March 1, 2012
A LOVELY day visiting the historic hilltop town of Caceres
Storks, being no respecters of human grandeur, are nesting in large
numbers on the heritage rooftops, and everywhere you hear the tapping of
their bills, like drumsticks being hit together at high speed. With ‘bolardos
elevados’ (take note, Journal colleagues) blocking the town centre to all but
residents’ cars, it really is an extremely peaceful place.
I feared at one point that we’d have to miss it. The car park suggested by our camp site attendant was in the middle of another
one of those mazes of steep, winding streets nearby, barely wide enough for a
motorhome. When we got there, our van was too tall to get in. A fraught moment, but rescue appeared in the form of another lovely,
friendly Spaniard who saw our worried faces and came up to point out the local coach park on the map.
With Glen intent on showing these foreigners how well-behaved a border
collie can be, we plonked down at a shady table in the Plaza Mayor for some
seriously good tapas – deep-fried mushroom croquette with coffee – yes, that’s right, coffee salad dressing, crab cakes, and
the cheeks of some unspecified animal stuffed, Extremadura-style, and served
with crushed potatoes. A bit daring for me, and I would like to say it proved
‘who dares, wins’, but I felt a bit dodgy later and had to go to bed early.
Although that might have been unconnected, since David had the same
food and was fine.
In the late afternoon sunshine, we drove out onto a sandy track in the middle of nowhere where the bird book
had said we might see bustards at last. And there they were – about 100 of
them. Along with a little owl, a marsh harrier, and a bunch of vultures plus a
golden eagle circling over a mangled sheep’s carcass. And to think I was worried about
what I’d eaten!
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