I thought I’d got enough signal to send the message about Vallada to Benali but it’s only just posted. I was in me tent two nights ago on the edge of a forest. It goes dark at 6 and light at 8 so not much walking time. Here’s me intent.

I have made it to Cortes de Pallas and am in a hostel. The walk was 55 miles over the last three days, which is ok but there int owt from Vallada to here apart from one mountain spring so my pack was over 20 kilos with two days water and three days food. On top of which there is mountain range after mountain range to climb. I am tired and I’d scheduled a break here so I’ve got a rest day tomorrow to recover, replenish and blog. See you tomorrow.

Night night. 

In tent and done a very hard day’s slog. 
Saving power and not very good signal. Will blog fully in a couple of days hopefully. X

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.

The smell of crushed wild thyme under your feet. Kiss my tomatoes Christian. Which means absolutely nothing but I thought might represent an English version of an American superlative. Tolkien must have based ‘athelas’ on thyme. Surely ref?

I’m including the kilometres from my mistakes below so this is what I’ve walked so far.

Beni to Relleu                         24 kms                           

Relleu to Benifallim              30

Benifallim to Alcoy               23

Alcoy to Bocairent                 30

So that’s 107 – 66 miles. That’s ok. If I can average that I’ll be ok. 

Camping tomorrow unless an angel intervenes. It’s a bit chilly and damp in most places for that caper. But needs must. Cheers babes.

I felt terrible last night. I felt like I couldn’t move my arms and just felt ill. It cleared up but I had a fitful night and the dreams weren’t mine. Like I’d got someone else’s head on my body. Weird. In the morning I felt crap too and was bunged up and sneezing. I’ve not been ill on my previous walks and didn’t want to be now. Then it occurred to me that I wasn’t drinking a lot of water. I knocked a litre down, had some breakfast and set off. The morning was clear and freezing so I had my hat on. I felt better after a while and made a point of drinking at each spring I came across. 

Alcoy looked good in the morning sun.

Hi G.

I’ve got a GPS, only a basic Garmin Etrex 20 but I downloaded a GPX of the GR7 track and it was brilliant and essential today with poor waysigning. That’s brilliant jargon int it? It looked good signage when I eventually joined the GR7 but it peaked early.

Straightaway I was into the type of country I’d come here for.

The track followed the gorge floor for a couple of kilometres before cutting up the valley side, giving welcome relief from the sub-zero temperatures down below. 

The track climbed another 8 kilometres and part way up it was blocked by fallen trees. Lots of em. I had to climb up the banking and climb over wherever I could. The foliage was dense and spiky. Not great when you’re in shorts commando (too much information) and a t shirt, but no hat by this time as it was very warm in the sun.

The mountain is over 4000 feet and it was a reight slog. At the top the views were well worth it. Stunning. 

The air was good to breathe and the water from the springs was sweeter than any I can recall. Not cold either as it filters through the mountain core.

The route cuts round the top of the mountain, Serra Mariola, and heads west and undulatingly downhill. But it disappears and then miraculously reappears two hundred metres to the left or right and you end up pushing through gorse and other shrubs to get back to it. You only know it’s there because of a trusty GPS, that I’ve christened Gav. Without Gav I’d still be up there.

The sun was now full on and it was really beautiful out there.

But time was moving on and the track descended into forest where the views disappeared.

I saw one other walker all day in 9 hours and 30 kilometres. A Spanish bloke coming the other way and we shook hands and wished each other a good trail ‘Buen Camino’. As the sun slowly descended the frost began to expand its territory.

Still warm in the sun I quickened my pace but I knew it would be almost dark before I made it to Bocairent. Down in the valleys it was a British late spring afternoon out of the shade and you could feel growth starting.

I came on a deserted old church with the oldest tree outside that I’ve ever seen. There were stone ramparts either side to support this ancient oak.

The sun was sinking down when I first spotted Bocairent and started to drop down a steep mountain track towards it. 

It’s a pretty town. With ancient narrow streets. 

The local premiership team, Valencia, are on tv. I think I’ll watch it – the atmosphere here in a local cafe where I’ve topped up with tapas is pretty good. Night night my darlings.

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.

Strange coincidences. When I arrived at Casa Perla yesterday afternoon it was a welcome sight I can tell You. Well, I did I with a capital letter and You my dears are no less important.  It looks nice.

