Fourth Camper Van Segment: Girona - Alcalá de la Jovada (568 km)

In the middle of the day, the forth and final stage of the journey to Alcalá de la Joveda begins, where on June 1st, an empowerment Greenberg Method workshop will start. According to all forecasts this will greatly improve my life. It's a beautiful day, in my camper van I am floating southward and very quickly I forget Saint Francesco's warnings "Eh, Be, Tzigale-Meh, you need to go to a garage," and all the rest of the holy advice I got in Girona. Soon, I will be in Valencia. Except for a bluish mountain range that sings along with me, "Almost Heaven, South Valencia, Blue Ridge Mountains la, la, la, laaaa," the landscape looks very Israeli, and I feel quite at home here. The vegetation is Mediterranean, the sun is properly inclined and the day is hot and dry.

In Valencia, I pass a series of impressive spaghetti interchanges, not getting confused, calculating distances, turning at forks, and flowing with the traffic toward the next destination until suddenly, without any warning, the highway ends. Similar to the incident I'd had in Villefranche-sur-Saône, in France, the further the distance from the highway the narrower the roads become . Only this time, instead of descending to the river, the roads are winding up to the top of the mountains.

While navigating, I remember that I didn't buy mineral water and that I have very little bread, and as far as I remember, I have no vegetables at all. Not to mention eggs, without which there is no life. Well, I tell myself, when I arrive at the village, I'll stop at the grocery store and buy what I need.

Suddenly, as I’m pondering about groceries, a car appears and it is moving fast towards me. What to do, what to do? I ask myself. I cling to the mountainside, stop the van, close my eyes, and wait. When the silence returns, I open my eyes; it seems that somehow, the car has passed, faded away, maybe it has fallen into the valley, I don’t know and I don’t ask. What matters is that the road is clear and I am still alive.

The way to Alcalá de la Jovada

The village sits on a peak. Aside from the noise of the car's engine, it is so quiet that the chirping of the birds is deafening. There is no other sound besides that. I have landed in an abandoned village. The silent houses are close to each other, holding hands. I can almost hear them whispering to one another, "Hey, look! There's a new kid in the village!" The cobble stoned road is perfectly paved, and it too is silent, revealing nothing but the mason's strive for perfection. I understand that I must park my Nadedet (the camper van) in a place that won’t disturb the tranquility of the village.

I find a spot, park the car, and set out for a walk. I will look for a grocery store and buy the missing supplies. I wander through the narrow village stone road and find no supermarket, no grocery store, and not even a stand for local produce. Google tells me that the nearest grocery store is a mountain and two valleys away in one of the neighboring villages. It is now eight-thirty in the evening, and it seems that today, having little choice, I will manage with what I have.

The parking spot is perfect. Behind me are the silent village houses, and in front of me the sun is setting over a mountain. I roll out the awning that creates a sort of porch, open the back doors of the car, and lie down on the bed. If earlier I thought that the chirping of the birds was excessive, now, in the sunset, the choir has settled on all the treetops surrounding my Nadedet, and is simply chirping to its heart's content. I lie there and listen. Today is Friday. Tomorrow is Saturday, my Sabbath.

Eve of the Sabbath at Alcalá de la Jovada

Just like Friday evening, Saturday morning opens with the joyful morning chorus of song birds. I don’t know if anyone here has experienced what I'm feeling, but at this moment, I feel that the birds and I are alone in the world. The mountain top is shrouded in mist, the sun has not yet come up from the eastern horizon, and I can hardly see three feet ahead. It’s a good time to find a place to relieve myself behind a tree or rock. Don’t worry, I have a digging tool, and no evidence will be left behind.

Hot coffee and a slice of bread with honey, and I set out for a walk around Alcalá de la Joveda. Last summer, a terrible fire raged here, and its signs are evident in the charred landscape mixed with the fresh green of regenerating vegetation and the purple, white, pink and yellow mountain flowers. To the right, a fence surrounds a cemetery, and I peek at the gravestones. The family structure remains with the dead, and each family has its own plot. There are generations of old and young there. And it’s clean. Very clean, the cemetery, the village, everything. The sun rises from the east, and its rays comb through the mist. Let’s close our eyes and breathe in the quiet air, and welcome the Sabbath Queen into our hearts, wide open.