After a fine breakfast of local eggs, bacon, coffee and fresh orange juice in the beautiful wee hilltop town of Jimena da la Frontera, we joined the GR7 walking route heading northwards.
This entailed alot of pushing, but turned out to be my favourite day so far. It took us deep into cork oak forested hills, free of the fences and privado signs that had blighted other days. Moss covered boulders and small burns - the only flowing water we had come across that looked inviting enough to bathe. We didn’t, incase the walker (Harry from Essex) we passed earlier needed to replenish his supplies as we had done.
We first saw Harry the day before, a tall slim fellow looking fairly miserable at having to walk a stretch along the roadside. He matched our progress that day, and the next when we camped together, which gives an impression of the terrain we covered. Or of how slow we are.
We camped beside a collection of big boulders, near ruins of a once reasonably grand abode. As the sun set the cool air formed clouds that flowed down the ridge lines into the valley below. A silent night, after the initial rumblings of a nearby boar fell back into the woods.