With the assistance of that kind Mr Google and BBC on line weather, Mary-Ann has morphed into our own on board Alpine Clock Weather Girl. If the weather is likely to be fine, the central door opens and she pops outside. Determines the percentage of humidity. Studies the cloud formation. Calculates the wind speed. Estimates the likely high. Decides what to wear.
The forecast is for more strong cool breezes at Sierra Maria. We leave in 11C. Mary-Ann wants to get the “cold part” of our trip out of the way. She knows I want more mountains. We head towards Sierra Nevada. It’s 6C over there she tells me.
I keep an eye on the outside temperature. It creeps up. Not down. 15C. Then 19C. What’s going on? By the time we reach our new site at Güéjar Sierra it’s 23C. No wind. 0% humidity. Virtually cloudless. Time to give the Alpine Lass the heave ho?
We pitch up and take a wiggly walk up into town. It’s steep. Gives us a great view of our camp site’s position.
With virtually no knowledge of the written or spoken word we feel worse than a couple of medieval peasants. Puzzling over these strange lisping sounds. Unable to piece together even one item on any menu. Yesterday we ate out for my birthday. Three courses of tapas. Followed by Cenamos rabo de buey en vino tinto. We translated rabo as rabbit cooked in red wine.
Güéjar Sierra is just coming to life by the time we reach the centre. I pop into a bar to order. “Sangria” is not on the menu. Oh. Now what do I say? Don’t even know how to say orange juice. “Sin alcohol?” The lady disappears into the back room and reappears with a bottle of Nestea. “Si. Grath-ee-as”. The Weather Girl approves.
