The southern ranges of the Pyrenees - our goal - were clearly visible in
The southern ranges of the Pyrenees - our goal - were clearly visible in the distance, pink in the late afternoon sun. North of Huesca we took a narrow mountain road eastwards through the tiny settlement of Laguarta, a sensational route full of visual treats, climbing all the time. Bolta?as a busy tourist town full of holidaymakers, but we turned off the main road and drove through a jaw-dropping gorge. This Pyrennean valley is virtually uninhabited, because Franco's regime had planned to build a dam there, and bought most of the property with compulsory purchase orders, only to abandon the plans. There was a large cast iron bed, a vast dark wood wardrobe, and a Jacuzzi in the bathroom. We woke to the sounds of hammering as the town prepared for their annual fiesta, and a stage was being constructed down below, accompanied by a lot of yammering as the old biddies discussed forthcoming events.Back on the road our route took us out of the mountains, around Avila, across a hot, dusty plain, following the Sierra de Guadarrama to the south. North-east of Segovia Ayllon was a pretty collection of pink-washed houses with the river running through it.
We passed abandoned villages, windfarms on the distant horizon, skirting Zaragoza and heading for Huesca through a desert interspersed with irrigated zones of fruit trees. As I sipped a drink in a leafy square, men in dark blue cotton work trousers were making their way home from their allotments, carrying plastic buckets full of onions, figs, leeks and potatoes. We were staying at another Rusticae hotel, the charming Posada de Esquiladores, made from three old shops The owners had kept the window displays intact. Our room overlooked the square, with its strange-shaped fountain, like a giant cast-iron ball, and a beautiful clock above the council offices opposite.
After buying manchego, perfumed peaches and ham, I followed another couple of old ladies in flowered overalls around the corner to the panaderia, and bought a flat, crusty loaf. Dieting wasn't going to be on the agenda.Reluctantly bidding goodbye to the village time forgot, we continued our drive south through small hamlets like tiny islands in this sea of gold, skirting Salamanca (well worth a visit). Now we were entering the Extremadura, large areas of which have been turned into a national park. Dozens of rare birds migrate here and farmers drive the cattle hundreds of miles to higher summer pastures in the mountains, leaving behind the dusty plain with its forests. Rocky outcrops surrounded newly constructed dams, and an irrigation system allows more fruits and a wider variety of crops, including tobacco, to be grown in this bleak area with its baking summers and cold windy winters.Around busy Plasencia I could see huge stork nests on top of all the phone and electricity poles. We ate by a deserted railway station - it was really hard to find any shade - surrounded by a herd of black bulls. Heading west towards Badajoz, through irrigated fields of corn and sugar beet, we then cut south on a dead-straight narrow road from Talavera la Real to La Albuera, avoiding the city and the motorway.We had decided to bypass the big towns this trip - the point was to stay as rustic as possible, after all it was August, the heat was intense, historic city centres are better visited in the autumn or spring when the climate is more bearable.