Long rides

Rode from dawn to dusk today. Not intentionally, I just couldn't find a place to stay. The towns are so small that they only have one hotel each. So I went from town to town trying to find a place.

I have to take the bike into cobbled streets. The sound of my exhaust echoes down the lanes, and the old men in the squares watch me as I go by.

One hotel owner eventually gives me the name of the hostal in the next town and I slowly make my way towards it through the twisting lanes asking each person as I go. They all point and say "left, right, go to Maria's house then right again" etc.

Once I'm there, it is beer time. The village, Balacazar, is having a wedding and it is a big deal. They have the reception in the hostal that I am in, so I'm treated to the visual spectacle of the entire town in its best gear. It is wonderful to see that Andalucian women still use the hand fans that you see in the old drawings and paintings.