Over to the right is a garage door and I heard voices from inside so I popped my head in, expecting some bloke to be working on a car. Instead it was converted into a bar. Pearl, the co-owner, laughed. Her and her partner Huib (Dutch) had passed me earlier in the day driving to Finisterra to buy my breakfast as all the local shops were shut. Huib joked that I was their guest. They passed me coming back and said what a pace I was setting and that I must be their guest. When I popped my head in an hour later she laughed, called Huib through and he nearly wet himself. I’m not that funny.

I told Pearl that her bar looked like the Cavern. She was shocked and asked me how I knew about that. Apparently her dad was a soul singer who was backed by the Beatles in the Cavern and in Hamburg, Davy Jones. He disappeared in 1971 and she can’t find him. She thought I knew the connection.

Huib said he was from Den Haag and we both laughed about the Duelling Pianos bar, a local  very well known landmark in nearby Scheveningen. I was checking my Facebook and got onto my exiled blades group. A blade had posted on our great form and I went on his Facebook page. He was from Den Haag and had posted photos of sunsets over Scheveningen.

I went up into the village to a restaurant run by two Scottish guys, father and son. Salt of the earth. I said both sides of my family came from Scotland but I’d done some ancestry research and couldn’t find it. The dad said ‘Bloody hell’ I’ve just been on the phone talking to my cousin less than five minutes ago about tracing our ancestry. 

I had a pint, they gave me another pint, cooked fabulous potato and onion soup and chicken balti with chips(exquisite) and charged me £8! My turn to say bloody hell.

My breakfast room, 8am this morning.

Lovely views, including a clear Puig Campana.

Breakfast was great and I set off at 9am. Straight away I took a wrong turn and it cost me an extra kilometre, but at that point I was ok, on good form and ready for the long walk today, starting with a 15 kilometre uphill stretch, some of it very steep. An old Moorish castle came up on my left, built in the 12th century. The Arabs ruled most of Spain for hundreds of years. 

And as I struck out into the countryside the views got better and better. 

It was still below freezing in the shade, due to the clear night, but warm in the sun. Bizarre switching between warm and cold but carrying my pack was keeping me warm enough. The frost clung to the side of the road all day.

When you don’t want to carry a lot of water these fresh water sources are brilliant.

I’d planned to turn off the road onto a footpath I’d seen on a map I’d downloaded from a Spanish government website. There was a barrier across the road saying it was private property but I thought the footpath was a public right of way. After the best part of two kilometres I realised that the dried up river bed I was following (it was too high up in the mountains to still benefit from the recent deluge) was going to be completely overgrown. Worse still, working my way back to the road, I saw a bloke on the hill up to my right in a safety vest and one coming down the hill in front of me. They were hunters armed with proper rifles, not shotguns, and there were five of them dotted round the valley. The safety vests prevented their mates taking a shot at them if they moved. The guy quizzed me but I said I was lost and asked him the way to a nearby town and he was ok. Lucky he hadn’t put a bullet up my arse. I was all in black in the shade in the undergrowth in the bottom of the valley below. There were three hunters in various positions in this shot but the definition isn’t good enough to show them.

This was a big problem. It meant I had to do a dogleg via Torremanzanos, cut up north to Benifallim and then cut west to Alcoy. All three legs meant substantial steep climbs and falls and a total kilometre count for the journey of 42 kilometres. I can’t do that with a rucksack. I can only just do it without one when the climbs are involved. I decided to see how far I could get. And the scenery stole the show.

The picture above is Benifallim. I got there and I was done in, so I phoned my hostel 12 kilometres away and they sent out a bloke who I had to bung. I’ve changed my schedule and I’m staying here in Alcoy another night. I’ll walk to Benifallim and back tomorrow to keep momentum in my legs but I’ll give my shoulders a rest and leave the rucksack in my room. Joy of joys it puts wild camping off until Tuesday night. 

And Alcoy is nice. Night night.

X

Who needs pepper spray when I’ve got my ferrous friend?

According to several blogs the GR7 footpath is clogged with blackberry bushes in parts so I got this to free it up a bit. Can’t wait to use it. I sharpened it before I left home so it could take a paw off with ease. Alright, alright I won’t use it on wild dogs. Unless nobody’s watching! If I hear a wolf howling in the night I’ll keech myself. If a wolf sees me with this in the night he’ll keech himself. 

Anyway last night the evening meal was included in the room rate, as well as unlimited wine. I felt a bit sluggish this morning so it’s an early night tonight. The walk today was mostly uphill. It heads through Finisterra on its way up to Relleu, with picturesque hanging houses.

