Cieza

20 March, 2014

Last weekend we took a trip to Cieza and Mula, two areas about an hour west of us. Mula means mule, so it promised to be a great adventure. Some friends invited us to go view a cave that has 5000 year old paintings. I'm always up for something new and different, so we took off.

In typical Askins fashion, we were late, which got us in just the right mood. The group was about 20 strong, so being late made the "foreigners" stick out even more. We walked up the hill and arrived at the entrance to the cave. It was basically a big manhole cover. The guide lifted the heavy steel plate door and propped it open with a metal rod that did not seem adequate for the job. We could look down into the abyss and see a series of infinitesimally small and unevenly spaced stone steps disappear into the inky blackness. Our guide suggested that kids go first, because they are more brave. We are definitely not in Kansas anymore.

What we could not know when we started our descent into Hell, was that the next set of stairs were spiral. MY hips touched both sides. It was a tight squeeze, to say the least. We dropped down about 75 feet into a fairly big cavern. Turns out the cave opens up to a beautiful vista, the other side of a river gorge. This is the first running water we have seen in Spain, other than what comes out of the faucet.

Evidently the tour guide was very proud of her job, because she spent about 45 minutes droning about a bunch of stick figures on the cave walls. At one point, she asked what we thought they looked like. In a particularly mischievous moment, I responded that it looked like a beer bottle. One person in the cave was not amused by my interpretation. She obviously lacked my recently honed artistic eye. Amateur.

After we left the big hole in the ground, we headed off for Mula, to get something to eat. I was a little uneasy about the restaurant and town, especially when one of my friends said, "I am pretty sure you are the first, and probably the last, foreigners any of these people will ever see." Cue the banjos.

We ate some great paella, which is basically rice with whatever somebody decides to put in the pan. In this case, it was rabbit. It is hard to distinguish rabbit from chicken, when you just see the meat. Discerning the difference between the two becomes quite easy, however, when you start digging into what you thought was a thigh, but on closer inspection, was a rabbit's head, cut in half lengthwise. I know it was a rabbit's head, and not a chicken's, because of the large front teeth and the eyeball that looked back at me, as if to say, "Can we please get this over with? I am really so done with this meal." Rabbits are not pets in Spain. They are dinner.

Am I eating the rabbit, or is the rabbit eating me?

After our lunch, we headed off to one of the locals' farm. I really didn't know what was going on, as we were basically just playing follow the leader. When we arrived, I realized I was with some pretty important people. We stood at the doorstep of one of their guest cottages, and my friend told me, "You see those mountains over there in the distance? That's on their property too."

Several of us went on a nature walk, and we spotted herds of deer, wild mountain goats and even two wild boar. I was in hog heaven. Sorry.

This is an abandoned building that the deer have taken over.

It was beautiful and relaxing. The terrain here in Murcia is so different from my native longleaf pine forests, dogwoods and azaleas. Our friend's farm has acres of peach and other fruit trees that are now in bloom. This was the first time I have seen something that approached home, and I realized a thirst in my soul.