[Pronounced Pen-yis-colla, by the way.]

A gota fría was forecast for the Jalón area this weekend. A gota fría is literally a “cold drop”, a particular meteorological phenomenon in which a low pressure area becomes disconnected from its normal mother lode, the jet stream, and floats around causing unpleasantness independently. The cold drop [in temperature] is accompanied by heavy rain. We experienced a gota fría in December 2016 when our river ended up in torrent [see Gota Fría].

We had been planning a weekend trip to visit friends in Peñíscola, ~250kms further north. In Peñíscola rain was also forecast but perhaps not to the extent expected in Jalón. After some debate between us, we decided to continue with our weekend trip, not only because it might be lighter rain up at Peñíscola but also because, if the weather was going to be pants, why not have some old friends to natter to instead of staring at our own walls? It’s a 3-hour drive, including comfort break; we arrived shortly before 13:00 on Friday.

I refer to Peñíscola as El Cid country. That’s because the Castillo de Peñíscola was one of the [four] castles used in the 1961 film, El Cid. This is the castle towards the end of the film where a dead El Cid, a.k.a. Don Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar [El Cid is much easier], a.k.a. Charlton Heston, having been mortally wounded in battle, dies but is then strapped back on his horse to ride down a ramp and scare the crap out of the Moorish foe on the beach. This, of course, was a couple of years after Charlton Heston had scared the crap out of the Romans in 1959 as Judah Ben-Hur. The inimitable Charlton Heston would later be resurrected and go on to be scared the crap out of himself by a lot of very hairy actors on The Planet of the Apes in 1968. What a guy.

Anyway, all that crap is delightful CHB – Classic Hollywood Bollocks. The Castillo de Peñíscola was supposed to represent Valéncia, which doesn’t even seem to have a castle. The Castillo de Peñíscola was actually used by the Knights Templar but let’s not get into any Holy Grail crap. Here’s a crappy phone camera shot of Peñíscola castle taken around dawn from our bedroom in our hosts’ pad, so it’ll give an idea of their views, too, which are not crap. 😉

This MAY be the ramp down which the dead Charlton Heston was sent to scare the Moors on the beach, but I’ve seen the film only once and it was a long, long time ago, so don’t quote me. Whatever, it is the gateway into the old town.

I am pretty sure that this, playa norte, is the beach where the Moors were scared crapless by Charlton, apparently risen from the dead. [Well, he had to rise again to blast off to Planet of the Apes, didn’t he?]

On the other side of the peninsula, the old town is sided by playa sur and by a fishing harbour housing boats which wouldn’t have suited even a Hollywood depiction of the closing years of the 11th century at all, but it makes a reasonable postcard view in the 21st.

We did enjoy a lunch within the walls of the old town in a self-styled Tex-Mex restaurant where, as we have recently learned from the excellent Mr. Rick Stein, they serve Carne con Chile and NOT Chile con Carne, the latter being a Texanization [and we all know how mad the Texans are]. Although, this being a Tex-Mex rather than a Mexican restaurant … well?

Finally, how the hell does one correctly spell chili/chile/chilli? I’ve seen ‘em all and find it mightily confusing. I originally discounted chile as just the country, albeit with a capital, but it seems to be the Spanish spelling of the fiery vegetable, too. If so, I’m up for it. Answers on a postcard to …

Flexible folks are the Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers. This Wednesday there was originally no moderately graded walk, just a red run and two black runs. Two blacks, indeed. Francine says two blacks is quite usual. Clearly we need more training. We have done a red but we’re still getting back into it after a couple of injuries, so not just yet. Anyway, the call went out and nice chap called Barry agreed to lead a late addition blue run starting in Lliber, which is a quaint village in our valley.

The details posted were to start in Lliber, then make a circuit round to Senija via the so-called Hidden Valley, and from there to return to Lliber. It would be 13kms with 375m of ascent and take 4½hrs. Irresistible! Well, it was likely to be one of the bars in the middle of Lliber at the end that would probably prove irresistible.

