Alora

Day 1 finds us on a train, 8AM, to Alora, a typical pueblo blanco, a whitewashed village nestled between three rocky spurs topped by the ruins of a castle built by the Phoenicians. The train station empty accept for a lonely cafe where the proprietor informs us, using gestures: go up.

A zig zagging trail leads us up the hillside and there is Alora which looks like a favela and Eitan and I wonder: What the hell? Once inside the village, however, we find a hustle-bustle and sparkly shine - the town center filled with the well-dressed elderly people and the young, presumably unemployed, what do they do? one must wonder.  And orange trees filled with fruit.

Our random walk takes us to an olive grove underneath a serious mountain topped with a cross that overlooks  us and the valley beneath.

We return to the station for a perfect tray of anchovies, cured meats and coffee. A table of men play cards.