Woke up this morning to the sound of sheep bleating and cowbells, or maybe the sound of sheep bells. I looked out of the window and saw that the Helga was surrounded by sheep. They were in the field adjacent to us just last night and somehow they made a successful attempt at freedom, if only to munch on the verdant grass surrounding our new home, for a few days. As I sat and watched the beasts, eating contentedly on the forbidden grass I made a mental note. We’ll have barbecued lamb for dinner tonight.
Casares and Cala de Mijas are forty eight miles, and worlds apart. La Cala is close to the beach and all the tourist trappings you expect from the Costas, while Casares sits perched on a rocky outcrop high in the Sierra Crestellina. The farmer, man in his seventies has now arrived and is running after the sheep, trying to regain control. The sheep are having none of it, and the elderly man’s patience seems to be evaporating. Oh such a start to the day. Maybe I should go out and help. Well thats another first, me stand-ing waving my arms by the side of a road at nine am, wearing my dressing gown and jammies, and the farmer muttering something that sounded like hallelujah. I thrive on this motor-homing lark.
Anyway, as I was saying, the two destinations are poles apart. Mijas is busy, very busy, dusty and ageing, whilst up here, the air and roads are clean, people are very sociable and even the sheep say buenos dias. The air is crisp, and traffic noise is replaced by the sound of livestock getting on with their lives. There are even some new lambs in the fields, being January this is surprising to us.
Yesterday we went up to the ancient castle, which is reached by walking through pretty streets, a little more than a car width across, and steep. The views are to die for and the Griffon vultures, who have made this area their home, swoop and soar high above, much to the delight of all the visitors.
After our slog up to the castle we called in to a restaurant in Plaza Espana, the main square, for a quiet beer, we had picked up a stray tourist, John from Cheshire. He was a bit older than us but had a much younger, I think, outlook. A wise man and ever ready to share a story.
Back to Helga, we gave John coffee and we parted company, and we enjoyed a DVD and waited until our poor legs had eased before heading to bed. Where we slept like the dead and dreamt of sheep and younger joints!