Just to try something different and because I seem to have found a GPS tracker app that works, here’s the route – go clockwise starting in Lliber on the left.

The walk was very enjoyable, too, though. As it cut back towards Senija, the route joined a section of a route with which we are very familiar, the walk up to the cross above Senija. We use that as a limbering up walk when we have just arrived in Spain and need to get our legs moving again.

The almond blossom is just beginning to burst on a few trees but we’re not into anything spectacular yet. Here’s a shot showing an almond tree and a very attractive dry stone wall, the point of which we could not determine. Jalón is central in the distance.

There is a traditional almond blossom walk in the Jalón Valley in a couple of weeks. We’re booked in. Let’s hope the heavy rain forecast for next week doesn’t ruin it.

The walk details proved accurate and, just as I thought, the bar in Lliber was irresistible.

Yes, yet another walk with the Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers. This walk was advertised as the Barranco de Turrubanes Circuit, another blue grade walk of 10 kms with 350m of ascent, starting from Vall d’Ebo, which is itself quite high at 400m. However, the intended walk, when recced, proved to be impossible – a fence had been erected across an indispensible path. So, our fearless leaders swiftly came up with an alternative route of similar length starting from the same village.

A week ago we’d been on another walk with the CBMW folks and had driven through Vall d’Ebo to get to that start point. On that occasion, as we passed through Vall d’Ebo the temperature had dropped to 3°C. today was no different; descending into Vall d’Ebo once again the car bonged its less than welcome warning of 3°C. My legs, clad in crop-length walking trousers, felt decidedly underdressed.

The new walk began in a rather tedious manner, that is to say, mostly on a concrete road winding its way up the side of the first hill. Personally, I would rather be on rough rocky terrain than hard, even but unrelenting concrete. After some descending, though, we eventually struck off across a vegetated footpath which would lead us up routes consisting largely of my favoured rocks before descending a similarly rocky track back down to our start point.

Two years ago, these hillsides had been devastated by an horrendous forest fire, caused by a careless old farmer who almost lost his life for his troubles. Back then, I’d seen the blackened skeletons of trees left behind shortly after our arrival. One effect of the fire was to reveal a footpath that was hitherto unknown to the walking group. Now the hillsides and mother nature are recovering nicely but the regrowth is making some sections of the newly discovered track difficult to negotiate. Negotiate it we did but some of the going was quite hard work. It was worth it, though, given these views. This is looking over Pego to the Mediterranean beyond.

I’ve been trialling a few different GPS route trackers. The one I switched on today claimed that our walk  had covered 5.8mls/9.33kms. A more comprehensive piece of kit being used by another walker added the total ascent figure of 420m. It was a most invigorating walk but, because of the tough terrain, these were the longest 9.33kms that I’ve ever walked. Very enjoyable, though.

Naturally, this effort required refreshment. Vall d’Ebo itself seemed almost dead until, that is, we opened the door to a local bar and found almost all of the 286 [2012 figures] inhabitants therein. So that’s where you all are. With a 1ltr bottle of Amstel costing a mere 3€ I could understand why.

Oh, Francine and I shared the bottle – I was driving. 😉

Much as I don’t “do” cities, I can usually be encouraged to visit Valencia for a day so I can drool over the bewildering array of toothsome delights on offer in the absolutely incredible Mercado Central [Central market], It is a covered market housed in a wonderfully ornate 8000 square metre building which is, itself, worth going “ooh, ah” at even without the food.

On this occasion, Francine was interested in another Valencian “market”; Francine wanted to visit La Lonja de la Seda. Using the normally quite reliable Reverso, La Lonja de la Seda translated to “The Strap of her(it) Sedates”. Oops, methinks; perhaps somewhat less than reliable this time around.  Google Translate came up with something nearer the mark: “The Silk Market”. La Lonja de la Seda is usually referred to in English as “The Silk Exchange”. Francine also had the nearby Cathedral in her sights. [Sigh] Oh well, at least I’d be able to swoon at the food items on offer at the Mercado Central just across the road from the Silk Exchange.

