Monday, 18th September.
We stopped at about 10am at a little bar in a shitty little
town. A couple of the local tarts walked in. (Although they
could've been tarts from out of town, but they had an air of
locality about them, if that makes sense.) "There's no in between
with these Spanish women," I said to Dave.
"What do you mean?"
"Well," I replied, "they're either amazing or ugly. There's no
As we entered Belorado, some fool started us singing "Welcome to
the hotel Belorado" to the tune of "Hotel California" by obscure
70s pop group the Eagles. Aargh, now I've got that sodding song
stuck in my head. Someone hum me a few bars of a Thompson Twins
I discovered today that the girls are picking up on my
vocabulary. Barb has started using the word "ridiculous" and Noelle
referred to me as a bloke in her diary. "You're joking," I said,
using another one of my favourite phrases. "And I said 'bugger'
the other day! Aaargh!" muttered Barb. Funny that, none of their
vocabulary is rubbing off on me.
Before dinner we all climbed a hill that shoots up behind the
refugio. At the top of the hill is the ruins of some old building,
none of us were exactly sure what it might have been. In the silence,
the wind brushed our cheeks, and we sat in the evening sun.
above: a view of Belorado from that hill
It was Dave's turn to cook, and tonight he was sharing the kitchen
with four blonde women (two German and two Brazilian).
It was a struggle for him, but full credit
to the little Aussie battler, he saw it through.