ten minutes walk away, looking for a beer. We walked down its quiet, narrow streets full of tall buildings and found a row of bars, most of them shut. One was open, but was tiny and just had two local guys swapping stories over a beer. We hesitated – it was only 6pm, but nobody was about and there was no atmosphere. So we carried on until the road opened up into a little square where the church stood, its bells chiming the quarter of the hour and its tall steeple looking across the countryside. We sat on a bench and contemplated – two ladies walked past, yoga mats tucked under their arms, three cars pulled up and then disappeared and the hairdressers opened up – otherwise the town remained quiet.
We had read that the bars opened at 8pm, but our stomachs couldn’t wait that long. We wandered around town, locating bakerys for the morning and coming across open eateries, but lacking in clientele – again, it was men who sat outside clutching beers and the ambience just wasn’t there. We walked down some residential streets before heading back to Van and cooking pizzas. We had it in our heads of towns coming to life in the early evening, drinking and eating convivially until we realised that probably happened in the larger (and probably touristy places) rather than small rural places like this. It was a nice wander in the evening sun and nice to visit little towns, the underbelly of European countries rather than the tourist towns and their gift shops and other attractions.
Darkness fell heavily and we curled up with a bit of catch up TV before retiring to the warmth of our bed to read. Tomorrow, a little short hop and squeezing in a couple of little medieval towns.