As we have done in the past, we took the train from Xeraco. Regrettably our journey to the station was not as smooth as silk ‘cos I took a wrong turn and ended up on the N332 heading south back the way we’d come. “Bother”, said Pooh, crossly. I dropped a U-turn, as complex as only the Spanish can design, at Gandia and headed back in the correct dirección.

It’s about an hour’s ride into Valencia from Xeraco and we were soon enjoying a coffee and toast smothered in tomato and olive oil before girding the loins for Francine’s main event.

I was being a real tourist for once; we lashed out 2€ a head to gain entry to the historic Lonja de la Seda. Within the building’s outer walls lies a small quadrangle planted with orange trees, just outside the room that was the main silk trading area, a sizeable hall supported by ornately twisting columns. The floor is pretty neat, too. Photographs must be thoughtfully composed to consider the windows which can cause lighting difficulties and which do not have particularly attractive backdrops outside them.

Having taken silk, we tromped off to the Cathedral, just as a murmuration of school children was preparing to enter. We gave a collective sigh at our less than perfect timing and chose to climb the 207 steps up the tower which was a) cheaper, and b), largely child free. During the ascent, a few stops were required for lung recovery. Having caught our breath at the top, we could look at the city’s skylines and marvel at the number of church domes within spitting distance.

Descending was considerably easier. I couldn’t help but notice that this Spanish spiral staircase had been built with a thread opposite to that used in an English castle, this one favouring rather than disadvantaging a right-handed, sword-bearing attacker heading upwards. Maybe the Spanish were not as concerned about sword-bearing attackers as we were?

Thigh muscles complaining mildly from our ascent and descent of the Cathedral tower, we found a brilliant tapas bar offering a tempting array of pinchos. Pinchos are tasty morsels, generally skewered onto a small slice of bread by a cocktail stick. You help yourself from those on offer and your cocktail sticks are tallied at the end to calculate the total bill. Well, total once the drinks have been added, of course. It was a fun way to eat lunch. One cannot help but marvel at the trust and honesty needed to make a such a system work. Imagine that in England.

Now to my main event, the Mercado Central. Here’s a picture showing the decorative roof. But onto the food; let the swooning commence. You have never seen so many jamons in all your life. The Spanish LOVE their jamons. A serious amount of the humongous space is given over to jamon. Francine was immediately taken by a well matured example priced at something in excess of 130€ a kilo. She invested 5€ in three reverentially shaved slices. [I have to say it was an oral experience, nearly as soft as butter with fat that almost melts on the tongue.] For my part, I was irresistibly attracted to a cheese containing truffle and bought a modest wedge costing almost 13€. [That was sublime, too.] My purchase received an appreciative nod from the stall holder.

Oh dear, this could become an expensive habit. If it does, at least I might remember my way to Xeraco station.

Boots on again.

Which reminds me, buying walking kit in this part of Spain isn’t as easy as one might expect. On a descent from our first outing up to the cross above Senija, my toes had been bumping into the front of my old boots; most uncomfortable. I wanted new, better fitting boots. Asking around, I discovered that we are somewhat spoiled in England with outlets such as Blacks/Millets, Cotswold Outdoor, Go Outdoors, and numerous other specialist outdoor pursuit equipment vendors. On the Costa Blanca, nada. Well, almost nada; there are a couple of Decathlon stores with their cheap Quechua brand gear, and maybe a little more besides. I did find half a dozen boots to choose from in a local department store called Aitana and happily, they were comfortable and seemed to fit. So far they’ve done admirably and were a snip at 45€.

So, my 45€ boots were donned again today for one of the Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers green grade walks – the gentlest of their categories. We may have liked something just a little more challenging but this would keep the legs limbered up. We met in Tormos at 10:30 for the Tormos Stroll, billed as 8.5kms/5mls in 3 hours with only 200m of total ascent (though I think it felt less than that) – very gentle. Possibly because it was an easier walk, it attracted a lot of interest; there were 23 of us.

