Never Too Cool to Brush

Title says it ALL!

Ode to the Sling

Ode to the Sling

I have carried both our children for endless hours in a sling fabricated with a plaid fishermans skirt. The sling was becoming ratty the same way a favourite doll might have had its eyes loved off.

It was purchased years ago on crowded ferry dock while leaving Ko Tao on the other side of the world. The long journey taking me there had been one to mark my life in ways almost to profound to record. The sling had been a skirt, a table cloth, a blanket on chilly journeys, a headcover and now it like my life had morphed into a baby carrier. It had been soaked and cleansed of soil to varied to record, imbueing it with a karma befitting a humble peice of cloth which had done so much. Now we carried it everywhere with us, tucked neatly into our backpack in case a tired child might be in need of a lift.

Fast Forward to Spain.
We spied the immense 7th century church on the way by, high and distant on terraced hills, hunkered back to us in silent vigil. The view was spectacular with rolling hills as far as the eye could see, the church in the foreground and an ancient and tumbled down villaged tucked in the middle.

We returned to circle the hill trying to find in vain a road which would lead directly to the place. We finally gave up our search and decided to park the car and hike through the already cut bleached wheatfields. From the top of a domed hill directly beside the church, we gazed in all directions over the barren landscape imagining oursleves ancient warriors awaiting pagan enemies. About halfway down we found an intriguing series of body sized depressions with slightly heaped earth around the edges and lots of scattered stones but no more. The natural vantage point dictated the site of ancient stronghold, yet the ground was barren of clues save the odd bone. The church sat in mute observation seemimgly bemused at our scratchings as we scoured for evidence of a surely magical past.

Having exhausted our curiosity (and water supply) we waited for Bruce to hike back to retreive the car. Lily had peed her pants so was sitting bottom airing in the shade. I had put our backpack containing the sling under her tender little self to protect her from the pavement. When he arrived we loaded the car up with kids, hot and tired and ready for the air conditioning. Lily's rinsed pants hung tucked into the top of the closed window to air dry in the wind, flapping like a lost crow.

We did not discover that we had forgotten the back pack until the next day when we went to retireve something or other for our next adventure.

It was, we decided, worth it to make the trip back to try to retrieve the sling but when we arrived we discovered that the backpack was gone. Where did it go? Taken we assumed by some traveller like ourselves intrigued by the old church in the middle of nowhere and feeling the need for an unclaimed backpack. Feeling wistful and foolishly sentimental we headed back hoping the sling would continue to find a place of value in someones life, but also knowing that like the church's secrets the answer would never be yielded to us.

Fish Upstream

Onward East towards Rioja and further south. We began the climb up and over the Pico's D'Europa, passing 4 km under the mountains by tunnel (...talk about waiting for the light...). After crossing the green peaks we discovered a completely arid and wind worn mountain desert on the other side which gradually made way to miles upon miles of undulating just shorn wheat fields, sun bleached and dry.
Now we understood why the Spanish have siesta from 12-5, and dine at 10 P.M in the cooling evening.

We spent a day in Burgos and visited its most famous and impressive cathedral there (all the godliness should be soaking in soon no?) as well as had a walk around the old centre. We chilled our hot feet in (what we assumed were) the Pilgrim foot baths along the "Rambla", a long shaded pedestrian collonade while we keeping a wary eye out for the Fountain Police.

A pilgrimage trail (Camino Santiago de Compostella) winds from the East to West culminating in the historic religious centre of Santiago. Its route slices off the northern most third of the countrywith its many paths. As we wound our way eastward, fish upstream, we saw many pilgrims walking silently, each determined in the heat to make the passage. Hats,backpacks and walking sticks, most with shiny brown foreheads, some with brows knit in concentration and all with eyes focused far in the distance along the trail.

Costa Verde

Verdant and cool, high atop a cliff and deeply cut with gorges, Costa Verde, the green belt of cool on the northern coast of Spain and is supposed to be the least like Spain.
We visited little fishing villages to eat tapas and Calamari with cider and a few of the beaches to do the sand thing, wound in and out of the deep lush green cuts and tried to decipher the signage. We combed the beaches and gasped as we traversed wiggly cliffed mountain roads. The children were everywhere and a little curious about our mute kids who felt too shy to say anything more in Spanish then Ola.

Rolling stones...

Bruce has decided it is time for Rioja, hmmm kinda like this new wine hobby of his.
Will try to go south to Castile to visit some castles on the way over, hopefully while staying out of the heat. I guess we are sort of used to castles at home (in France) as think the kids area bit puzzled about the fact that we have not seen any. I mean any.

The French do seem to have a love affair with anything old whilst the Spanish seem to rebuild it or ignore it if what we have seen is any indication. We have seen lots of wistful, elegant and grand old dames of abandoned villas in little towns overlooking the sea....Riel shouts "fixer upper!!!" and Bruce and I both wish.

I am sitting outside the camping reception on an old slab of stone skimming wifi from the closed office, (too cool) on my computer without a plug in and mostly in the dark and to the sound of a neighbourhood barking dog. Isn't technology amazing? I was able to pick up email and also check the news the same way. I have read about the heat waves in France and am glad we are still here as it has been overcast and cool and green.

Onward.

Monster Beetles and Creature from the Black Lagoon

It was a hot day in Northern Spain and we decided to go look for some prehistoric cave paintings close to where we are stating. Both locations were closed off with bg gates and had scheduled visiting times for anyone over the age of 7. Needless to say Lily found something more interesting to look at.......as usual. A GIANT BEETLE!! About 10cm long!! In the beetle world size must matter as he did not look like someone you would want to mess with.

Searching for a secret entrance to the prehistoric caves, Bruce had little luck. I thought they would have installed a back door into a cave like that but all I found was a big pile of rocks and a nice cove filled with seagulls.

We had lunch at the `Lourdes of Spain`, a place where a highly outnumbered Petoya defeated the Moors a long time ago. In this area of Spain, Asturia, the people are very proud because they are the only region in the country that has never fallen into the control of another power.

Tomorrow, we are off further west in search of less tourists and more beaches.....we will keep you posted!