En route to our overnight we apparently crossed into the Basque region – I didn’t realise we were that far North.
Our stop is from “All the Aires Spain and Portugal” and is highlighted by the authors as being better than most, due principally to view or surroundings. So here we are at San Vicente de la Sonsierra, with a river and medieval bridge in front of us, and only two other motorhomers so far, with our usual exaggerated gap between us and them. Apparently catfish fishing is possible here, but after all our exertions of the day we may pass on that option this time.
Wonderfully peaceful stop. Looks can be deceptive and seeing a pretty major road right above the aire I had my doubts. This is where the reviews of aires, and all parking areas, make all the difference. They were all good and so here we are.
A very quiet day, and we only took the major hike up to the town after 2pm. I’m pleased to say that temperatures returned to the lovely lower 20s today, which is the top end for us, but a lovely temperature for our walk with the breeze. Before we’d reached the high point of this hilltop town, my wristband had already congratulated me on achieving twice my daily goal of 10 flights of stairs. In fact, a quick glance now tells me we’ve gone up 28 flights of stairs this afternoon.
Fantastic views and so we sat on a bench for quite a while taking it all in. We then descended into the little town, which was buzzing a bit, due presumably to it being Easter Sunday. Interestingly, had we been here two days ago, we’d have seen this town’s famous disciplinantes, who whip themselves whilst walking down the street in a procession to mark Good Friday. Not everyone’s cup of tea, and we weren’t disappointed to miss it.
Not yet having eaten today, we were delighted to see someone with a barra loaf & so hunted down the bakers. We found one but interpreted the sign on the door as saying they were away for their holidays. We went in the butchers/wine shop next door but couldn’t see any bread so headed out smartish before anyone could ask us a difficult question in Spanish. Still determined to find our barra, we went into a sort of sweet shop plus, where the chap sent us back to the butchers, and sure enough they had some “under the counter” bread. In case you might be interested, in the butcher’s window they had little models of the people who whip themselves.
So armed with lunch, we meandered down through the village until we met the main winding road that brought us down to our home. En route we took a stroll over the medieval bridge. Back at the motorhome, I used every conceivable method to bring in the breeze, whilst Sophie made two enormous baguette sandwiches, or bocadillos, with local cheese and tomatoes. We then had a discussion as to which of our lady friends would be prepared to tackle such a monster roll, but it would be impolite to let you know our thoughts on this matter.
It is now 5pm and we’ve had no discussion yet as to whether we’ll move on or not this evening. It is way past the point where we could realistically head off in the hope of finding anything half as good as this space, but in our true “organic” approach to such matters, I will need to wait for Sophie to mention this first.