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Dec 1 Bicycle touring Spain from some farmer's shed in Spain to another farmer's field past Niebla Spain We found out the farmer is a small strawberry farmer with two million plants. He didn't offer us any samples though. The strawberries aren't quite ready yet. There are rows upon rows of clear plastic covering the tiny green plants like a miniature hot house. There are holes in the sides, either for ventilation or for hands to pick the berries. We thank our Spanish hosts and get on or fully loaded touring bicycles to cycle Spain's countryside. We ride until we see a gas station. Sharon and Susan want to stop, so of course we do. The attendant waves me over. I go over and he shakes my hand. "Welcome," he says. He is filling multiple gas jugs for a customer. The old man looks at the Canada flag on my touring bicycle, then he looks at me and says, "Capital Canada: Toronto," in a very self satisfactory sounding voice. I say, "Ottawa." He is quiet for a moment, then says, "Toronto." The gas station attendant looks at him and says, "Ottawa." As the old man leaves with his gas cans, he leans out the window as he goes by us and says, "Toronto." The attendant's name is August (Aoota). He gives me his address with instructions to write him when we get back to Canada. Since entering southern Spain, Susan has the only map. I told her this morning that I want to go to the harbour where Columbus launched for his famous voyage. We cycle towards Heulva, where Columbus sailed from its estuary 500 years ago. When we pull our bicycles to a stop, I learn that at a branch in the road a few miles back we could have gone right and that would have taken us in a sloping direction in Heulva. At the crossroads where we are now, we make a 90-degree turn and cycle the road into Heulva. When we get to the harbour, Sharon and Susan tell me it is just thought Columbus left from here. Some people believe he actually set sail from a harbour that's across the bridge. I say we should cycle there in that case. Sharon and Susan very quickly decide that this is indeed the exact spot Columbus set sail from to discover the new world. We buy groceries, then sit by a polluted and smelly estuary. We eat until we are so stuffed, we are ready to puke. God, I love cycle touring. I think the mixture of milk, pastries, and limeade pushed me over the edge. We jump on our fully loaded touring bicycles and cycle out of the port city. At a circle going to Seville, or Sevilla, a car entering the circle on the other side honks and waves at us. It is August. He is just on his way home for lunch. He stops us and asks us to join him at his house for lunch. I turn a lovely shade of green just thinking about eating more food. I politely decline, explaining that we would normally jump at the chance but I think if I even smell food right now I will make an very unfavorable impression of Canadians. August is not one to give up easily. He revises his offer to "How about a beer or a Coca Cola? Right over there at that bar." We accept to please him. He is such an outgoing hospitable fellow. I am still feeling ill as I pull my bike into the cafe parking lot. August gets out of his car. He is embarrassed. He has forgotten his wallet. We offer to buy him a beer instead. He accepts. We follow him into the watering hole. August talks quietly to the bartender, then tells us that the bartender is his good amigo and he says that it's no problem for August to pay later. So August is buying once more. I'm still not up to having one more tiny wafer hit my stomach. Susan and Sharon have their first Spanish beer. They report it is heavier tasting than our beer, but has less alcohol. Olives are served as a side treat. August tell us he was married Jan 25 1985, and has a nine year old daughter. August is going to school. He is taking English lessons. He wants to practice. He says we can write back and forth as penpals when I get back to Canada. He treats me like a long-lost brother. After two beers, August excuses himself. He has to go home for lunch. When we get back out into the parking lot to retrieve our loaded touring bikes, the wind is blowing stronger than ever. In a short distance we find ourselves pedalling along on an old road now no shoulder. There is rough pavement galore -- enough to keep any mountain biker in a happy tizzy. Unfortunately for us wimpy cycle tourists without shocks it is not that great a surface for bicycle touring. We visit a walled city. The streets are very narrow inside, but everything is clean and tidy and there is no wind. So that is what those walls are good for! We visit a tourist office. Of course it's closed for siesta. Why do they have siesta in the winter? I thought siestas were because it is too hot to work in the summer. Too good a thing to give us seasonally, I suppose. Old habits die hard. Inside a building we discover a small courtyard with a fountain. There are rooms that go up three stories facing the courtyard. If I lived in Spain I would live in an apartment that looked out onto a courtyard. They are so serene. On the way out of town we cycle down a steep cobblestone path behind a church. I pull my loaded touring bike to a stop to take a picture of the church bell tower and the stork nest that is built on top of the tower. A stork is standing up in its nest. The surrounding castle walls are also in the photo. We cycle down the road till dusk begins to fall. We pull our bikes to a halt and I ask a fellow leaving a farm driveway if we can camp on the property. He takes us back down a driveway and okays things with the owner's young son. He shows us where we can set up our little bicycle touring tents near a deep irrigation well. Later, while we are eating supper, they drive over to the field where we are. They have driven into town and have picked up a person who speaks English so they can ask us questions and she can interpret for them. They are very concerned about us camping out in the open. They ask if we would like to stay inside the building we are beside. Or would we like to go back to the machine shed which has a roof and walls. "It doesn't rain here, does it?" I ask in jest. They assure me it doesn't. At least not very often. Like not once in the past three months. We thank them profusely for their concern. We're tired from our long bicycle ride of the day, and besides we already have everything set up, plus we are in the middle of eating and cooking supper, so we decline. I think we may have hurt their feelings. The interpreter tells us they just wanted us to feel welcome. We feel very welcome indeed and thank them profusely again. The whole family had come out to greet us: husband, wife, and their three kids who are checking us out shyly from behind their parents legs. It's a very sweet moment for bicycle touring in Spain. We feel very welcome. At 9 PM we hear what sounds like a train going along a track. We had heard two previously, but this one sounds like a stuck record and goes on for a long period. At 9:06 PM we hear a drum and brass band marching through the town. We are two kilometres from town, but we can hear it clearly. I kid Sharon and Susan by telling them that it is the usual Thursday evening parade, but they don't believe me. Either that, or it's the once in a hundred years parade, and we just happened to hit it. Lucky us. |
