Puerta de Gredos 15^th April 2007

On the Saturday night, we went to a party, to meet the Vaughantown staff and the other English-speaking participants in the Vaughantown scheme. I don’t want to explain too much about that here, because I’ve done so already at http://travelrat.wordpress.com/2007/06/27/vaughantown/.

Early on Sunday morning, we boarded a coach to the place we call Gredos. But, don’t look for it on a map. As far as I know, there is no town or village called Gredos; it’s a range of mountains. The full name for the place we were staying is the Hotel Puerta de Gredos … or ‘Gateway to Gredos’. Now, if anywhere advertises itself as the ‘gateway’ to anywhere, it’s usually miles away from the place mentioned. But, we aren’t here to go mountaineering; we’re here to talk English to the Spaniards until they’re dreaming in English! Not teach, you understand … some of them speak pretty fair English already; it’s more to give them experience in speaking colloquial English to an English speaker.

The hotel was once a manor house, and much of the original décor has been preserved, although it’s fully modernised inside. Outside is a staircase and a balcony, on which you can imagine Catherine Zeta Jones standing, and waiting for Antonio Banderas to sweep her away!

The hotel stands in a wide bowl sort of affair, surrounded by mountains. They were still snow-capped in April … although the Spanish participants said there was usually much more snow at this time of year.

If you looked carefully, you could see the battlements of the castle at nearby Barco de Avila. But, we’ll be going to visit that later.

I had to get up really early in the morning to get the video, because I didn’t think it fair to the Spaniards to be filming when I was supposed to be talking to them … although nobody took exception to stopping and taking the odd photograph.

But, the programme didn’t start till breakfast at nine o’clock, and I usually get up around six. And, there was plenty of free time to do my thing.

Most of our walks took us westward along a minor road, which reminded me a little of Scotland or the Lake District. We could then take a dirt path down to the River Tormes, where a lesser river joined it. Continuing along the road brought us to a little cottage on a sort of headland, which was just about as far as we could manage in the time allowed. But, there was a village … I don’t know the name … tantalisingly close at hand.

I had been intrigued by someone who’d been there before, saying we could walk down to ‘the lake’. One day, in my ‘free time’, I walked the other way. I took a cart track which led me towards the river, through a meadow below the Gredos Gate Hotel, and down to where a weir dammed the river. Was this the ‘lake’?

Truth to tell, though, the weir was rather crumbly, and the whole area rather messy and overgrown, so I dismissed the idea of taking ‘my’ Spaniard down there at a future time.