Nellie's nose is back to its normal size and I suspect a sting was the cause for its previous ballooning, so onwards and upwards on more tracks that this time take us into new terrain. Suddenly the forests have withdrawn and we are walking on open hillsides where the views stretch to every horizon and we can see our route for hours ahead. This is my kind of countryside, having spent my childhood riding on open moorland on the edge of Wales, I am in a landscape I can understand and appreciate. Paul responds indulgently when I take theatrical deep breaths, but I think/hope he can sense some of what I am feeling. Nellie, as much from the mountains as I am, picks up pace too and we cover distances easily, even when the ascents and descents are severe. When I am asked again if she is a mule (it happens almost everyday) I do not take offence on her behalf because I have come to realise she has all the best attributes of her cousin – surefooted, immensely strong and well balanced. My confidence in her abilities grows with every challenge we set her. Today, when faced with a vertical rock of at least a metre high, she skips up it effortlessly from a standstill and with her packs on.
In the evening we pull in at the first village we have been through all day, and that only by taking a kilometre detour, to see if there is any chance of buying food and possibly finding a place to stay, but there is no shop, the bar/restaurant is not serving food and the only accommodation is a rough sports field that Paul has managed to negotiate with a woman standing outside the church.
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