Just by the by, I’ll muse briefly about the Spanish time zone. Spain being on the same time zone as Germany is bonkers, as far west as it is. Being on summertime anyway, the UK is already an hour ahead of the sun putting central European time two hours ahead of the sun. Spain’s positioning makes matters worse. When it’s 09:00 it still feels like 07:00, both from a point of view of sun height and of temperature. Our height at Burgos [900m] makes the overnight decidedly cool – we’ve been down to about 5°C – until the sun, if it chooses to shine, warms matters up.
This morning we were bound for the local supermercado, Mercadona on our e-bikes. It’s an easy 2kms distant with bike tracks all the way. Unlike some of our stupid planners who mix cyclists in with pedestrians, the Spanish appear to try to keep them separate; very sensible.
Francine had found and bought a very cleverly designed set of rear panniers from Decathlon. The two sides of the panniers are asymmetric and, when removed from the bike, zip together to form a handy-dandy rucksack. So, we got a set for my bike, too. It gives us a combined capacity to cope with a couple of days worth of food shopping with ease, even including vino.
We set off mid-morning. I’d put my long-sleeved shirt on over a T-shirt but I must say, zipping through the chill morning air, still attempting to catch up with the sun, I was not really warm enough. Man-up, Franco!
In the Mercadona car park we found a few bike stands, three to be precise, and locked our bikes to them. In fact, Francine locked our bikes to them ‘cos I had cleverly left my bike lock key in Frodo. I really must sort my key rings out.
The temperature felt considerably better when we exited the shop an hour later with our small trolley and loaded up the panniers. I’ve always tended to regard a bicycle as a leisure device in the past I’d never have dreamt of putting panniers on one – but now I’m beginning to think of it as a work horse.
In the afternoon Francine had a hankering to see a nearby monastery, the Cartuja de Miraflores. Cartuja is Spanish for a Charterhouse, apparently, a Carthusian monastery [it says here]. I wandered along to keep her company. Sitting outside waiting for opening time I got bored and wandered back, stopping keeping her company. I mean, it’s just a pile of old stones, and religious old stones, at that. Here they are, before opening time. Francine was more patient and went in to grab a decent shot of the altar and pleasantly ornate ceiling.
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