Whether by design or by happenstance, our walks have had little snippets of interest along the way. The interest today was a dam, the narrowest dam in the severest of gorges that I’ve ever seen. Said dam is nearly always empty of water and is thus thought of by some as a folly. Not so. It was built with a specific job in mind, the job being to hold back flood waters and stop them rushing headlong down the rocky valley to the relatively nearby sea. At such times, the reservoir behind the dam fills but is not retained; rather the water seeps back into the aquifer and replaces much needed ground water. It is not lost to the sea. Clever.

Once we’d gone “ooh, ah” at the dam, we did a little more of the modest ascending to begin our return along a higher level path complete with a tunnel. We assumed that the tunnel was built to open the way to the dam wall for maintenance purposes. The back marker in this picture is yours truly so you can see the 45€ boots. Oh, the green shirt is also a Quechua from decathlon – in Milton Keynes. 🙂

It was a fun walk at a gentle pace complete with a handful of dragonflies darting about on a small pool that we past towards the end – Common Darters (Sympetrum striolatum), of course, though no wildlife camera so no detailed picture.

A walker going nuts over dragonflies caused a few raised eyebrows but others understood. I may even have sewed the seeds of a speaking engagement next winter with the U3A. That’d be fun.

Another beer, too? Surely not.

The beat of life, that is.

We’ve been in a cool spell recently, where cool means that temperatures haven’t risen much above 11°C. Today, though, the wind felt as though it was coming more from the south, i.e. Africa, and with crystal clear blue skies, the temperature climbed higher hitting about 18°C.

After a morning of essential food shopping and chores, and followed by lunch on the balcony, we headed down into Jalón to see if any friends were around. We’d seen a lonely only two days ago and now it’s all about how long the 2017 dragonfly season can be pushed.

Our secret place some way away from water, the place had was home to our lonely only two days ago, produced nothing. We followed that with nothing also from the first pools on the river.. Then we fought our way through some vegetated rough ground to get to a sheltered area on the other side (north) of the river. Francine spotted a suspect perched on a stem, flying sorties to catch passing flies. Excellent! Naturally, at this time of year, it was a Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum).

I worked my way further along this section and caught sight of a movement. Risking life, limb and camera, I scrambled lower and disturbed two more suspects. They scarpered before I could snag them. I was already content, though.

Better was to come. As we made our way back thinking we were done, just as we were passing the ford, a pair began ovipositing in the ford, right in front of us. “Switching to manual, Captain”. Most of the shots were rubbish but this one came out well.

So, at least four active Darters on 16th January. Wow!

Another Monday and another walk with our new found Monday walking group organized by Helen. We awoke to a fairly solid overcast and, given our early start time [09:00], life was a little on the cool side. The weather forecast suggested that conditions would brighten up at 10:00. Having assembled again in Parcent, we followed Helen in a 4-car convoy to our start point behind Murla.

We set off and were soon walking through a gate in a long wall. This was the wall that more or less surrounds the historically interesting place on today’s route, the Sanatorio de Fontilles. Fontilles is also referred to as a Leprosarium and, perhaps less charitably, as a leper colony. “Don’t panic, Mr. Mainwaring!” Fontilles was established in 1902 and played a key role in treating leprosy in Spain. Some literature says “eliminating leprosy in Spain” although there are apparently still ~20 cases a year, though mostly from immigrants. The exaggerated reputation that leprosy bore was why the wall, which scales some impressive mountain slopes, was built around the site.

The weather forecast was wrong. We continued on our upward route through Fleix with a few spots of rain dampening my sombrero, then continued up to Benimaurell at 540m, 340m higher than Murla. With the undulations of the route, we’d amassed a total ascent of ~400m. We called into a colourful local bar in Benimaurell for a coffee. It looked absolutely nothing from its exterior but inside we were greeted by Spanish/Mexican music which the locals were enjoying along with their coffee.

