I would say that Huelva’s countryside is the biggest attraction and most beautiful thing it has to offer. Drive away from the lagoons and the industrial port and get transported back in time and taken on an incredible journey.
The road is long and winds. The roads are dry and the fields seem void of color. But then, further into the mountains we go and here the browns turn to ochre and the yellows turn to gold. Old oak trees twist, their branches knarled by time and by work. The faces of the workers toiling in the fields are tanned and leathery, their eyes are light against their faces. The sun catches and glares off the little, humble white washed houses which dot the countryside. The road veers up and now we can see everwhere, the whole world it seems. Tiny enclaves of people, little structures and in the middle their faith, large against the sky. The air is scented by the eucalyptus trees and the orange blossom. We need to be careful, deer hide and then come ridding madly down the bank. They are hard to see, they are the color of the Earth.
Our journey has gone on forever. We must be higher up, as the trees have turned to pine and water now appears on either side of the car. A gash of red, an opening into hell. These are the mines, the mines of Rio Tinto. Machinery rusts on the side of the road. This is the age of iron, man and fire.
A hearty meal of large olives and wine corked with bark from the bare trees outside in the garden. We sit on dark wooden chairs and at dark wooden tables. The meat is succulent and melts in my mouth. I would make this journey again just for these few simple pleasures. It is hot and we venture into dark caves. They are nice but really I am impatient to get back, back into this lovely world which now seems such an age away.
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