Getting Better – Benifallet to Pauls

I slept all through the night bar one pee. Only a little one because the sun is drying me up. But it was luminous yellow/green so what it lacked in quantity it made up for in quality. I didn’t flush it so I could check the colour in daylight. Just as good, even diluted in the lav water.

Breakfast was fab. Cheese, local meats, bread and olive oil. Lovely. With bottled water, coffee and orange juice it was a fiver. He asked me if I wanted red or white wine. I declined. They’re different on their alcohol consumption patterns down here. More like Russia than Spain. 

My route today was less taxing but my legs were feeling strong anyway. Getting better with exercise. Can you see it yet? Beatles. 

Only ten miles today, a decent dap. 

I was going to follow the old rail track from the station to meet up again with the GR7 by the river, turning west over some hills and ending in Pauls. A good, even walk to start the day, passing through three tunnels. Bye bye Estacion and hello tunnels.

After a couple of miles the GR7 joined the rail track and then peeled off away from the river up into the mountains. I bade goodbye to the Ebro.

It was another breezy morning but the sun was out and the world is a great place to live. Better than Uranus, boom boom!

Turning south away from the river and over the hills towards Pauls was a bit hard. It sounds pansyish but when I think about it I’m nearly 63 (ston), and with the litres of water I’m now carrying as I learnt a harsh lesson, plus my rucksack; I’m carrying about 16kgs at the moment, maybe a bit less. Anyway I’m not a SAGA apologist, just a bit tired. The view back across the valley.

I was walking southward through mixed orchard areas. How old must this olive tree be? And it’s still going like a good un. 

I’d passed lots of orange trees and couldn’t resist nipping over the gates and nobbling one or two. Sweet and delicious. Getting juice all over my hands and walking pole handles. I’ll lick them later.

And in the sheltered valley leading down to Pauls the fruit and veg were months ahead of the UK, and it looked like there might be some bumper crops. Almonds.

And figs.

The orange trees further down were even more advanced with blossom.

But what I struggled to understand was why, with the only pomegranate tree I’ve seen this far north, did folk leave the fruit on the tree to rot? 

Pauls wasn’t too far away and I got there at 3.15, perfect Spanish lunchtime. It reminded me of Competa, a town/village in the Sierra Tejedas where me, Maggie and Antonia had stayed 18 months ago, doing a recce of my southern Spain walk.

A restaurant close to my Alberg was open and I ate like a king. Lentil stew followed by meatballs. Brilliant. 

The Alberg wasn’t open until 7pm and I had two and a half hours. I walked up to the local grocers and topped up with water and grub. There was an open room next to the shop and in conversation the lady said I could stay there plugged in to recharge my iPad and wait whilst she and her mum watched soaps. Brilliant folk. 

Night night.