October 9, 2016

We’ve had to book our accommodation ahead again because there is only one hotel in Marchena, the town we are heading for, and we can’t risk it being full when we get there.  We don’t enjoy it quite as much when we have a specific stopping point arranged.  It is much nicer to see how it goes and decide to stop when you want.

After only 20 kilometres or so we join a road we rode along earlier this year, albeit in the other direction.  It is dramatically different now compared to then.  In the spring the rolling plains of cereals were green and the roadside verge full of wild flowers.  Now all is baked dry and brown.  On some stretches the verge is completely covered in white cotton wool balls which we quickly realise have blown across from fields where cotton plants are growing, another crop we’ve never seen before.  Apparently, in Europe cotton is grown in Greece and here in Andalucia.  Between them they produce only 1% of the world’s cotton and it looks as though the Spanish contribution is mainly spread along the roadside.  It seems incredibly wasteful to let so much blow away.

There are no villages out here, only the occasional hacienda, giving it a desolate appearance in the shimmering heat of the day.  There is a strong, hot crosswind blowing, causing us a few problems, with the bikes dodging around the road unexpectedly.  Fortunately, the traffic is light.

It is enjoyable to ride across this type of landscape for a day or two although I suspect too much of it would become tedious.  It’s also a complete contrast to the majority of our tour, where we’ve been riding almost always within sight of habitation.  We pass through one big town, Carmona, which is set high above the plains. Fortunately, we pass through in the middle of the day giving us an opportunity for a cool drink and to top up our water supplies which we’re getting through pretty quickly.

The place we’re staying at is just outside Marchena and is a grand country house.  The trouble with grand country houses is that they are in the country and this one doesn’t serve food, so we have to get back on the bikes and ride into town for dinner.