Much as we had enjoyed Ciudad Rodrigo we were keen to move south and east into another national park, Sierra de Francia. We chose the smaller roads and back tracked M1's bike ride of the previous day towards Martiago where we had the chance to see the gorge of the Agueda - mthis time from the comfort of the cab. The roads were of varied quality and the route very indirect. We had a wonderful false turn in Monsagro where we followed what looked like the main road (cobbled) waving cheerily to the collection of locals who were sitting near the turn. The road got narrower and narrower and it was clear that a retreat was necessary so five minutes later we were back in the square, the same crowd were there and not at all surprised to see us! Probably happens all the time. Back up the road again to flank Monsagro on a much better road to El Meillo which wasn't even on the map! We were then soon in La Alberca having driven 73 km but still only about 35 km from Ciudad Rodrigo.
We had a choice of campsites and chose Al Beraka which was just 2.5 km from the town. Delightfully quiet, we set up shop then biked into town most of which was constructed in the late 18th /early 19th century and has been well preserved. Apparently when the Spanish king visited in 1922 the only milk for his coffee was human milk as the place was so poor. The king then introduced the cow to the community. Very strange as what about sheep and goats too? The village (1100 inhabitants and about 1050 m high) is very attractive but no place for our trusty van. A few tacky shops but plenty of bars and restaurants and - of course - shops selling various parts of the ubiquitous pig. We have come not to like the smell very much, particularly in the 30 degrees or more of heat being experienced. It also raised the observation that we have not seen a live pig in Spain - perhaps they are all dead already and they just keep various parts hanging indoors with their drip trays underneath! Anyway, we found a friendly bar for a few cold beers and saw the start of Andy Murray's match against Spaniard Juan Carlos Ferrera. Back to the site for supper etc then we drifted into the site bar where Maria had been expecting us to eat there after our enquiry earlier as whether the restaurant was open. We settled on coffee and two large brandies and managed a light hearted conversation of pidgin English, pidgin French and bad Spanish that brought her husband Jesus out to join us. He promptly poured three 'aguardiente' (better described as firewater) which we were obliged to slam back before cleansing the palate with our preferred drinks. Shortly afterwards, their daughter, Alejandra, joined us too as these two old chaps were clearly curiosities. She had checked us in earlier in the day. A pretty girl of 24 but what was she still doing living at home with Mum and Dad who she described as very 'espagnol' whereas she called herself a 'european'?
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