Travesía Integral de los Montes Aquiianos

[Nigel]

This stuff really makes me yearn for Spain. There is a seventh century Visigothic chapel on the hill crest above Quintaniila de las Vinas (Little Farm of the Vines), near Campolara (Lara's field) in SE Burgos, where I used to sit for lunch sometimes whilst out on fieldwork. It's not that far from Pinilla de los Moros (Pine sapling of the Moors), telling of Islamic settlement in the region, as you recount.

The chapel at Quintanilla is quite well-known since it's visible for miles around, and I'm sure I could find you pictures and links. But then my coffee would go cold before I've made much headway through the Sunday Independent. And I digress.

There was a pair of German students working out in Salas de los Infantes a year or so before me. They both had reasons to remember their trip. Firstly Jochen fell I love with, and later married, Marissa from Calle de Palacio (Palace Street), where I used to stay. He lives in Bochum where he is an accomplished semi-professional drummer (presumably all that training with geological hammers over the years came in more than handy). They still go back and Jochen has links with the local dinosaur museum in Salas.

Stig, meanwhile, was less than half as lucky. When they crashed their car and drove into the stream (at Mambrillas de Lara - Lara's little bosoms - as it happens) it was Stig who emerged with the broken elbow. A frantic and painful scramble to the bar beside the main Soria road ensued, to beg a lift for the one hour journey to the nearest hospital in Burgos.

The distance and time from medical help can be quite an issue in rural Spain, as I'm sure you know. It was a thought which often crossed my mind whilst hammering an outcrop with one hand and holding onto a flimsy bush with the other whilst atop an unwisely-attempted scree slope.

So, back to the Visigothic chapel. There we were, having our bocadillo and Kas de naranja, when my mate Nic decides it's time to chill out a bit. He legs it all the way down the hill to the car and back to fetch his acoustic guitar and three San Miguels from the coldbox.

He returns, puffing heavily, but manages to strum out a fair rendition of 'American Pie' which was his virtuoso piece at the time.

After the first verse is complete, Jochen holds up his hand, reaching deep into some secret pocket in his black leather trousers (quite the hippest geological field gear I've ever seen) for his Rizlas and stash of canutos.

'Hier, you guys, vait ein minute', he says, smiling broadly under his knotted bandana, 'You vant some Schpliff now ?'.

It developed into a very mellow session in a memorable setting. American Pie soon faded into 'Blowing in the Wind' (I never did like Dylan much - heresy, I know, but even for me that seemed somehow fitting in the circumstances).

The memory of that afternoon sits alongside me now. Since whilst I didn't take up Jochen's offer then, I did buy Nic's battered old acoustic a month or so later, and still play it to this day. It's not a great guitar, and I'm still not much good, but we've been places together.


Hope you enjoyed your double stage today. I suspect tough training like that would make the massive 'climb' up to Westminster Bridge look rather less than challenging.

Right then, back to the Sindie. Bad luck, The Baggies. And John Prescott did what, exactly ? No, I just can't believe it ...