The afternoon was overcast, with black clouds rolling in from the north and cool enough to warrant a cardigan. It seemed a good time to take the dogs for a walk rather than leave it until the early evening.
We pointed the car in the direction of Santa Cruz and planned on stopping at Tajao maybe have a bite to eat in one of the fish restaurants. As we passed the PIRS on the motorway, I was certain we needed the next exit so we pulled off only to discover we were at the wrong turning. Not to be put off we headed down a road we had not been along before and came to La Maretas. I can´t see this marked on any map, it seems to be called Cueva Honda but nevertheless it is in the same location so perhaps it has had a name change although I don’t really think so.
The road ran down towards the sea between tomato plantations and men loaded crates of these onto trucks at the wayside. The sun suddenly burst out from behind the clouds and we were in the main street of La Maretas. For such a tiny village, it was quite a surprise to see several bars and restaurants including a German Bistro lining one side of the road. The opposite side burnt brightly as the sun hit a wild profusion of crimson and citron flowers. Poinsettias still strongly hanging around from Christmas and what I think were Senna plants but I am not much of a gardener so could be wrong.
Although the streets were mainly cobbled and the majority of the houses had the old-fashioned wrought iron grids over the windows lots of work was going on updating and renovating buildings. The workmen waved as we wandered past towards the plaza with its modern bell tower and temporary erected stage towards the calm sea as it lapped lazily at the shingle seabed.
As we passed one of the recently renovated houses, we were met by what appeared to be a shy young lady wandering around on her own. Going by her name, Perle, encrusted in crystals around her pink leather collar, I was confident she was just taking in the afternoon air and was not a stray. She was friendly with my two ‘girls’, taking to Marti more than Caña but appearances can be deceptive. The last we saw as we left the village was this virago chasing full pelt a young man on a bicycle. She obviously only allowed certain ‘intruders’ onto her territory so we were honoured.