Trujillo and the four poster beds

We arrived at 1145 at a nondescript bus station on the edge of the Little town called Trujillo. All around in the clear night vast open fields had been discovered through the pall of the evening, ranging far and wide and free, the abrupt flat-handed check of the stone walled streets jolting us awake. Our 4 day rolling transit was at an end. And with no preconceptions, the sense of exoticness intensified the feeling of triumph, our arrival made regal as we were whisked onto the historic cobbles of the central square by a kind girl and her father in their large 4 door car after we had asked them the way.
In the oval square, packed out with palaces and memorials to time, my doubts over coming were left sprinkled over the vast uninvisionable landscape behind us, (2022 kilometres to be precise, according to Google Map Routefinder) and a soujourn of homecooking and domestic delight was spread accross our itinerary like a delicious picnic. So near to a comfortable bed and security, and the clock ominously hovering at 5 to midnight, Luis wasn’t answering his phone and so Waseem called a friend in England who began relaying instructions to find his home as we marched around, a bit like in Challenge Aneka, if you remember this. Would we sleep on the street again?
Trujillo turned out to be a maze of homogenous terraces of squasehed together plastered cottages, shuttered and huddling in their ancient but secretive glories, the path ahead snuffed out at every turn by sense-boggling blind bends. When we were on what we thought was the right road, trundling with our heavy bags like sleep walkers, we were on the look out for the curiously described “house under the bell with the nest on it” which was in fact nowhere to be seen, and just as it looked like we would be sleeping on the street (we were not on the right road!) we made contact with Luis and he guided us “home” to bed. A hefty meal later, we lifted ourselves onto a four poster bed each and among deliciously crisp sheets imitated rocks plunging inexorably into a deep sleep. Staying at Luis’s parents was like being dipped into a domestic bliss of the sort I had almost forgotten about.
When we got up though, it was the dawn of ramdam and we would have to obstain from many delights until nightfall. Would we manage? Would we become deranged, and wander in the brilliant sun and hallucinate pastries, or gorge ourselves from the larder? Stay tuned until the next exciting installment!