SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF SALAMANCA, SPAIN
You may have noticed that many of our adventures took place in corners of Europe that were seldom visited by motorhomers, the residents of these out-of-the-way places rarely seeing travellers. Over the past two years, if I have given the impression of high adventure and moments of sheer happiness, well, that is true but it would be wrong of me not to mention that we have also had some occasional mistakes.
I used to love exploring lanes leading off our intended route, but when the lanes gradually disappeared and we were faced with a long reverse, it wasn’t quite so much fun with a motorhome.
There are warning signs that things are going wrong. First, one’s wife will become pensive and quiet as grass starts to appear in the centre of the narrow road. Then any reassuring broad tractor tracks disappear and sometimes the wheels slowly sink into softer ground. Throughout this, I wear a neutral expression and start to whistle tunelessly.
Thank goodness these events are infrequent, but the benefits can be worth the risks.
In the 1990s as we were travelling south from Salamanca looking for a place to stop for a cup of tea, we turned off onto a long dirt track with fields of black bulls sheltering under the olive trees on both sides, nothing else to be seen.
At its end we found a clearing with a ruined building and an old church. It was so quiet, just as we liked it, so we stopped and put the kettle on. As we stretched our legs and looked around, we saw a huge stork’s nest on the top of the church bell tower.
As we appeared to be miles from civilisation, with the sun getting lower and everything so tranquil, we decided to stay for the night and, as the sun set, we were treated to a wonderful sky, even after the sun went down below the horizon. I nursed my red wine realising that I was exactly where I wanted to be with the only person in the world I wanted to be with.
There was no moon, but after Venus appeared it was followed by millions of stars that seemed far brighter that we ever see them in the UK. The air chilled so we entered our little motorhome feeling utterly content.
We slept well and, at first light, were woken by an unusual sound we could not identify, heavy breathing and snuffling. Peering through the curtains I saw not one, but dozens of young bulls who, from their movements, seemed in a joyous mood, sniffing our ’van with great interest.
We assumed they may have thought it was their feed truck. Without leaving the safety of our motorhome, we managed to continue our journey not disturbing the bulls too much.
I had been trying to increase my share of the cooking during this vacation so, seeing a rich piece of steak in a butcher’s display, I bought it. Later at our campsite, I lit the BBQ and prepared the steak. It seemed to take a long time to cook, but finally I removed the charred meat and carved it into manageable-sized portions.
The meal was remarkable in that, while delicious juices were released, continuous chewing failed to reduce the meat to the point of swallowing, so we had to discreetly remove the food from our mouth to continue with the rest of the meal. The meat was almost inedible in spite of us steadfastly chewing, my wife failing to make any criticism, but wearing a fixed smile. Luckily, we were able to fill up on salad and baked potatoes.
Next day I stopped again at the butcher’s shop, approaching the man who had served me the day before. He remembered me but, as he had no English and I, no Spanish, I was reduced to sign language. I mimed putting food into my mouth and did my best interpretation of a cow by ‘mooing’. The butcher looked puzzled and shook his head. I repeated the miming with the ‘baaing’ of a lamb. This, too, was negated by a puzzled shake of his head.
Finally, I drummed my fingers on the counter to the cadence of a galloping horse and ‘neighed’. At once the man’s face lit up and with both hands in the air replied, “Sí señor, sí señor” over and over. His face relaxed in a wonderful smile of relief and understanding...
We now knew the reason we had to chew so well the evening before, I had bought horse meat assuming it was beef. I should have done the miming earlier before purchasing. Perhaps the cook was not entirely to blame after all.