Tonight I am sleeping in a convent. It was not my original plan as I had intended to camp within two hours riding from Seville but instead I am in Marchena which is some four hours away. Two reasons lie behind my change of plan, one a bit of an excuse the other quite reasonable: today was a slow and sometimes bone shaking ride, taking me longer than expected and I felt both bike and body needed a break; but more importantly the power in my phone, which I rely on for navigating the minor roads and tracks I tend to use, was getting low and I wasn’t sure it would get me to Seville without a recharge.
Today's ride was on another Via Verde, an old train line now used for cycling and walking. I had envisaged following signs for most of the day with no need to use my mobile which was handy as the power pack I use to recharge my devices during the day seems to be the latest casualty to this trip. In reality though, what I had in mind as one long route seems to be three separate routes linked by stretches of road through towns with little or no signage and for which my navigation app was required.
The actual cycle routes were generally wide and flat paths of light gravel or sand but long stretches were not smooth and some parts were overgrown with foliage that caught the bike and unbalanced you. The routes weaved their way through the folds in the gentle slopes of the Guadalquivir valley and I weaved around on the routes trying to avoid ruts and potholes and loose stones that made the bike skittish. Some parts allowed for good speed but the shaking induced by other sections had me cycling more slowly. It was not riding that required much effort but it was wearing and did require concentration on the track rather than on the fields and scenery around you.
Although small, Marchena is one of the larger towns I passed today. It sits on a small and obvious hill in the Guadalquivir flood plain, standing proud from all around it, and from a mile away I could see three churches poking up from its profile. On the plain just outside the town, the massive bulk of a more modern grain store speaks to the original source of the town's fortunes.
I stopped in Marchena's centre to get my bearings where I got engaged in a conversation with a middle aged man who seemed to think I was his new best friend. Despite repeated requests he spoke at a speed I found hard to follow, telling me it was dangerous to cycle main roads and insistent I should wait to meet his sister. I on the other hand was trying to find out details of places I might stay. After being shown pictures of his bike, his dog and his mother and having turned down an invitation to see his house (it all seemed a bit weird) I eventually got the recommendation of the convent as a place to stay from his sister who had by now arrived.
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| Marchena |
The convent sits at a high point in the town adjacent to one of the churches I saw from afar. A large, solid wooden door takes you into a tiny vestibule where you speak to the nun, pass your money and receive your keys, all through a small rotating wooden hatch like a mini rotating door in a shop or hotel, so in theory neither you nor the nun need to see each other. Whether by accident or design it did not properly perform its role in this case and for a moment a scruffy white cyclist and demure but smiling black nun made eye contact and momentarily linked our two different worlds. The rooms, comfortable and well appointed, are attached to the convent but isolated from it. Another solid wooden door takes you to a small courtyard of white and yellow stucco with a portico of covered arches and around which the handful of rooms are found. In keeping with a place built for quiet religious reflection it is all beautifully peaceful.
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| Convent Rooms |
Having planned to camp this evening I had food in my bags that needed to be eaten so forwent making the short walk down the hill to the bars and restaurants in town. Sometimes I feel I am not making the most of these new places I visit but a comfortable room after a long day can be an indescribable luxury that is hard to ignore, especially when I am rarely in the same place more than one night. I think too there can be more value in occasional quiet reflection on recent experiences and memories over pursuing the urge to make new ones, to look for interest and charm in what has already passed rather than finding a ‘tick box’ satisfaction in a drive to catch that which you think you might be missing. That said, tomorrow is another one night stay, this time in Seville, but I hope to arrive early enough that I can spend a large part of the day exploring a little of what that city has to offer.
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