It’s a long way to Arzobispo, it’s a long way to go – from Chera.

34 kms to be precise. I had a good night’s sleep even though temperatures plunged. The wind, which was making all sorts of strange noises in my Albergue, dropped in the night. That really cooled things down. A quick mini breakfast with black pudding and coffee and away. Up, up and away. Ah but it’s reight hard to remember that on a day like today. Arctic temperatures. 

The day was very clear and I had my long trousers on and three layers on top. I left the breakfast bar at 8am and the first spring had lovely icicles.

The sun began to rise over the mountains ahead, lighting up the mountains behind, with Chera disappearing into the distance. 

Wild artichokes and sheets of ice in the olive groves. 

It’s a strange season this time of year. Some of the trees and shrubs observe winter’s hibernation and others continue to produce, despite the cold. This grove of oranges thrives up here in the mountains.


My route took me east up and over to Sot de Chera, then north up and over to Chulilla and further north to Villar del Orzobispo. The first run over to Sot de Chera was quite beautiful.

The village was picturesque and I stopped for a couple of cups of coffee. That’s four this morning! Climbing up and away the village was spectacular in the sun and the setting.

Towards the top of the next range I looked back at the mountains I was leaving behind.

And just round the brow of the hill looking forward to my final destination way up the plain.

Winding down to the foot of the plain the mountains to the right of the photo above were bulky, dry and worthy of a Western movie.

Whilst the valley floor was the place to grow the winter greens. 

As the sun took over, and the wind remained slight, the air warmed and I stripped back to my shorts and shirt. Further up the valley there was a small hydroelectricity plant fed from storage in a rock face. If you look closely to the right just above the cables are two rock climbers, with another one dressed in red further up the climb. Proper climbers. When I say I climb I mean walk or scramble up a hill. These folk climb.

The road approached Chulilla, looking good in the sun with ancient castle walls above it.

And the really amazing surprise was the depth and severity of the gorge that cut through behind the town. Spectacular.

It was getting later in the afternoon now. Cloud had developed and a cold wind returned. I redressed the balance. Well, the old bloke really, not the balance. A paraglider flung him or herself off the cliffs to my left and I only managed a poorly defined outline. He or she must have been f..f..freezing. 

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Eventually Villar arrived at my feet. Eventually I made it to my room and showered in warm water. Eventually dinner was served, they don’t half eat late. Eventually I’ve had my fill and I’m going to bed. Good scran though.

Night night.