Ebro (Holiday 8/14)

There was a moment on the walk we went on today when we'd been wandering through some trees, and suddenly a view opened up. It was one of those things where we knew we'd been climbing, the heat and the already tired limbs after only about 5km of the sixteen we were doing had told us that, but not that much.

Far below was the valley, with the Ebro river flowing along the bottom. Not long before we'd been walking right alongside it, before climbing to the village of Cortiguera. Like many villages around here it's almost just a collection of ruined homes. It was abandoned in 1965 when an attempt to bring electricity was scuppered by a flood carrying away a small hydro plant. And yet the first building we walk past is now occupied, and a huge mansion, beside the old water supply for the village, is being renovated. 

On the walls of some of the buildings, as in Pesquera where we started, there are elaborate coats of arms carved and sited above doorways, hinting at a past when this was a summer playground for the wealthy and aristocratic. The mansion being renovated suggests those days may well return. Though they might have to upgrade the 3km dirt track to get to Cortiguera.... It's a strange mix of life and death.

The river meanders about in its carved furrow, while we stay high, taking in a rocky outcrop with a little hermitage sitting on top, seemingly inaccessible. Bones of a saint (check out the Oviedo entry for thoughts on relics!) were once kept here, but maybe the faithful got sick of the climb. They got moved out. Sitting below this is the village of Valdelateja, with a perfect spot for lunch, outside a small restaurant, sitting in the shade of a large tree.

The walk home along the river is less interesting, never really coming out beside the river much, and legs tiring the whole time. Until a thunderstorm starts rumbling both left and right. The sky has darkened, and while this was the forecast, it's a little early. I like thunderstorms. I don't get to see enough of them at home to try and photograph. But being out in the open while they rumble, I feel a little disconcerted. Mel less so. But at least we get to the car dry and unelectrified.

There's more wonderful food and hospitality in the evening; and as with the night before liqueurs are offered. This time there's a homemade Pacharan. Now I love the stuff, though I thought it was Basque and Patxaran, it appears it's more traditionally from the Navarre. Made of Sloes, and flavoured with Anis. Valvarena's version is very, very good. I explain in broken Spanish that it's better than one of the big commercial brands. She immediately dismisses that as not a very good Pacharan, and instead fetches a bottle of a different version. It tastes good as well, but I mention (honestly) that her's is the best.

I'm going to have to work out how to ask for the recipe...

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Firsts for the day: Pied Flycatcher, and a huge Praying Mantis.