The sun rising over the Tormes.

I shook off yesterday's restless mood with a trail run along the Tormes river, past all-night fishermen and people tending their allotments in the early morning cool, and onto a place called the "Isla de Soto" - a river island that has been converted into a maze of running and cycling tracks. It was cool and fresh - but it's amazing how quickly it warms up as soon as the sun rises.

Today's journey to our next site took us cross-country, on agricultural roads that linked small farming villages, through mile after mile of crops, interspersed with grain stores and hay bales. Soon enough though, we started to notice mountains in the distance, that slowly grew more defined as we got closer. By the time we stopped to refuel (at an old-fashioned station, they type where they still have an attendant), we were in the foothills of the Sierra de Gredos.

From here on we climbed and climbed, and by the time we reached the mountain pass where we crossed from Castile & Leon into Extremadura and the province of Caceres, we'd reached around 1300 metres. From here it was classic mountain descent territory, all hairpins and switchbacks, as we hit the valley of the River Jerde, and the campsite we'd chosen.

Except they were full. The only other site in town we'd spotted on the map earlier, so we checked in... and discovered what we could only describe as a gloomy, sprawling metropolis of tents, caravans and motorhomes, in complete shadow underneath scores of tall, skinny, oppressive trees. It was dirty, dusty, and seething with people. If the dog could have talked she'd have been screaming "get me out of here", but she didn't have to, as we about-turned and exited, fast.

We located another site that looked promising, so it was back up the mountain road, and into the hills proper. The site was simply a big field behind what in the UK would be called a pub/restaurant - but unlike most places nowadays in the UK, this was no chain franchise, rather a lively local hangout, with plates of food and drinks flying our of the small kitchen, the football blaring from the TV, and stacks of people on the terrace.

Proper "field" camping, UK style, in the middle of Extremadura.

Moreover, the camping field behind was exactly what we love in a campsite - a huge grass field, no dust, dirt or gravel in sight, and no delineated pitches. There were just a hedge around the edge, a toilet/shower block, a few trees for shade, and a big iron gate in/out. Plenty of room for the ten or so families there. Pub camping, UK style, in the middle of Spain. After the oppressive site we'd just come from, it felt like home, and we gratefully relaxed, waiting for our evening meal booking in the restaurant.

We had a great feed, and when Maya and I went into the bar to pay the bill/check in to the camping (they kept saying "It's OK, check in later!"), we got the chance to observe the staff working so hard and efficiently to deal with a clientele of predominantly locals, but a good sprinkling of us tourists, too. 

As we waited, we watched three goals go in in the closing minutes of the Barcelona - Real Sociedad game on TV. By the final whistle, we were all paid up, and headed off into our now-dark field for a good night's sleep.