So Dena biked the furthest distance she has ever biked in her life today, for the second day in a row. We went 43 miles and it was not the best conditions for cycling in that we were biking atop the mesatas in dry desert heat with the wind constantly in our faces.
The mesatas are the Spanish equalivent of the US western landscape of high desert plateaus. They sit at 900 meters high and remind me very much of Idaho. There are tough climbs to reach the top, then flat on top with field after field of wheat, or some sort of grain.
Also atop the mesata is an intensity of exposure. The steepness of the hills are heightened, the sun is brighter and hotter, the wind blows harder in your face, and the air is just a little bit harder to breathe. Even the bumps in the dusty earthen tracks seem to bounce the bike a bit harder. It´s almost like we are that much closer to the sun.
The intensity was further exacerbated by the lunch we had just before one exceptionally large climb to the top of a mesata. Dena ordered us bocadillas y cervezas (sandwiches and beers) which was awesome because we were famished after a full mornings ride, we were hot, and definitely needed something cold to drink. We were sure the beer would be cold. (With Fanta orange soda, you take your chances on cold). Dena also made sure the beers were “doubles” or what normal beer drinkers might call “a pint.” While Spaniards do noot sem opposed to drinking beers, they rarely fill a glass with the stuff and it is hard to get more than a thimble-full. I suppose thy just like small glasses here. more on that later.
Anyhow, the publican, whose name was Roberto I believe, was quite a chatty fellow as he kept Dena on her toes (and me too) with the language difference. I was able to order a fish sandwich with cheese. Dena got a tortilla sandwich con queso and the queso was muy rico. Roberto assured us it was locally made queso and very special . . . and it was. He also did not want us to leave hungry as he sent us off up the mesata with a cookie each, made by monks at the local monastary.
I think I´m finally getting used to the defferences here but I don´t know if I lke them. Spaniards are not really into breakfast (see previous blog about the night owl culture) and it is really hard to get milk (leche) or a proper pint of cerveza. I may only ever eat bocadillas here, but i suppose that´s ok because I really like those! And with my newly aquired language skills, I can always order another thimble of cerveza!
