Alcoy to Benifallim and back – to see how far it is

A late rise – 9.30 – and a decent breakfast, largely of bread, olive oil and crushed tomatoes. Lovely. Because I ended short of my destination yesterday I had to go back today and finish off what I left. There and back was about 23kms, without my rucksack. Funnily enough 23 kms with my rucksack too. But I hadn’t got it. The sky was clear all day and again the shadows held onto the frost, but in the sun it was warm. Sunday is a grim day to be roadwalking, particularly in the countryside, as thousands of motor bikers race around all over the place. They even ride in tandem up to twenty at a time. They should get a proper hobby. Walking. 

The road, as usual, works its way up a hill and down to Benifallim, but not such a high one or steep one. The views are more pastoral than dramatic, but still lovely. In this one you can see the frost on the valley floor under the trees. It’s going to be cold nights for camping. Oh heck. But Scotland was freezing and I got rained and snowed off the Cape Wrath trail. And then I only had my trusty tarp Wilson. This time I’ve got my one man tent and an inflatable mattress to keep me off the cold earth. In Jockland I didn’t have owt but a groundsheet. Be reight.

The hunters were out in force. I think you can see this one this time on top of the hill. I zoomed in. I didn’t hear any shots in my area but there was one over the hill to the north so someone may have copped lucky.

The path I’m taking tomorrow and for the next four weeks – the GR7 – runs through a valley in a few days that’s been bought by a rich folks’ hunting club and they’ve put a 3 metre fence around it. Apparently it’s easier to get over the fence and across than get round. We’ll see. I’m inclined to go round. Mass trespass on Kinder Scout would have been cool but that was 85 years ago and individual trespass gives only one target. I’ll go round.

The road crept over the brow of the hill and the warming valley opened up.

It was like taking a run in cricket and Benifallim was the far stumps where I turned round and dashed back. It’s a very quiet village but nice looking.

On my way back I made a stop at the Venta Sant Jordi, the inn on the photo with the bikes. It was half three but they were still serving late lunch and I had a nice menu of the day with warming local scran. Cheeses, cured ham, pork ribs, hot onion croquettes. Just what the doctor ordered. Well actually it was me that ordered it. The sun was going down when I came out so I legged it back to the hostel before the ice took over. I was only in my shorts and t shirt. Alcoy in the valley bottom backed by the hills I’m going over tomorrow, resplendent in the pale, chilly evening sun. Great. A hot bath. I washed my dirty clothes and hung them over my radiators, which then went off. Hope they come back on. Pretty please.

Walking down through town there are lots of Christmas mannequins of black men climbing up balconies to deliver presents. 

Not very pc if you have a Hampstead mentality but moorish blood runs through Spanish veins and 800 years ago Christians, Moors and Jews were living in peace side by side. It struck me as similar to the Dutch tradition of Black Piet who helps Sinterklaas. Interestingly Piet is a Moor from Spain in Dutch folklore. 

Anyway my lovelies I’m tired as an old fart might be. A long day tomorrow, nearly 30 kms again with my rucksack uphill and down dale. I’m not going to push myself slavishly to reach Reus on time. If the body says ‘slow down’ and I think it might be saying that at the moment, then that’s what I’ll do. I’ve got all the rest of my life to walk from Tarifa to John O’Groats. Bite size chunks. Night night. Sleep tight. Hope the midges don’t bite.