Kindness springs freely
Occasionally unex-
pectedly from all.
We spent a long time this morning brushing the dirt off all our possessions and hacking it up from our lungs. This part of Spain is dry.
As we wound once more towards the coast (sheesh, for a "trip 'round the coast of Europe" we sure have to find our way back to the water frequently..), we saw few signs of life. Morning is a wonderful time to ride.. it's lovely and cool, and few motorists arise before dawn to come out and honk and harass the poor cyclists. Keep this in mind, dear readers, that any cyclist you see is doing more work than you, and you should give him some consideration. He pays taxes, too, and has as much right to use the road as you!
Upon hitting the first coastal town, we were again faced with a choice: the N-road, which class of roads are generally trustable to be flat-ish, headed up around a mountain range which was bisected by a smaller and more direct road. It would be hard... but it was so much shorter and held so much more promise of being lovely that we elected to take it, anyway. After all, if we were going to take larger routes all the way, why shouldn't we just take a car? This is a bike trip, after all, and we should enjoy the journey as much as we can.
The road was deathly steep for some kilometres, enough so that we had to stop for a break in the middle. But it was worth it. The sky was an agitated mosaic of grays that wove and spun above our heads, clearly pondering the possibility of raining on us. Fortunately, they decided not to, but we were grateful for the cloud cover's shadow from Spain's sun.
Siesta was taken in a town called Cartagena, a place along the water which our map marked as "of touristic interest." It sure was: in the few hours we were there, we saw a rampart from the Punic wars, an ancient Roman theatre, a sweet old castle, and (in the distance, out at sea) a foreboding fortress. We ate ice cream and drank orange juice and wandered the streets; we enjoyed lunch and naps in a shady park. Cartagena was pretty great.
We packed up and headed off around 17h, and the stretch of road that we encountered was strange. Thus far, we have come across mostly mountainous coasts with mostly lots of hills and crazy awesome scenery. This coast was far removed from the sort of wild beauty of what we've passed: it was tamed and crawling with tourists. English and German were as present on signs as Spanish, and the flat, white beaches were thick with multicoloured umbrellas and towels. Ugh.
The main problem, though, was that we had no idea where to camp in such a place during touristic high season. The Guardia Civil were nearly as numerous as the visitors, and they were vigilant. No place along the N-120 through this section would be suitable for camping. Darkness started creeping over the road, and we passed something... strange. A big red and white tent. With RVs parked all around. The carnival was setting up.
Hmm.. this is an opportunity. I asked first Evan and then Venus if each would be comfortable spending the night with the sort of folk who are famous for rigging games and the like. With the "why not?" mentality firmly in mind, we rolled over to the first RV in the carvan and asked very politely if we might make use of a few square metres of space. The man didn't mind, and even showed us where he thought it might be the softest and nicest.
So here we sit. We're munching squid rice for dinner and watching the children of the carnival folk cavort around in the falling dark. Our flashlight is nice, but I'm enjoying gazing at the lit stars atop the big red and white tent.