Quiet Spain

Flamenco had been advertised for 17:30, at the campsite restaurant. The campsite isn't busy yet as it isn't July or August, which seems to be the only time any quantity of Spaniards go on their holidays. The restaurant is commensurably quiet too but we thought we'd go and listen.

I'd assumed that Flamenco is just guitar with some clapping but here we had a couple of guys, one who could play the guitar, properly and one who could sing, properly. The guitarist often played two different melodies simultaneously and without checking Google, I think that is Flamenco. I was expecting the other guy just to clap, Flamenco style but clapping was a mere sideline, as he could sing. It was no ordinary lament but a serious, sad almost haunting sound and I only wish that I understood the words. It was a very informal session.

I should say that this clip isn't particularly representative of the Flamenco style that I think they were playing!

A bigger draw however, was the World Cup 2018 opener for Spain against Portugal. The masses were gathered around TVs at all the bars but Cristiano Ronaldo spoilt the evening somewhat with his hat-trick to level the match at the close. It was a great family occasion though, so nice to see a well behaved mix of people and not a vest in sight.

We drove north from this far south-easern corner of Andalucia, hugging the coast on the A7-E15, just so we could gobble-up some kilometres. We were always an hour or so inland, heading through Sierra de los Filabre and the Sierra de Las Estancias until we were just a little further inland from Murcia in Sierra de Espuna.

We left the motorway and headed up into Espuna. Again and again on this trip we have been amazed at the scenery, its sheer size and splendour. There's nowhere in all our travels that wraps up remoteness, crags, height and dizziness into one country and then keeps it coming where ever you go. Why we didn't know this years ago I don't know. There might be the Costas but inland (and not far inland at that) it's an entirely different proposition.

The campsite reviews for the site at El Berro were good, so we rolled-up.

What can I say? A three-terraced site, with an amazing pool, a bar and a restaurant just on the road outside. All this in a tiny village that has nothing else except two panaderías and a shop for comestibles.

You have to look hard in theses villages to find anything moving, especially in the afternoon. I'm sure that the age profile, heavily skewed towards the older generation, has plenty to do with that. We wandered the little alleyways, looking over walls and into doorways. Everyone is curious to see you but happy with a Buenos Diás / Tarde. Even though we saw English people in the restaurant "We have a place on the coast", they never seem to walk around, except car to table to car.

We ate Menu del Dias during both afternoons we were there. I hesitate to describe the meal in detail ("and what good value it is"), as that's something I should reserve for later years. However, it was €9 each and that included a drink. So we asked for white wine and were brought the bottle and a bottle of water. Ensalada, Primo, Segundos, Postre, plus a café solo or con leche to finish. I tried to pay more for the wine and water but they would have none of it.

It got me wondering about business rates here and in the UK. I mean, how can they do it? They served between fifteen and twenty diners I think, during 13:30 to 15:30. It was great food, no frills and just perfect.

As for the campsite swimming pool, what can I say that isn't summed-up by this photograph, taken at the busy time, that is when someone was actually in the water (me). It was about a 20m length and so Dawn was in her element and I was trying to keep up.

Gareth and the boys were playing that night and so we did our bit and pegged our colours to the washing line. This wasn't just because there was a couple from Aberdeen next door, I really do want us to be proud of our team. Everyone else seems to support theirs.

I watched the match in the main room of the restaurant where we had just eaten. It was a lonely affair until a Dutch lady came in from outside. "They nearly look Dutch" she exclaimed, looking at our red shirts (with an orange tint maybe). "Well you may as well support us", I said (as Holland didn't qualify this time). She went back outside to her husband and to dinner but couldn't resist another visit at the death when we got the winner! Tunisia 1 England 2. Roll on Sunday.