Sotres isn’t quite at the end of the tarmac as there’s a little more, to Tresviso, that we didn’t drive. We got an elevated spot on the camper van grassy area and the view of the mountains was super. The village caters for walkers and climbers and possibly suffers the camper vans without much choice. Any facilities that used to be provided are not now, however we had an empty loo (always a good ploy) and plenty of drinking water (20 litres plus various bottles).
We had a wander around. It’s always good to see a Land Rover - this is a Santana (leaf sprung), built under licence. We checked that there’s bread tomorrow (from 9am) and a found couple of bars from which we would choose one for a drink.
We laughed when we saw a wind sock in what looked like the garden behind the little hotel & bar. We chose this one as, peering into the other, all we could see was a local mountain-wizened man looking out at us. I felt that striking up any kind of conversation would be difficult at the best of times and certainly too demanding of my Spanish.
So into the climbing-memento-strewn bar we went and ordered our beer. The barman hadn’t completed the pouring when a helicopter dropped down and landed behind in the wind-sock garden. Only the landlord seemed unsurprised. Everyone else ran into the street to look, including the staff.
Then we started talking to an English guy who’s on a week’s guided walking, through Explore Travel. The group of sixteen covered all the ages and they had just completed day two and he thought “it was going to be alright’. He’d been worried about group dynamics but I said I thought that sixteen meant you could ignore a problem character without it being obvious. In fact he’d done the research and suggested that two hour shift rotation would be needed, to keep misfits occupied but away from the rest. Such homework! We then tried to observe the rest coming into the bar for dinner to see where our friend ‘sat’ in the group. When a couple of others came over to talk, we were happy to see that he had fitted in.
The two chaps from the helicopter walked into the bar with their overnight bags and I could clearly detect a slight swagger in one as he greeted the landlord. If I was he, I’m sure I’d have been the same, flying in like that. It turns out that they are really just a glorified labourer and electrician, working to lift electric pylons into awkward mountainside locations and secure with concrete. That would explain the electrical generators on the lower car park. They aren’t there to deter camper-vanners, it’s a temporary supply for the village. We realised that they’d be on all night. One of us appreciated the constant noise but the other didn’t, I’m sorry to say.
Again we felt that the locals were trying to deter us but just like the walker in the bar, I’d done my homework and we ignored the dubious deterrent sign at the hairpin where our track started.
The off-road drive was easier than expected as most of the accounts are provided by bikers and because it’s so loose and rocky, it is a challenge for them. For us it was a beautiful drive in perfect weather - 16km in 90 minutes with a few stops to take it all in. We also talked to Steve, a biker from that posh Formby, who we met near the top. Poor Steve didn’t feel well since leaving the ferry a couple of days ago. He’s really off to Portugal but his legs ache. We give him some sympathy and hope that he can continue.
Then we turn around and drive all the way back, this time away from the sun and stop about half way down. There we have lunch at the side of a stream.
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