Behind Finisterra lurks the big hulk of Puig Campana, usually shrouded in cloud. It had snow on it when I went up a couple of years ago. Higher than Ben Nevis it’s a bugger to climb but a fantastic view if clear as far as Ibiza. 

Turning a corner in Finisterra and looking up the valley opening up before me the various mountain ridges in sunshine and shade looked spectacular. I like this photo as much as any I’ve ever taken.

You can refine it and leave out the house and look further to the left but, as a quick pick-up- your- iPad – and – click, I like it a lot. I was struggling up the steeper parts. My rucksack is around 17 kilos today with my hold-all and water on board, but it felt heavier. I’m a shadow of my former self.

It’s a 15 mile walk and a climb of 2000 feet with the ups and downs. There was a torrential downpour two weeks ago which lasted for three days. Three people drowned. The earth is still damp and the valley bottoms which are usually dry are gushing with rivers and streams. The upside is that I won’t need to carry much water on those stretches where I won’t pass a shop for two or three days. The downside is that the tent might be coated in mud. We’ll see. It didn’t do the oranges and lemons any harm.

Road walking today and tomorrow. I’m not bothered too much but some purists scoff at tarmac. It gives a decent if hard surface and doesn’t get you wet and muddy. From Finisterra across to the main road to Relleu a new road has been cut through the rock, exposing fantastic rock formations.

What really pushed my buttons was what I thought were quartz seams in the limestone walls.

However on closer inspection, and particularly where the seam was exposed by water action, it turned out to be marble. Beautiful marble. Cop this. Stunning.

Slogging up a long hillside the temperature cooled to almost chilly and on reaching the top a plateau opened up and I could see Relleu in the distance. Usually that puts a spring in my step but I was too knackered to leap forward. It looked a long way away. 

The hostel is nice, Casa Perla run by a Dutch couple. The town was still wearing it’s Christmas dressings following a local Three Kings procession as we had in Beni.

I’m tired now. I’ve bathed and eaten and I’m going to sleep. 

Night night.

Ha ha – play on words and names. What a wag. Frosty in Leeds this morning and my old dear scraped the ice of the car. What a babe. Flight on time, passing over Manchester, IoW, Portsmouth, Deauville, Alencon, Le Mans, Tours and then it clouded over. The Pyrenees soon saw off the vapours.

  
It’s a great feeling coming back to Spain to start another walk. We landed early, everything was quick and I got a cheap transfer to Benidorm. Six euros ain’t bad. The weather is beautiful and the town is reasonably quiet – I’m staying near the western beach. It’s the quieter of the two. Time was when I’d want the other one.

The local digital thermometer shows 24c. Kismet Hardy. It’s been a bit wet in the hills. Like a lot of rain. I got an email yesterday saying that the pilgrimage route I originally intended to take was detoured as a result of erosion from heavy rain. My route through the mountains, limestone mountains, will be ok. As long as it isn’t too hot… or too cold… or too wet… or too overgrown! 
God bless Spain. 

The hotel is actually very posh. Full of Frenchies and Spaniards. Shorts banned for dinner. I’m wearing shorts. The restaurant manager says it’s ok. The place is heaving. Immaculately dressed Froggies and smart but casual Spanish. I feel at home in my short shorts and Sheff U shirt. 

I need pepper spray to ward off wild dogs, wild humans and wolves – which are reinhabiting a lot of Mainland Europe and are now in packs only 80 Kms from Madrid. But they don’t sell it in Benidorm. Probably some local bye-law crap. It’s not illegal in Spain. Anyway I’ve got a machete so that would sort out a few dogs, wolves and noisy children! Ok. Sorry for the children comment. I’ve been all over Beni looking for spray but let’s move on. 

I’m heading for Alcoy over the next two days. Relleu tomorrow and Alcoy on Saturday. The next two photos are the footpath I’m taking when I get to Alcoy. The track is in red for those who are watching in black and white. The first one shows a tiny bit of route in the top right hand corner, heading north from Alcoy (Alcoi in Valencian). 

Should be good. We’ll see. I don’t particularly like wild camping but needs must. I prefer campsites with showers and shops. Anyway one day at a time sweet Jesus, that’s all I’m asking of you. 

How about this for tapas! In Benidorm.

And a local ham shop.

And the end of Christmas parade.

Benidorm. Brilliant!

I’m looking forward to getting out to Spain tomorrow and starting my walk on Friday. The flight is early from Leeds Bradford. Another budget airline.

I’ll blog proper tomorrow night from sunny Benidorm. Talk to you then. Bye folks.