Our residence is the house off in the distance.
I started to head home, but every time I did something else would catch my eye and I was drawn on in another direction. It was glorious. I rode up to the castle above Sant Marti Sarroca, down into the village there, and then far far out along winding country roads. Some of them petered out into muddy ruts at the back of someone's property, where I'd turn around and head off in another direction. There were just enough people to keep it interesting; out working on their houses and fields, half-waving hello as they rode by on their motorbikes. The colours and the textures, random fields of poppies, crumbling stone fences, white walls splashed with shots of deep green trees growing in front of them, gorgeous lemon trees in people's yards and big perfect irises growing by the roadside kept me fascinated. After hours of wandering I remembered the bread that was rising under a teatowel on the counter as I headed out. I turned the bike around, rode back, and sat at our kitchen table cutting chunks of Camembert and laying them on top of warm slices of perfect country bread. I could not have been more content. It was my last Sunday in Spain. I reflected back on all the thoughts, conversations and adventures I'd had here. With each passing day now I'm more and more excited to get home, see my friends, family, meld back into the life I left waiting there, but it feels good to know that I've absorbed a little of the Spanish countryside that I'll be carrying with me back home.