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Across the Universe – from Morella To Ares to Benassal

Slept well me. Only had two slices of cheese cake for dinner and didn’t feel too hungry. Slept well though me. I was talking to an insider from the Cider industry last night. He said I should invest. He said Her Majesty the Queen was partial to a drop from Charlie’s Cornwall estate, to the extent that she was going to advertise it on telly.

Her Majesty nightly, the Cider insider said has Cider inside her. Boom boom!

Ridiculous what crap goes through your head when you haven’t seen another walker for five days.

I was away at eight o’clock after a cup of coffee and an orange juice at the hotel, but stopped en route for a breakfast and more coffee and orange juice. Stoked up I set off up the first hillside, and it’s always tough going first thing. The bronchial tubes are a bit tight and clogged and need the choke pulling out to get them started. (Those were the days).

Looking back Morella was looking good.

The red and white route markings were noticeably sporadic and I went astray quite early. Even the GPX was a bit iffy. But I made reasonable time. What really plagued me all day was the cattle. They’ve got calves at the moment and you have to avoid getting between a mother and her calf or things can get quite messy. I spooked these early on and they stampeded in a bit of a panic.

These just wanted a bit of aggro. I hit myself every time (with a silent s).

Every time I passed them, and it was many times, I weighed up where I would run or what I would climb if one of them charged. But they didn’t.

The route today was 22 miles, climbing around 3000 feet. A long one. This was high plain country and now covered in sheep and cattle in the open spaces between the trees. Lots of fences and many farmers tried their best to discourage people from using the GR7. Seems to be working apart from one Yorkie. This farmer had electrified the fence blocking the path.

Cheers mate! I threw my gear over and climbed along the wall. Sheep scrambled away as I approached. They wear the same bells as cattle, or at least two in a herd do, so it’s difficult to tell if you’re approaching cattle or sheep from a distance.

The heat developed quickly and the track was up and down hills but I kept a fair pace. I needed to average two miles an hour, which is easy on road unladen, but not so here.

The track was very poorly marked in places there were no signs of previous walkers, particularly in rocky areas.

Fascinating little features, like this shepherd’s stone hut with stone flags laid igloo style as a roof. Same as the Celtic burial chambers in The British Isles.

In mid-afternoon I made it to Ares del Maestrat. 17 miles done 8 to go.

Another mountain range, with quite a few groups of wild ibex, and deserted tiny hamlets. Very high up now. Over 4000 feet. The track was clear and open and then would narrow with trees and gorse. I caught my arms and legs quite often. Dunt bother me. I’m hard me. Please don’t hit me, please. Mother don’t go; Daddy come home.

Back up into the mountains and great views. This has been by far the best Spanish section. By far. Beautiful.

The terraces were broad on the top of the mesa and there was a circular stone floor. I’d seen these before in Andalusia, at this height in mountains where cereal crops were grown in Roman times. The corn was flailed on this ‘threshing floor’ to separate the wheat from the chaff.

So much history, legacy, beauty and grace in these mountains. And I’ve seen no bugger interested in it for six days. Spain, stop chucking beer cans out of your car windows and connect with your world. Climb up here and enjoy it.

More abandoned hamlets. Did Franco have them all shot?

Working my way down with the falling sun I eventually made it to Benasal.

Only to find that google maps had my hotel pinpointed in the wrong location and it was two miles uphill from where I was, at 7.30 at night. I got a taxi and thought I’d walk down to reconnect with the GR7 in the morning.