Valley of the Moon, at last

Oh yes, I started on about the Valle de la Luna - dapper Luis (later to be seen in a well pressed Pringle sweater) ferried us to the bus park, fortunately empty, room for thousands in high season, and directed us to a huge dark brown sand dune, with a sandy track to one side. 'I'll see you here at 6.30' he said, preparing for a long doze in the heat of his cab. Not for him the mountain goat exertions.




Off went Chris and Rachel, almost running up the slight incline to the top of the dune. It seemed to me I was taking the same track, but for some reason, I was choosing the deeper sand, the steeper bit of hill. Just keep going to that rock, no, not that rock, that one further up. Oh, that one way up there?? Yes, head down, plod on - keep up, girl. Now I'm hearing not just the massive thudding in the chest - keep up heart - nor the hoarse labouring breathing - keep up lungs - but voices urging me onwards and ever upwards. It's a phrase I use often at sea level - I promise never to use it again, not ever, ever again in my life. How unfit can the old girl be? But the view from the top is worth it. In fact, you get two for the price of one. On the other side of the massive dune are TWO Valleys of the Loon, er Moon, bifurcated by a well traipsed rocky tightrope. And off to the right is a deep, sandy track along the top of the dune to a rocky outcrop waaaay waaaay over there. By now, you might guess sand and I dont much like each other. So I sit at the top and watch Chris and R bound along the dune path. I summon up the energy to wave encouragingly, turning aside so the noise of my breathing doesnt follow and frighten them. I shall wait here, clutching my bottle of water, and a stout coat, for I have been promised cold weather as the sun goes down, and we are here to watch the moon rise over the valleys of the moon - what else? It's all very exotic.