As I sat propped upon a rock next to a
trickling mountain stream I tried to think about nothing. Instead, after a last
minute change in plans, I couldn’t help but contemplate how I would get back to
Madrid to collect all my belongings. I’m in the middle of the sierras where
I’ve spent the past few days, 12kms or more from the nearest town and my mobile
went flat yesterday. I’ve got two tortillas, an avocado and an orange.
Gathering the last of my thoughts and my backpack I inhale one last breath of
mountain air and decide to beat it.
It’s early Sunday morning and at this hour
there’s no one driving back down the winding mountain road. I get a few strange
glances from those who pass heading to the start of the hiking trails. It
doesn’t look like I’ll be able to implement my hitchhiking contingency plan
this time.
When I arrive in the little town a few
hours later I’m told the bus will pass in 5-6 hours. I’m not really in the mood
for being stationary so after a quick coffee I keep on moving. I know that this
road connects with the one that goes directly to Madrid 30 something kilometers
further on in the larger town of Arco de Avila.
By the time I decide to stop walking the
midday sun is sweltering, I calculate it’s still at least 23km to Avila and
I’ve begun to get a little peckish. Here, there’s enough room for a passing car
to stop safely and I welcome the opportunity to rest and prepare an avocado
wrap.
As the cars pass I pop out my thumb and put
on my best please-pick-me-up-I’m-not-a-serial-killer face. And for the better
part of an hour, to no avail. Finally an old man driving the classic small town
pick-up van stops to offer me a ride. His reaction is priceless and says
something in Spanish roughly translated to, “Holy shit! What valiance!’ Followed
by, ‘Shit lady you’ve got two balls as big as…’ Suffice to say he was surprised
to encounter me that day.
Weaving down the mountain I try my best to
keep pace with his strong southern accent. This is where learning Spanish in
Andalucía – despite initial recommendations against it – finally paid off. Words
were partial and silent consonants could easily slip you up. A few kilometers
later he’d regained composure, improved articulation and eased up on the
‘joders.’
He motions to the backseat where a tattered
leather sunhat and wooden shepherd staff lay. He explains that he’s just coming
back from mushroom foraging. One of his favorite sports – where it’s nothing
but him, his small cloth sack and the fresh mountain air. Perfect for thinking
and clearing the mind. Once upon a time he lived in the city – now he enjoys
the simplicity of mountain life.
We talk about family – he has a partner and
two dogs, they couldn’t have children but he doesn’t seem to mind. He carries
the stereotypical Spanish passion for food – with all his hand gesturing I’m
worried for a moment he might lose the road but he tones it down around bends
ensuring at least one hand is on the wheel.
I notice we pass the turnoff for his
village where I was going to continue my afternoon hike down the mountain. He
hushes me to not worry and drives out of his way to drop me at the bus stop.
I run my finger over the column marked
‘Domingo’ under the heading for transportation; direction Madrid. The clock on
the wall above the notice board reads 14:35 – just under two hours before the
next bus. Right now I’m not sure if I can be bothered to hitchhike the
remaining distance and could do with respite from the searing near summer sun.
As a final effort before the siesta I wander past the bus station in the
direction to the plaza mayor to
investigate. It takes all over 10 minutes to circumnavigate and boasts a
church, a castle, a romantic bridge and 50 years of judia production.
I settle on occupying a small patch of
grass under a tree in front of the bus station while I contemplate my next
move. To hitchhike or to wait for the bus? From experience I know that I make
decisions better after a small nap. And there’s no point rushing – I’ll
probably have to wait a few hours anyway before I can get in to the apartment
to get my things in Madrid.
