Several times a week we walk to the village. To shop, drink coffee with friends, or – in my case – go to Spanish class.
The first part of the road leads us downhill and near the end, we have an overview of a campground. It’s a quiet place. Lots of tanned, elderly people.
It always reminds me of my parents. They spend 18 winters in a row in Spain in a setting very similar to this campground.