We're in Jerez de la Frontera, the sun is shining, at least for the moment. It remains a moot point as to whether our 800km detour via Valencia gained us any additional sunny days.
Looking at the medium term forecast we seem to be stuck in a repeating pattern of westerlies driving fronts across the whole Iberian peninsula. Rainy days with drier intervals in-between is what we can expect for the next two or three weeks.
So was there any point to our detour, does chasing the sun ever work? Rarely, but we never seem to learn to just patiently stay put until the weather cheers-up.
We made two stops between the Cabo de Gata and Jerez. The motorway across the Tabernas Desert, then onwards past Granada towards Antequera. It a is magnificent drive - truly road trip territory - I love it.
We spent the first night in a free area autocaravanas at Loja, an unassuming small town that sits astride the Rio Genil. It's a rare example of a river in this part of Spain that actually has water flowing in it. The parking area is next to the town sports hall, utilitarian and practical, it's all we need.
Then onwards to spend the next few days in the campsite a couple of kilometres from Olvera. The town is a spectacular example of an Andalucian white hill town, not as famous as Ronda but almost as beautiful. We visited here in 2016 mainly because the old station has parking places for motorhomes next to the Via Verde de la Sierra. What was less than clear from the map is that reaching the cycle track involves a very steep descent down narrow back streets. We gave up and used the nearby campsite instead.
Olvera certainly warranted a return visit, but somehow we simply didn't manage it other than cycling to the Mercadona in the outskirts. It was a peculiar experience. When we arrived outside the store I realised that I had forgotten the bike lock so I stood guard while Gill went shopping. I did have the pump in a pannier however, so I took the opportunity to put some additional air into the tyres.
I was part way through the job when an oldish guy on an ancient scooter glued together with strips of Gorilla tape, stopped angrily beside me, gesticulating and shouting in Spanish. I presume I had parked in his preferred spot opposite the store entrance. He parked beside me then watched as I inflated my front tyre. I picked up the word 'problemo' in amongst the gabble of Spanish and tried to explain that I was just inflating my tyre. He shrugged and went inside.
By the time he re-emerged a few minutes later I had moved on to Gill's bike tyres. Again he paused next to me and enquired in Spanish if I had a problem, it was as if he had no recollection whatsoever of our previous encounter. He interrupted my reply with a question, "Do you speak English?"
"I AM English," I replied, more tersely than I had intended.
He apologised immediately in broad Scouse, explaining that he shouted at me previously because he thought I was Spanish. This made no sense whatsoever, in fact nothing he said made much sense, he rambled on incoherently repeating things he had just said. At first I wondered if he was suffering from early stage dementia, then realised from his slurred speech that actually he was very drunk indeed, though not as inebriated as he was going to be judging from an ominous clank of bottles as he loaded his carrier bag into the luggage space beneath the scooter seat.
Gill returned with two big bags of groceries which we started to pack into our panniers. Scooter man talked at us for a while then wobbled off down the road. He seemed to be a bit of a mess, unkempt and unshaven. Piecing together his story from the chaotic ramblings it seemed he owned a house locally and had lived in the area for more than two decades. He said 'twenty years' but mentioned that he bought his place using pesatas, which means it was actually over a quarter of a century ago when he moved here.
Many people, including us, harboured dreams of owning a place in the sun. Even before Brexit buggered things up altogether in all likelihood the reality of growing old abroad was destined to have challenges not fully appreciated by the people who made the big move in their forties or fifties.
Gill had been in the queue at the checkout behind scooter man while he made his purchases. He struggled with paying and packing, needing the assistance of the woman working on the till. She was patient and kind but when Gill took her turn straight after him the cashier glanced heavenwards as if to say 'God give me strength!' Scooter man quite clearly was a well known local 'character', but Spanish people are amiable and kind and hopefully people will look out for the guy.
The encounter dampened my spirits which in truth over recent days had been less than perky anyway. Some time in the late afternoon of January 20th, as we relaxed in Valencia Camper Park after a tedious two days drive from Santander, Donald Trump was sworn-in as the 47th President of the USA, in exactly the same area of the Capitol building that a Maga inspired mob trashed on January 6th five years previously.
Every sane person on the planet suspected that Trumps second presidency was destined to be a total shitshow. Ten days on and it's beginning to dawn on the world that it's going to be considerably worse than any of us could have ever imagined. Some things have been predictably Trumpian - renaming the Gulf of Mexico as the Gulf of America or slapping tariffs on Mexico and Canada to gain diplomatic advantage. Other stuff is off the planet, like annexing Greenland or envisaging Canada as the USA's 51st state.
Is the man deranged or is the Trump show simply a smokescreen to grab the headlines? A ploy while Musk, his unelected hatchet man, dismantles the American state, edging it ever closer to an autocracy like Orban's Hungary, but armed to the teeth with unmatchable economic and military might.
So whereas previously we have entertained ourselves in the evening by watching a box set, this trip we've become immersed in political podcasts or US TV channels on YouTube observing with dismay,as the values of the Western world we grew up with seem ever more fragile. So we have some new fellow travellers - Alistair and Rory ...
It's horribly fascinating, but not good for the soul.
The result is I feel demoralised, it's little wonder I'm demotivated to go sightseeing. We managed to do some laundry and housework around the van but not much else.
Luckily the site itself is prettily situated, on a slope with a view of olive clad hills to the north and to the south the craggy mountains that lie between here and Ronda.
We've had some spectacular sunsets too. Then after dark the night-sky lights up like a planetarium, the misty milky way at the zenith., bright planets just above the horizon. Venus and Mars are easily recognizable, but the third? Jupiter or Saturn maybe.
In tricky times Nature is a great solace, the sense that in the great scheme of things we are very insignificant indeed. Shame Elon has his eye on Mars, the cosmos does not deserve to have more than one of its planets fucked-up by humans.
Anyway, on a more practical note we've decided what we want to do in the next week - Go for a bike ride on the Via Verde de la Sierra: have a sherry in Jerez; visit our favourite tapas bar in Andalucia - Casa Balbino in Sanlucar de Barrameda; have a manzanilla in the bar next to the Castillo in Chipiona.... small pleasures to nourish the soul as we watch the world grow stranger day by day.