Rock on El Berro

It was all change here last weekend. We’re still in El Berro, enjoying the mountains and the convenience of this campsite, but the peace and quiet was shattered when the Spanish turned up in their hordes for Constitution Day. It was also Feast of the Immaculate Conception so feasting and socialising spilled into the village and all around. The weather did the honourable thing, too, bringing sunshine and warmth to the occasion. 

Apparently, the warmth we’re experiencing now is more typical of this place than the colder, wetter weather of last week, and now that we’ve surrendered the car we are back to lazing in the sun and planning hikes that we don’t need a car to reach. Before returning it, we took the opportunity of driving up to where the road reaches its highest point in the park and then hiked out to the ridge for a spectacular viewpoint. At 1450 metres on Chico we had the best seat in the house, so to speak. It’s a shame the cloud blocked our view out as we got to the top; just our luck, though we did get some glimpses of the village way down below and the plains of Murcia further down and beyond. My vertigo kicked in at that point. We got a bit lost on the way down too. Gareth, with the map and the camera, worrying that we might still be walking in the dark if I didn’t hurry up, hustled me downward as I tried to keep my footing on the steep, loose, rocky paths. I really didn’t fancy a long painful and ultimately fatal tumble down into the canyon below. Whether it was because he kept stopping to take photos or had misread the map, we lost our way and ended up retracing our steps and then labouring up a long steep ascent back to where we’d left the car. Phew! Yes, we managed to get back before dark - just, and the bar did well that night as we sank some of their painkilling alcohol.

From Mount Chico looking down across the Leiva canyon

We also managed a hike up into the canyon itself, the Barranca or Valle de Leiva. We watched little colourful dots on the 200 metre cliffs - climbers whose ascent was painfully slow-going and giddyingly high. And then, to our surprise, a couple who we’d watched on the rock appeared behind us on the valley-bottom path striding along, their day’s climbing done. I just had to ask how they’d got down. Gareth asked if they’d abseiled but apparently they had simply come down ‘the path’. We have yet to find out where and what sort of path this might be, but it does boggle the imagination.

The dinosaur footprint in Valle de Leiva

Having done a stock-up shop while we had the car, we don’t feel any compulsion to leave El Berro. We will, though, next week. We will shake off the tentacles that are tightening their grip on us and look for a new stimulus, as was our intention with this ‘travelling life’. Mind you, I’m a bit suspicious that, really, Gareth wants to go shopping for a mountain bike and that we’ll be back here again for Christmas. He’s now had a taste of the trails having been loaned a bike and taken to one of the top spots by one of our neighbours. Mike, the generous guide, has, for the past 20 years spent every winter here in his caravan. He hikes, bikes, climbs, swims and he’s 76.

What else have we done? Well, we’ve been enjoying the company of other long-stay campers here and it’s a great way to learn about a place. The noisy throng in the bar is a great source of information, gossip and amusement. It’s a small village where everyone, Spanish as well as  numerous British and other settlers, knows each other. The campsite is very much part of the community here too. The other evening, over quite a lot of vino tinto, it seemed relevant (to me anyway) to explain the meaning of one of Wales’ most rousing songs. I’m not referring to Calon Lân, my nation’s anthem, but another, sung with great gusto at Rugby games and with a fervour that suggests the Welsh should not be tampered with. New Zealand has the haka, Wales has “Sosban Fach”. As I did for our companions the other evening, here is a translation:

The little saucepan is boiling on the fire

The big saucepan is boiling on the floor

And the cat has scrammed (scratched) little Johnny

Mary-Anne’s finger is hurting

And David the servant isn’t well

The baby in the crib is crying

And the cat has scrammed little Johnny

(chorus) 

There you go, boys; that’s told you!