Harvey Farah, and the empty road to Ubeda

Weird stuff happens when you travel, not disturbing, not worrying, but slightly odd, a bit uncanny even. I am unsure if this has to do with travellers themselves -that once disconnected from the certainties of humdrum existence the mundane acquires a kind of magic realism. Alternatively, it could be the case that the everyday is genuinely strange, but our homely routines immunise us from its innate oddness which only assails us once we venture abroad. 

View from the bottle bank...there was a giant rabbit....there was a dwarf sized motorbike...honest....

Take yesterday evening, we needed to deposit our empties in the nearby bottle bank. It was situated at the top of the steep steps up to the old town walls. The 'areas autocaravanes' is in the corner of the large mixed parking below. In the opposite corner is a sports pitch and play park. A somewhat portly gentleman appeared to have borrowed one of the local youths' mini-motorbikes and began circling the perimeter pointlessly. Every minute or so he buzzed by the van. As I wandered off, wine bottles in hand, I paused on the kerb to let him by. By the time I had reached the recycling point he had managed two further circuits. 

It was as I returned that my uncanny moment unfolded. As the motorcyclist circled yet again, I watched above in surprise as the biggest rabbit I have ever seen (think son of Harvey here) streak diagonally across the car park. Neither rider nor rabbit seemed aware of one another; it was only apparent from above that the arc of one and the line of the other were only moments away from unexpected catastrophe. 

Clearly, however I had under estimated Harvey's Olympian qualities; he crossed the motorcyclist's path about ten feet in front of the amazed rider, who immediately wobbled somewhat. My concern for the well being of the helmetless rider was supplanted by anxieties concerning Harvey. He swerved, changing trajectory, now speed-lolloping up the road in front of the bike. The rider accelerated, fancying rabbit paté for supper, I guess. But rider was portly, his machine minuscule and Harvey heroic. Like Mo Farah in the final straight with the finish line in sight, Harvey went into sprint mode and inch by inch pulled away from the mini-motorbike. At the next bend the bunny carried straight on, rocketed up the hillside, disappeared for a split-second behind a bush, then with a flash of a white tail disappeared down a concrete culvert. The motorcyclist screeched to a halt below, paused momentarily, then rode off towards the play park, crestfallen, one presumes, that whatever F1 fantasy he had going on in his head had been ruined by a chance encounter with an supercharged rabbit.

I returned to the van. "Find it Ok?" enquired Gill. "Yes, it's just at the top of the steps...but you'd be  amazed at what's happening out there..."

Morning light - looks peaceful, sounds like Aleppo.

Next morning we walked to the nearby Corivan, then found a bakery. All was calm until Chinchilla seemed to be the focal point of some kind of military exercise. Either one delta winged jet was making multiple passes low over the town or it was the target of a whole squadron taking turns to pretend blitz the place. It felt un-nerving, you can't help thinking about innocent civilians in Syria, simply trying to do simple things like buy a loaf for whom a low flying jet is a thing of menace and terror.

Soon we were on our way, skirting the dull suburbs of Albacete on the motorway looking for a sign to the N322. I have had designs on this road for months. It heads southwest from Albacete across empty looking country towards the northern edge of Andalucia. Following an interesting looking road on a map is a bit like reading the blurb on the back of a book. Will it live up the the promise of its synopsis? There were promising signs. As we turned off the motorway onto the much anticipated highway Muriel announced the next turn was at a roundabout 72 kilometres ahead. 

The road proved even emptier than the map had promised, traffic was light and the first forty kilometres somewhat tedious, arrow- straight across the bare La Mancha plain. As we skirted the northern edge of the Sierra de Alcatraz the road swooped and dipped through a delightful landscape of low hills and small valleys. It was a wooded country with clumps of yellow leafed poplars shimmering like flames beneath the deep blue sky. 

As we neared Andalusia the landscape becomes ever more mountainous, smoke blue jagged peaks to the south delineating the edge of the Sierra de Segura. I noticed we had less than a quarter tank of fuel left. Petrol stations are somewhat scarce on these roads. After half an hour or so I was glad to see a petrol pump sign pop up on the sat-nav display. We pulled in and filled-up.

Lay-bys are equally scarce. It was well past lunchtime and as well as feeling peckish after three hours or so it was time to take a break from driving. No likely spot appeared, so we pulled off the road at Villacarillo. 

Our handy patch of gravel lunch spot, by the bus station

opposite some incomprehensible statues

At the far end of the high street, next to the bus station and opposite a supermarket we found a scrap of gravel waste ground big enough to accommodate Maisy. A quick shop, then lunch with a remarkably mundane view. Time to go.

From here to Ubeda the landscape looks increasingly Andalucian, white towns atop craggy hills, rolling acres of olive plantations and towering mountains in the distance, half hidden in a heat haze. Driving became a little trickier as this section of the N322 is being replaced by a new dual carriageway, half built alongside the old road which is somewhat potholed. 

Arrival at our destination coincided with the mid-afternoon rush back to work. After an easy, but magnificent drive life became slightly tricky. Firstly, my attempt to park at the side of Ubeda's Carrefour supermarket resulted in us being blocked by a hastily parked van that nipped in next to me as I manoeuvred. I extricated us eventually with much arm windmilling from Gill. We gave up and parked in the almost deserted Lidl car park a couple of hundred metres away. One of the rules of travel by motorhome, when all else fails...find a Lidl.

Lidl car parks..acres os space, no height barriers - great for basics across Europe - legendary among the moho fraternity.

Even then, Atë, goddess of the minor glitch was not done with us. Question - how much do you trust your sat-nav? Not entirely, because she has led us down too many narrow streets or up no through roads for us to take her word as gospel. We did not like the look of her suggested route to the Ubeda Area Caravanes. So we decided to use Google maps on Gill's phone. This time Muriel was right and the humans were wrong. Yes, the sat-nav route was narrow, but because Google maps has no contour lines, the route we took was equally narrow, but also vertiginous. Road closures made matters worse. We got there eventually as we always do, the minor glitches of the past half hour insignificant compared to the fabulous drive along the N322. The kind of journey on a great road, across beautifully varied landscapes in glorious weather that makes you say, yes, this is why we choose to live half of our life in a 7m box. What a great day we have just had, and it's only late afternoon.