I don’t like Sunday’s ….

Pedals off, two garbags and some cling wrap then a wait at the bus station.  Oh oh … 2 electric bikes arrive they are much bulkier than ours and they speak to another driver.  Anxious moments as they start to prepare their bikes.  The bus rolls in and there is a discussion re bikes.  I’m ready for a hip and shoulder should the bikes not fit in … we arrived first.  The others struggle with their bikes … ours lay quite flat on top of other luggage … our preparation paid off.  We get on the bus and breathe a sigh of relief … the other cyclists take selfies with shells … they must be on a pilgrimage … they are going straight to Seville.

Oops … we are in trouble … didn’t realise there are seat allocations in the bus … John has had to move 2 times. Who knows who is in our allocated seat … no 55 and 56.  I’m in 8 too late to start shuffling up the passengers this late in the journey.

The country is beautiful as we drive through the valleys with fascinating mountains around us … I’m getting excited for tomorrow’s ride. Olive groves and orange orchards stretch up the mountains and striking yellow shrubs line the road. It’s a beautiful drive. There are little towns we pass along the way … this is the stereotypical Spain in my mind, dry, rendered old houses/apartments, narrow streets, missing is the cowboy on horseback.

We get to Baza about 2pm. We have a wander around the streets of the old town. It’s like a ghost town … it is a Sunday, I say to John, ‘I hate Sundays, there is no atmosphere’ it’s around 30C+ the shops are closed, in the labyrinth of streets little squares with tables and chairs are deserted. Tomorrow it will be different, vibrant and lively.

Although very quiet in the town, a local restaurant only a few minutes walk was doing a good trade with exceptional food . It may be a good place for breakfast tomorrow.