Sitting outside in the sunshine at the Olive Farm, looking through the hiking options for the day, two friendly faces come into view – which is surprising, as I thought that I was the only one staying here! Turns out that they are volunteers at the farm, both studying permaculture and wanting to set up something similar back home in Argentina. After a quick life story exchange, they told me about a place they had visited the day before – by the look on their faces and the way that they were raving about it, I felt that I had to go. Plugging it into the Satnav, it adds 1:30 to my drive for the day, so I waver a bit……but then, I remember that for maybe the first time in my whole life, I have the luxury of having a plentiful supply of that most elusive of commodities: TIME! And, as it turns out, that extra driving time was through such stunning mountains and rivers that it was a real pleasure (well, the first half……read on!!).

As with most towns on the continent, there’s a motorhome parking provided just outside the town of Beceite, so I hop on my bike, having lathered on oodles of sunscreen and packed plenty of water, as I’ve managed to arrive in the heat of the midday sun. The town itself is very old and quaint – I only just about make out the signs to Parrissal, the trail of which starts 5km in along a dirt track.

Weirdly, I’m the only cyclist out there today – everyone else decides to drive (clearly not an option anyway in Gloria!) but they are missing out on the views of the mountains and ‘Gubies’ the spectacular needles formed the top of the Canyon walls. This area of Aragon (yes, finally out of Covid hotspot Catalonia) has been shaped by the Upper Matarraña River, carving a landscape of ravines, extraordinary rock formations and pine forests; no wonder it is known as the “Spanish Tuscany”.

Reaching the end of the track, I lock Scottie up and start the hike; I have not researched this place at all and, wow, am I in for a treat! Almost straight away, the canyon walls draw in and the path becomes a wooden walkway jutting out from the rock over the stream. The peace of the place is equal only to its beauty – how lucky am I to be discovering this little slice of paradise without hordes of tourists?! The crystal-clear, turquoise waters are so clear, they are just mesmerising – I’ll just let the pictures do the talking……

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The trail doesn’t really end, as you can go all the way through to another village, but it gets to a point where you are right inside the canyon and can only continue through the water. So, completely ignoring the no swimming signs, I stripped off and carried on, having a lovely dip in the refreshingly cold waters.

The drive to my next stop was almost 3 hours long and, once again, through breathtaking mountain scenery, so it should have been a pleasure. However, when I started Gloria up, a “check engine” light came on which, when researched (I’m getting to know my Groundbus manuals better than my Airbus ones!), indicated that it was a fuel injector problem and was safe to drive but power would be reduced and I shouldn’t put any extra stress on the engine. So a mountain pass was not really what was needed!! As you can imagine, it was a very tense drive and I didn’t know if Glo was going to make some of those endless steep inclines, but she put her back into it and like a trooper got the job done. Phew! I had a quiet night in Castellon, book-ended by a swim in the sea late at night and then first thing the following morning.

And I took advantage of the beach shower on offer – six weeks on the road has led me to have no compunction in lathering up in public!!

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As you can imagine, from 9am that morning, I was on the phone making frantic calls to garages to get my engine fixed. The first garage diagnosed the problem (pressure differential sensor, if you’re interested!) but didn’t have the part, neither did the second (main Valencia Fiat dealer an hour’s drive away), so I wasn’t hopeful when I got to the third where the parts department was closed until 3pm (siesta time 🙄). After a strange conversation conducted entirely on google translate, I got the phone number and, in a forlorn and worried heap, found myself a campsite for the night. Unfortunately, Spanish parking spots are known to be hotspots for motorhome burglaries, so after a lot of research I have found a secure place that is more like a parking lot, but does the job. I spend my hour off making phone calls to Fiat dealers everywhere, but am drawing a blank. Finally, 3pm arrives and I ask the friendly campsite owner to talk to the parts department at the garage – it’s so strange not understanding one single word, but the outcome is music to my ears…..”Go, go, quick as you can!” So Gloria and I race back to the garage (well, nothing about my big old lumbering Moho is racy, but we try!) and, still not entirely sure if they have understood what I need, I hand over the keys and she is taken off my hands and goes into surgery. One hour and €300 later (eek!), she emerges from theatre and is right as rain again. WHAT A RELIEF!!!

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I celebrate with a lovely swim in the sea and walk along the beach – it’s been quite a day and Gloria and I have gone on strike, so when my co-pilot arrives at the airport this evening, he’ll have to catch the tube into the City while I will attempt the bus. It’s SO unbelievably roasting hot here……oh, for another dip in those clear cool waters of Parrissal!