The first win of the season is always a cause for celebration.

‘Town have won,’ I announced, ‘1-0 away to Millwall.’

‘That’s nice dear,’ replied Melanie, trying to sound interested.

‘Do you fancy going out for a drink to celebrate?’ I asked.

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ replied Melanie.

Within half an hour we were heading off to the bar at Os Chancis. It’s not the closest watering hole, but it’s one of our favourites. We ordered a bottle of red wine and relaxed: sipping the wine and soaking up the scenery. 

Customers came and went. The evening slipped by and the sky darkened. From behind the distant mountains, the moon drifted upward into a cloudless night sky. Hundreds of feet below us, dappled patches of silver light danced on the dark water of the river Sil.

‘This is the best hour of the day,’ said Alex, as we stared out across this mystical landscape.

Alex, and his partner Keka, run the bar as part of an outdoor activity centre based in the nearby village
of Rosende. 

http://turismoenlaribeirasacra.com

He had just finished his final shift, captaining their luxury river pontoon. His small launch offers guests a far more intimate and personal experience of the river, than the larger river cruisers.

‘Do you know anywhere nearby that will still be open for dinner?’ I asked.

Other than tapas, at one of the bars in Sober, he thought not; but the mention of food prompted him to tell us about the Escola de Hosteileria in Rosende. 

http://www.fundacionbelarmino.com/

This educational academy provides training for those wishing to enter the hotel and restaurant trades. Throughout the academic year they hold public events, at discounted prices, to allow their students hands-on experience.

We were aware of the academy’s existence; there are signposts in the village, but not its exact location.

‘It’s opposite the lake in Rosende,’ said Alex.

Surely there couldn’t be a lake in Rosende, the village is situated on a high plateau, but Alex insisted. We thanked him for the information, settled the bill and headed home.

The existence of a secret lake in Rosende had aroused my curiosity. The very next morning we set off in search of this mountain reservoir. We drove through the village and past the church as Alex had
suggested. Before leaving the village we turned left and crept slowly down a narrow lane. A short way along, the asphalt ended and the surface became uneven and potholed. After another 50 metres the track opened up into a small parking area. The place was deserted. We parked in the shade and set off to
explore.

A flight of old, stone steps led upward and away from the car. The morning air was still and warm. A bead of sweat ran down my brow as, with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, we climbed the weathered steps. 
 
What would our climb reveal?

‘Look at that,’ I said in surprise, as I peered over the top step.

Like a mirage in the desert, our eyes feasted on an unimaginable site. A body of water surrounded by conifers and framed against a backdrop of lilac toned mountains, topped with a cloudless, pale-blue sky. 
 
We strolled around the edge of the lake, viewing its natural beauty from every possible angle. On returning to the car, we were greeted by another impressive site: a gracefully ageing Pazo (manor house). Nestled within its extensive grounds was the hospitality academy. This modern building fitted comfortably into its ancient surroundings.

Our doorstep discovery has left me eager for the school term to start and the opportunity to sample some gastronomic delights.

Dear Craig

Thank you for the opportunity to read and review Journey to a Dream. Below are my comments on your book.

Many of us harbour secret fantasies of escaping to a sunny villa in the south of France or a cabin in the wilds of Patagonia. Craig and Melanie Briggs did just that and Journey to a Dream describes the perils and pleasures they encounter. The people of Galicia region in northwest Spain are gracious and welcoming to strangers; they also operate on "Spain Time" and have their own rules governing work. Craig Describes the breathtaking scenery along the river banks but also the unrelenting rains that nearly bring the house renovation project to a halt. The "journey" isn't always a smooth one!

Journey to a Dream is a charming and humorous story of what can happen when you set out to follow a dream. If you're familiar with Galicia it brings back wonderful memories; if you've never been it gives you a tantalizing taste of what might be in store for you there.

Best wishes for the future

Bette S. Coplan, Ph.D.
Executive Vice President & Provost (retired)
Wesley College, Dover, Delaware, USA

What on earth is that?

As usual Pepino was outside his house, taking advantage of the fresh morning air. He and his wife Pilar, live in a semi-detached property down Station Street, in the centre of the village. I often see him when I’m giving Slawit her morning exercise, especially during the hot summer months.

He sneaks outside for a crafty cigarette. Wispy plumes of pale-grey smoke spiral into the air as it hangs limply from his narrow lips

If he’s not sweeping up sun-dried leaves, he’s normally leant against the back of one of his garden chairs. He always looks uncomfortable standing there, as if he’s had a restless night’s sleep. 
 
This morning; however, he’s sitting at the garden table holding what looks like a giant, woollen tea cosy. The type a distant aunt might bring out on special occasions: dower shades of brown wool, knitted together with ball-end remnants. 

That’s unusual, I thought to myself.

His garden table is made from an old, stone grinding wheel resting on a stone base. Until this summer, his seating arrangements consisted of two plastic garden chairs and a canvass, director-style chair. Age had transformed the bright-white plastic into a pale-grey colour and breeding lichen had given them a black, mottled effect. The derelict directors’ chair had a plank of wood resting on the legs: the canvass had long since given up the ghost. 

In late spring Pepino and Pilar replaced their ageing seating with two, brand new wicker-type chairs. The wicker is actually plastic, woven around a metal frame but they look really smart. Knowing the locals, the old chairs are probably stored in a corner of their garage, just in case they are ever needed.

As we neared, Slawit’s excitement level jumped. Her ears pricked up and she started pulling on the lead. This seemed like a very strange response to a giant tea cosy. 

‘Good morning Pepino,’ I called as we neared, ‘what do you have there?’ 

‘Lunch,’ he said with a cheeky smile.

