Bocairent to Vallada – wet, wet, wet

Last night (she said, oh baby I feel so down), well the bit in brackets is actually the lyrics of a Strokes song. And excellent it is too. Last night after checking in I went to the only place open in Bocairent for tea and chat. Two pints of Estella damm, one glass of tinto, patatas bravas, home made pork belly scratchings, octopus, mini spicy sausages with bread to soak up the juice, and a plate of kidney shaped beans in a garlic gravy which blew my socks away. Kiss my tomatoes Christian! Less than £11. 

This morning was cold and a bit of a breeze, but no frost around as it was cloudy and rainy. Just a wind chill factor. I headed down the GR7 track and realised that the first 20 kms were across a plain and with the rain in Spain it was going to be as boggy as heck. I made a snap, and good, decision to turn around and detour to Vallada by road. A local bar was open so I stopped for two coffees and a tostado for breakfast. Felt better. Bocairent looked ok as I left, despite the power cable!

The rain came on faster and I had to put on my Swiss Army waterproof coat over my rucksack, which makes me look like this.

People tend not to give me the benefit of the doubt. I don’t give a shit. I’m too old and battleworn to care what strangers think of me. That’s for people who are climbing the life and career ladder. I stepped off it. 

The road curled down a canyon towards Ontinyent.

In extremis I could sleep in these caves. Wouldn’t be the first time.

The extent of the recent deluge was amazing and apparent. This is water deposited debris a good 40 feet above the present river level. Just six feet below the level of the road I was standing on. Unbelievable.

The farmland survives on irrigation from the river and the channels weren’t running. They were blocked by flood deposits.

You can probably only see one of the guys in blue down in the channel on the bank on the other side of the river but there was a gang of them digging out the mud from the deluge. Just one little blue dot showing. Spot the dot. Left of the little concrete stanchion. 

After Ontinyent the road rose up over another line of hills. Knackering. Looking back at Ontinyent the weather cleared a bit. The peak in the middle is the top of Serra Mariola which I climbed up yesterday. 

Eventually the top of the hill arrived and the road started dropping. There’s no traffic. Nothing for an hour. After another hour walking Vallada appeared in the valley. Beyond the valley are the mountains in the distance that I’ll be walking through. So far it’s been a bit domesticated. Those distant peaks are in uninhabited territory. Well, not many folk anyway. 

The peaks above Vallada looked pretty impressive, none more so than this baby. Reading glasses will pick out the cross on top! 

I pulled into Vallada, well I walked actually but pulled sounds cool. I asked around if there was a room for the night and there was a clear no. I had to wait for the supermarket to open at 5pm and I stocked up for the next three days as there are no shops or anything for the next 88 kms. My intention was to get back on the trail and pitch my tent but it was getting dark and I was nowhere near the forest cover I need to wild camp. Maggie had spotted a hotel on the internet, 8 kms from where I was. Coincidentally it was on the Pilgrimage route which I had originally intended to follow to Santiago de Compostela, and I had my pilgrim credentials with me, which I’d obtained from The Friends of the Camino. I called the hotel and they offered me the Pilgrim rate for the room. I went for it and stuck my thumb out as it was getting dark. The first truck stopped and gave me a lift to the hotel door. Result. I paid and the hotel stamped my credentials. It’s only a white lie that I’m doing the Pilgrimage. Nothing too bad. I’m in my room eating my stores. Darkish because the main light dunt work.

Not only stores but the best dried dates you can ever get. Maggie bought them from a couple across our road who support the livelihoods of Palestinian farmers under occupation by distributing Zaytoun products. Beautiful taste in the mouth and in the heart.

No escape route now. I’ve got 88 kms to my next possible bed in Cortes de Pallas. Fanny Adams between now and then apart from one spring. I can’t avoid wild camping any more.

Or I could pretend to be tough and defiant.

Night night.