For a few days I have been starting my days at the local bars, before dawn.
These are active places, men only, the farm workers getting ready for the day. They are in the field, pruning vineyards or weeding mostly at the moment.
In the dark their motorbikes or tractors are parked in the street. Their choice of coffee is not like the diverse choices of Melbourne. Flat whites but with half steamed milk and a dash of cold full cream or light milk to take the edge off the temperature. A cup of ouzo and a glass of iced water. Of course the the barman knows all their specific needs.
They make me feel welcome. They can see what I am doing.
Soon they will be alone for the morning spread across the plains of Spain for the morning then home for lunch and a siesta.
One of the days I walked alone for 28 km, 28 km of mostly vineyards, perhaps nearly 20 km dead straight along the Roman road, to a town that was the pits - Torremejia.
Merida a day beyond.
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