By now I was close enough to see for myself. It wasn’t a giant tea cosy as I had first thought, but a rather large chicken. Pepino held both its legs in a vice like grip. The bird sat motionless, seemingly oblivious to Slawit’s curiosity. 

‘Soup,’ he added ‘too old and tough for anything else.’

I nodded in acknowledgement, not quite sure how to respond. I dragged the dog away and walked on. I presumed he was waiting for his wife Pilar, to deliver the last rights.

Half an hour later we were heading back up the street. Just as we reached Pepino’s house, he and his wife appeared from the back garden. Pilar was wearing her work overall and, with the same vice like grip that Pepino had used earlier, she was carrying lunch. The chicken was still motionless but for very different seasons. The fresh, blood-splatter on Pilar’s slippers were testament to that.

‘Good morning,’ she called cheerily as we walked past.

‘Good morning,’ I replied, ‘enjoy your lunch,’ I added.

Journey To A Dream second edition is now available.

I’ve attempted to address the P.T. Barnum idea, (“Always leave them wanting more”) which on reflection was more a Clint Eastwood effect, (Hang ’Em’ High), with an epilogue.

Without giving too much away, the five page epilogue brings the reader bang up to date with our Spanish adventure. The Kindle edition has the added bonus of a series of photographs.

If you’ve already downloaded the ebook, Kindle should notify you of the update within the next four weeks; once notified you can download the update for free.

However; the lucky ones are those of you who bought the paperback; you are now the owner of a very rare first edition – Congratulation!

On most occasions, the intoxicating aroma of wood smoke conjures up images of cosy nights in: toasting marshmallows over a romantic log fire, but not today. This is the middle of summer and temperatures are topping 100 degrees. 

Today, the smell of wood smoke means one thing – danger. 
 
I scan the horizon looking for the source. A large, grey plume billows into the air, fading as it rises higher and higher. Across the valley a forest fire rages. The firm but modest breeze scatters the cloud northward and away from the house.

The warning howl of a distant siren fades in and out on the wind: the foot soldiers are on the scene. Fire fighters fly overhead. Two helicopters are joined by two, single-seater water bombers – whop-clacker,
whop-clacker, whop-clacker! The sound is almost deafening as they fly directly over the house.

They’ve been buzzing around most of the day. Somewhere over the horizon is a far more urgent emergency. These aerial fire fighters fly back and forth, back and forth, hauling their precious cargo of water from the great river Sil to the burning forest.

When their work is over, and the fires extinguished, all that remains is a blackened landscape of charred trees and scorched earth. Nature’s beautiful wilderness is scarred by a baron, lifeless wasteland of apocalyptic appearance.

Thankfully, time and Mother Nature will quickly heal this open wound. Within twelve months, the vibrant green brushstrokes of nature’s palette transform this ashen scene. A short time later, the only reminders of these natural disasters are the black wooden sculptures of once proud trees, slowly decaying with the passing seasons.

Reassured that we are not in any immediate danger, we decide to drive the 10 kilometres to Os Chancis.

Os Chancis is nothing more than a name on a map; in some cases, not even that. In less austere times, the local council built an embarkation point for boat trips on the river. Our destination today is not the river but a quiet bar perched on top of the river canyon.

Outside the bar is a small, concrete terrace scattered with tables and chairs and beyond that a gravel area with more of the same. Save for the staff, and a few of their friends, the place is deserted. We take a seat and order a beer – a Galician brew named 1906. Brewed with malt, it tastes refreshingly English.

A cool beer on a hot sunny day takes some beating and if the 6.5% specific gravity doesn’t set your head spinning, the breathtaking view most certainly will. 
 
Stretched out in front of us is an ancient landscape,
sympathetically managed to meet the needs of modern man. It shows how, with a little thought and a great deal of luck, human kind can integrate harmoniously with the natural surroundings.

Below us is the river Sil, looking more like a Scottish loch than a fast flowing river. Passing clouds cast menacing shadows on the water. Variable gusts, channelled through the steep canyon, whip up regiments of white horses which charge down the river before disappearing into the calm, dark water.

Downstream, a legacy of Franco’s rule holds back the river, providing hydro-electric power.  
 
In the distance, an unnamed mountain rises from the river to over 1000 metres. A new environmental legacy clings to its steep contours – wind turbines. They stand tall and proud like modernist statues, angelic and graceful. 

As my mind drifts away into a utopian world of natural beauty and renewable energy, the silence is suddenly shattered – whop-clacker, whop-clacker, whop-clacker!

This harsh, mechanical noise echoes around the canyon, traumatising the senses. A life saving helicopter flies overhead, banks steeply and hovers over the river. Hanging below this miracle of aviation is a balloon shaped bag. It hardly looks big enough to serve any useful purpose, but it does. 
 
The pilot hovers lower and lower, submerging the hanging envelope. With a rush of power the aircraft rises, dips its nose and speeds off to the emergency.

Beer downed, it’s time for us to do the same; but we’ll be back, you can count on that.

***IT’S FREE***

That’s right folks, absolutely free – not one penny,
nothing, zero, zip, or as we like to say in
Yorkshire IT’S NOWT!

For 2 days only (8 and 9 August)
Journey To A Dream
is free as a Kindle download from Amazon.

If you own a Kindle and haven’t already bought a
copy, this is your chance to get it for free.

There’s no catch and no strings attached.

But please do me a favour, DON’T keep it to yourself,
share this post with everyone.

Thanks and enjoy the read.

AND THE WINNER IS………

A big thank you to everyone for entering my FREEE DRAW
and supporting my book

Journey To A Dream 
A voyage of adventure from England’s industrial north to Spain’s rural interior

To see the winner please follow this link:

http://www.journeytoadream.co.uk/free-draw-winner.html


 Due to Facebook rules I cannot announce the winner here.