Pueblos of the Plain
A wise bear knows that in August, in the heat, a sirocco wind tears up the coast from the deserts of Africa, and the beach is possibly the worst place to be. These people who live in the cities of Spain empty into the sea at this time of year. Desperate for the cool waters by day and the cool air of the night these families of foxes and owls party the month away on the coast, the last refuge of humanity.
But go west from Los Gazquez, across the high plains, the alto plano, past Maria and Orce to Huescar and beyond into the folded peaks of limestone with the evocative names of Buitre, La Cabrilla, Tornajuelos and the mighty Sagra and you will come to cool, blue reservoirs. Not just one but a few, splashed into the recesses of the Parque National Segura y Cazorla.
The beaches are deserted save for the odd heron, a mirror carp digging for minerals. Swap gulls for griffons casting shadows across your beach towels, reach to the mountain peaks for ice to cool your drinks and swim in the still cool waters of these man made lakes, sin olas, sin mareas.
