(View from our bedroom)
We are here in Estamariú, a small village of around seventy people. My photographs cannot do justice to the place, so you’ll just have to imagine it. And we don’t have any photos of the village from the road up here because it was another one of those narrow, winding, sheer drop jobs and I wasn’t up to the challenge…
We found it on booking.com, airbnb.com isn’t providing the goods here in Spain, but that’s fine if we can find places like this. We arrived yesterday at about two o’clock, very sweaty and tired. As we entered the village we wondered where the road was… because all we could see were narrow lane ways. But Denis soldiered on and it turned out these narrow lane ways were the road – the speed limit sign gave them away!
When we arrived at our house (via lots of hand signals and gracias – the old man leaning on the railing didn’t speak English), there was a note for us from our host, Pilar. It said (in perfect English) the door was open and she would be back later, but to go ahead in and relax. Are you following this? The door to her guest house was open and she trusted us to go in and make ourselves at home! In such a short time we are discovering real Spain. So in we went, and Denis started working, because the wi-fi was super fast. She had also told us that there was a very good restaurant in the village. (By the way, there are no shops, no post office and the church hasn’t been open while we’ve been here.)
And there was – an amazing restaurant. The waiter didn’t speak English but there were English menus. We had our dictionary so we did fine but one thing I still don’t understand – why did the waiter give me the Grandmother menu? Denis got the Suggestions Menu. You don’t suppose the waiter knows the policeman?
This morning I went for a walk around the village and took lots of photos. No one passes through here, it’s a twelve km hike up a winding narrow road. We’re the only one’s who don’t live here. But we’re getting to know the neighbours. As I was passing the farm our friend the old man from yesterday was standing by the side of the road. Like I said it’s easy to mistake the main roads for lanes or even private paths, so, in order not to find myself trespassing, I asked if it was okay for me to pass. How? by saying “ok” in a questioning kind of way, while pointing to myself and then opening my hand in the direction of the path ahead. There is more to communication than words you know, and when he nodded in a gruff way and said “Si, si”, I was very satisfied with my communication.
(All the houses are made of the same stone.)
(This is the widest street….)
We’re off to Jaca which our waiter kindly pointed out is pronounced Hacka.
Be well, Mairead.