By now the sun put in its overdue appearance and we returned downhill to Murla for a total of 13.3kms/8.5mls. It was a good step and naturally, refreshments were needed. The Cooperativo in Parcent filled the bill nicely.

What, another walk this week?

‘T was a cool morning. OK, in places it was downright cold. As we drove up the twisting and turning hairpin-rich road from Pego towards Vall d’Ebo, the car irritatingly bonged a warning to inform us that it was a mere 3°C outside. Shortly thereafter it fell to 2°C outside. Good job we’d brought fleeces with us.

We skirted Vall d’Ebo and continued climbing to Alcalá de la Jovada, which is at an altitude of 650m/2100ft. Mercifully the mercury had not continued to fall as we climbed. Vall d’Ebo is probably in a frost hollow. It was still cool, though, maybe 6°C. We parked and joined another six Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers for The Landing Strip Circuit from Alcalá de la Jovada.

The Landing Strip Circuit is another of the CBMWs’ blue grade walks. This one looked like being nothing particularly taxing which, for my third walk in a week, was perhaps no bad thing; it is billed as 8.8kms with 210m of ascent. It was a mixture of forest tracks, which we could have driven up, and lightly wooded paths, which we could not.

The mountains in our neck of Spain are all quite similar and all quite attractive. The interesting feature along this walk was, as the title implies, an aircraft landing strip. This is no ordinary landing strip, however. This is a landing strip used to refill fire fighting planes used when either Mother Nature or some inattentive/malicious bozo sets fire to the landscape.

About half way around the walk, we reached the top of a gentle gradient to find, at the top of the hill, a flattish, straight-ish, partially tarmacked, gravel-strewn runway. Beside said runway were a couple of large water tanks, the upper one of which had a pipe running into it, presumably to fill it with the water required for forest fire fighting. What was not clear to me was where the water came from that got into the pipe that fed the tank – there was little higher ground to provide any run-off so where’d it come from? I know not.

We finished the walk, having covered 9.5kms after a few missed turns, with an obligatory beer – the temperature had warmed to something like 10°C so, being hardened mountain walkers, we sat outside – before Francine and I left our walking companions and headed across into another valley and to Benalí for a bite of tapas for lunch.

What a pleasant way to be able to spend a Saturday in January, despite being a little cool … by Spanish standards.

After a morning of chores and since the sun was shining, Francine and I decided to limber up our legs in the afternoon. We chose to start in Jalón and wander around some of the roads and tracks on the southern side of the valley, those which we look at from our balcony in Casa Libélule.

We parked down in town and began by ascending the stations of the cross in Jalón, the only steep-ish bit of what was going to be a casual walk. As we began descending from the not-very-high high point, we startled a squirrel – in this part of the world, they are all Red Squirrels – who scampered up the nearest tree trunk and eyed us suspiciously. Francine, who was intent on scouting out potential almond blossom orchards, had her camera with her and managed to snag him, albeit on a landscape lens.

Descending further down the side of our very modest col, we became the startled ones, this time by seeing a dragonfly flitting about in a sheltered sunny spot. Expecting the dragonfly season to have ended, I did not have my camera with me but borrowed Francine’s. Once again the non-wildlife lens was pressed into wildlife use just for the record. Being 12th January, this certainly was a record, for me, anyway, being a new latest date for my European sightings. It’s a Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum), extending my season and answering the question I posed by writing Last of the Few? a week or so ago. Apparently not. The biggest surprise to me here was not so much the date but the location; we were quite a distance from the nearest water of which I am aware.

The rest of our walk was pleasant enough and Francine spent some time eyeing up a few possible almond plantations in readiness for almond blossom time in February. I’m not sure anything really stood out and grabbed her but it’s difficult to assess before the blossom bursts.

‘T was a pleasant walk of 3mls/5kms or so. Enough to keep the legs limbered up and we did snag our latest European dragonfly ever.