We reach one of many false summits, notice the green tinted mountain.
On an extremely windy morning, an equally rocky path and in a beautiful environment, we headed upwards.
We reached at least four false-summits, crossed a saddle and then ascended to the peak we sought, at which time
we positioned ourselves behind a rock in order to be protected from the gusts, while we took breakfast. It never
ceases to amaze us the effect the outdoors can have over a person. As we have mentioned frequently, each day is
different even in the same place. As each area in Spain is new to us, we are being spoiled with many delights.
Although in our defence, one has to work hard to achieve success, no matter what your field. We are often
reminded of a slogan attributed to Gary Player. He said the harder he worked at his game (golf), the luckier
he became.
From one of the summits, the vegetation was superb, contrasting with the blue mountains across and below.
A few thousand feet below is a dam that provided wonderful views.
Powerful winds show their effect on the grasses as we climb.
The longer we remain in Spain, the more attractive and interesting it is becoming. So many parts are beautiful
and reminiscent of other parts of the world. We passed Sevilla on the way north and were overwhelmed by its size
and bustling activity, notwithstanding it was siesta time. While we understand many people favor big cities
because of the...arts, culture and never forgetting, the ballet, we find living in the quieter areas closer
to nature far more rewarding. Of course, that is personal taste and preference. Nevertheless, as Bill Arras
once pointed out, something which we do but did not think through: When your feet touch the earth you get closer
to the natural state which includes different forms of electrodes entering the body, (sometimes ants, too).
Obviously, this is a complex subject but there sure is a lot of beauty outside the sprawling and busy cities.
Besides, we live mostly amongst the locals when we travel, allowing us to obtain a good feel for life
and culture of a region.
Rugged mountains, soft but hardy flora.
The previous night, we witnessed a bird getting roasted.
The telephoto lens brings Bejar close but not the return home.
Because they are wearing earrings, we wouldn't call them effeminate. Below is a true story
or almost true or...This is a small part of the herd which formed a lager when they saw Jen. To me,
they only smiled. (Read below the sequence of events...)
What do you do when you come across a herd of bulls and cows on the summit of a mountain? Well…we asked first.
It gets more complicated because a couple of calves were feeding close by and you know what moms can be like…which
is of course, a blessing. Add in the further complication that there’s no farmer around, no other person for many
miles and the editor is looking to me as her brave husband. Her first error. Normally, domestic animals are never
much of a problem but with 22 eyes staring at us, each animal with a fine set of horns and knowing that in Spain
there is good reason for tension to exist between bulls and men, the scene was set.
I explained our strategy. ‘Let’s graze with them for a while, they’ll get comfortable with us and therefore
we won’t present a threat.’ It worked and we ambled past the herd. However, on the return, the herd had grown
substantially although we doubt whether it was due to instant mating and steroid-type of births. Nevertheless,
they looked less friendly than before. Put another way, the editor was less comfortable than she had been.
She also mentioned that she was wearing a red and white striped tee-shirt which made her feel even more concerned.
“Don’t worry, my Darling,” I tried to comfort her, “I doubt whether any of them would get upset that you are
improperly color-coordinated.”
This time she developed a strategy. I thought it was brilliant. It went something like this:
We decided to have a discussion, loud enough so the bulls could hear clearly. We did not wish to do
it in a manner that would appear condescending; rather we’d treat them with the level of respect they deserved.
“How long has it been since we stopped eating red meat, Jen?”
“It’s coming on thirty years. What a terrible thing that was to do—poor animals.”
“Yes, indeed. And now we don’t eat chicken either. We’re vegetarians. Actually, you could say
we are herbivores.”
“You could say that, honey—don’t lay it on so thick—they’ll see right through you.”
“As for bull fighting, what a terrible national pastime—I really disagree with it.”
“Bull running, too. You won’t catch me anywhere near Pamplona, either.”
“Dreadful.”
While this intellectual discussion was in full swing, which sounded like two ‘whets’, one of us was whistling,
only to keep everyone calm, ‘The March of the Toreadors’. In retrospect, that might have been a little provocative.
Suddenly, the editor exclaimed, “We made a terrible mistake. We assumed that the bulls would understand us.”
“I suppose it’s a stretch, interpreting our language.”
“No, that’s not it. Language is probably not a problem. But these are Spanish bulls—I doubt whether they are bilingual.”
No bull.
The strategy again proved successful as we passed the herd and headed down the steep, stony trail.
I heard that. Who snorted? You think we're intimidated by you lot?
On the way down, an hour from the peak, Jen is nearly blown away.
A tribute to the lonely cairn...without them we'd be lost.
Evening hike on mountains opposite to the earlier (mountain) pictures.
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
Two people wondering and wandering:
Wandering about a city whose inhabitants have gone to take an afternoon nap.
Wondering whether I have enough to get me through the afternoon.
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