I didn’t fall of my ‘table’ in the night. As we were going down for breakfast the Sunday motorbikes from Valencia were pulling into town for coffee. The locals were already installed at the bar for a wine and bocadillo breakfast. We had the usual tostada and tomato. Having said our fond farewells to the whole of the village we were on our way up to the Sierra de Martes. This is named locally as El Crocodrilo because of its silhouette. We climbed up and then traversed in to the snappy end.
Once over the snout we were in a vast undulating upland area, the paths wandered in seemingly haphazard ways. Amongst the shrubs were a few Strawberry Trees [Arbutus unedo] the fruit is edible but rather bland and seedy.
We meandered around the hillsides through various cols until a steep downhill took us to the flowing Rio Magro and the Tabana recreational area. Lots of Spanish families out enjoying a Sunday picnic.
Nobody seemed to know where the GR7 went and we lost the waymarks. Ended up walking the minor road for 3k in the heat of the day to pick up the signs again near Mijares. Another flowing river was crossed, unusual to have so much water in the rivers at this time of year.
The village of Mijares was deserted, only a dozen houses. But we found a lane signed to the Fuente Olivera and were glad of the good water obtained for the night.
A little further on and we came to an abandoned grand mansion with a ‘lawn’ for camping on. Luxury. I noticed my 35year old Saunders Backpacker tent was starting to disintegrate at the seems, will be sad to see it go. We drank and ate the last of our food and sat and watched the stars. Not a sound in the night save for some owls.
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