Leaving Cuenca

The hanging houses of Cuenca
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Up early this morning to grab an early breakfast. I share a table with a gentleman called Peter, who is also travelling alone. There are actually four of us on this trip, two women and two men. Needless to say, I seem to be the youngest by 25 years! Breakfast is fabulous and we are served the most mouth-watering pastries, filled with custard, apple or almond. I’m hugely disappointed to be rushing off and seriously consider forgetting all about the hanging houses. In the end I decide I can always some back for seconds later. I finally set off at 8:15am, the coach leaves in 1¼ hours.

Cuenca from below
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My plan is to follow the road I spotted yesterday, that follows the base of the gauge in the opposite direction to the stretch we walked yesterday. This seems to work well and I follow what now looks more that a culvert than river. The only problem is it seems to be leading me out of town. For some reason this worries me, probably because of Pinky’s experience on the first day. However just as I’m beginning to lose my nerve, the iron bridge appears - over my head! Of course I should have gone back up to the old town to be in the right place, but at this stage I’m not fussy. As I peer up through the trees, I can finally pick out the buildings I have come to see. I’m surprised to see there are so few of them and after the obligatory photo opportunity I head back to the hotel, with a certain amount of pride at having found them.

On the second attempt I find someone who, although they can’t speak English and I can’t speak Spanish, does understand the universal language of mime.

Cuenca from below
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Oh dear! As they say pride comes before a fall. On the way back, I decide to take a slightly different route. I have been walking for a while before I realise I have gone horribly wrong. The route I’m following is not parallel with my original one and I’m lost. It’s also 9:05 and I have 25 minutes before the coach is due to leave. A rising tide of panic strikes me. I look at my map and struggle to work out where I am. In the end I try to flag down a passing local. On the second attempt I find someone who, although they can’t speak English and I can’t speak Spanish, does understand the universal language of mime. Thank goodness I had brought the map with me. My rescuer points out the small square I’m standing next to. It’s way off of where I should be, but at least I can see the way. “Muchas, Muchas Gracias” I repeat before bombing off down the street. 10 minutes later, just as I’m beginning to think I may have missed my turn, I spot the statue of a saint that tells me where I am. I finally make it back to the hotel at 9:15, with just enough time to grab my stuff and pay the hotel bill. I make several promised to myself that “I will not wander off again”.

Very distant view of a Torro Bravo advertising sign
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When I get to the coach, I discover chaos. The coach rotation system has failed miserably on the first day. I’m now trapped in the middle, unable to sit down anywhere or get back off. This would be fine if more people weren’t trying to get on and past me. It really annoys me that I’ve paid more than anyone else, but I have to sit in whichever seat gets left at the end. Eventually that turns out to be the aisle seat next to Peter, my breakfast partner. For the life of me I can’t work out how we’ve gone from having two spare seats to being completely full. However it later turns out that an extra couple have joined us. They had been driven to Cuenca yesterday, after missing their connection. Luckily Peter is not bad company. He doesn’t feel the need to constantly make conversation and is happy to swap seats, so that we both get some window time.

Ruined building
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The journey to Valencia takes us through more varied countryside. One moment we are on wide flat empty plains, then lush vineyards and arid hills. This pattern repeats itself over and over again. Villages are few and far between but that’s where everyone lives. No one lives in the countryside.

After a couple of hours we make a comfort stop at a service station. In the distance I can see a lovely town on a hilltop. Unfortunately it proves impossible to take a picture that doesn’t feature the motorway. In the end I settle for an arty shot of a little broken down shack in the field behind the café and another of a very distant Obsourne’s Sherry billboard, the famous bull silhouette. The service station is actually quite pleasant. I stock up on water supplies and find a rather groovy T-shirt featuring aliens running with the bulls. It should remind me of events in Cuenca. At least the Spanish don’t have the same rules as the Italians, about queuing up to order and then to pay.

Peter and I swap over for the next leg of our trip. This is fortunate as the countryside becomes extremely beautiful. We are now travelling through fir lined mountains and past a spectacular reservoir. There’s lots of huffing and puffing from the couple behind who think we should be stopping to take a photo. Unfortunately we are on a busy road - goodness knows where they think we should stop. The reservoir reminds me of Chris Stewart’s book “Driving over Lemons”. I wonder how many people have lost their homes or land to create this beautiful lake.

For the first time on our trip we actually see some livestock - first a shepherd with his flock and then some black bulls. These don’t look like true fighting animals, perhaps they were cows or steers (castrated males).

As the countryside changes yet again, rolling hills appear covered in giants that Don Queote would be proud to fight. These however are modern windmills generating electricity. Some people find them a blot on the landscape but personally I think they are rather beautiful. It’s actually the endless marching pylons and substations that spoil the landscape. Funnily enough, we don’t seem to notice these anymore.

Odd towns continue to pop up from time to time. The two buildings that stand out in most are the Romanesque churches in red brick and strange structures that seem to mirror them but are strangely out of proportion. In fact they are granary buildings.