I notice a small van approach the station
and the person in front waves. I look around and, spotting no one, realise
they’re waving at me. I’m surprised to see it’s Adrian, the man who picked me
up earlier, with a woman in the passenger seat and small dog in the back. Julia
jumps from the van, grabs my hand, greets me with two kisses and introduces
herself as Adrian’s wife. She’d become preoccupied as he told her my story over
lunch and she insisted that they return to look for me. Honestly, ‘Yes,’ I was
a little bit hungry and after 4 days in the mountains I would really enjoy a
shower. A home cooked lunch, freshening up and Spanish hospitality was an offer
I simply couldn’t refuse. If I wanted I could spend the night and head to
Madrid in the morning but I told them I’d prefer to keep moving, catching the
next bus at 17:00. Not a problem; they’d drop me back.
The town of Bohoyo felt familiar. Like
those I’d walked through on the Camino de Santiago two years earlier where time
had apparently forgotten to pass. Julia and Adrian’s house was made from stone
and the wooden balcony looked like it might collapse should someone stand on
it. Standing outside only revealed half it’s charm. Inside the rooms were small
and the ceilings were low. There was enough room to accommodate two or three
families but now the extra rooms were kept for visitors and family.
As I showered they sat on the stone bench
in front of the house. I’d decided to skip the next bus – electing to take the
last one at 20:00 so that Julia and Adrian could show me the lesser known
secrets of their rural town. At the local cafeteria a woman with red curly hair
smiled as she greeted me, ‘You must be the Australian.’ I suppose news travels
fast in these parts. The only other patrons were four old men playing dominos
around a plastic covered table. Two were brothers, one the father of the
waitress, and another the town mayor. Julia generally introduced my presence –
she was evidently proud to have a foreign guest and welcomed the opportunity to
show off her English skills.
In the late spring the snow had started to
melt from the mountains causing the river water level to rise. Now the water
gushed passed the bridge and through the waterways that ran through the small
cobbled streets. Aside the prettiest part of the river nestled a small bar
where I met, what I can only assume were, the remaining residents of Bohoyo.
The custodians of the tavern were four brothers; sons of the man playing
dominos and siblings of the cafeteria waitress. They introduced themselves as
they appeared in succession, one-by-one, from inside the wooden building. The
eldest had also traveled – visiting Thailand and the Caribbean. He wanted to
come to Australia one day but rubbed his thumb and his forefingers together,
shrugged and raised his eyebrows – the universal signal for ‘but that’s
expensive.’
The mayor’s wife was also there with the
other ladies of the village. While the men played dominos they’d gathered to
play bridge. The mayor’s wife signaled to Julia to join to which she replied,
‘But I don’t know how to play.’ ‘You’ll have to learn one day,’ came the
response with a warm smile. The ladies laughed as they chatted and recounted
stories from their youth.
Julia wrote down her email and phone number
should I decide to come back to Bohoyo – apparently it was lovely in summer and
early spring when the valley was in bloom and now I had friends there. Deciding
it was better to be earlier rather than later we made our way to the bus station
with plenty of time to spare. With time to kill we strolled to the castle
lookout. Cranes had constructed their nests atop the turrets and flew in and
out presumably with the next delivery of newborns.
At some point during the day I’d lost some
confidence – perhaps in people in general. There’s a little more to it – ask me
in person and I’ll fill you in. A friend once gave me a great analogy she’d
learned from her dance teacher - she’d said that when you encounter the awkward
part between songs when everyone leaves the dance floor, when you’re feeling
vulnerable and exposed, you’ve got to embrace the discomfort. Go back to
something you know, a move that’s repetitive, but whatever you do don’t leave the space! Because if you do
that then you’re not allowing yourself to be open to the next dance, to meet
someone new, and for something great to happen.
It might not have been monumental but
meeting Julia and Adrian helped the transition out of an otherwise awkward
place and renewed my belief that people are generally good. On the bus I
plugged my headphones in my ears and selected my favorite travel album - the
one that’s been played for the last 5 years now – and allowed all the good memories
and visual associations to flicker through my mind as the mountains disappeared
behind us.
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| The streets of Bohoyo that time forgot. |
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| Julia and Adrian out the front of their home. |
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| A crane leaving its nest atop a castle turret. |
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| Julia and Adrian’s dog looks out over the river next to the castle. |
