![\"Zagan\"](\"https:\/\/ourtourmedia.s3.eu-central-003.backblazeb2.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/11\/DSC06466.jpg\")
<\/a>Spot the Zagan.<\/p><\/div>\n
Last night, in an attempt to make up for inexplicably forgetting to pop Zagan’s handbrake on, I knocked up some grub with one of our skillets. Pork chops in a cider, apple and onion sauce, with peppered mashed spuds. Turned out nicely, phew. Given the flood of free time pouring over us, and the fact we now have the double skillet to use as an oven, I’m trying to build up my cooking skills a bit.<\/p>\n
<\/a>Limited space, no oven, no grill, no problem.<\/p><\/div>\n
A frost came last night. Nothing major, but enough to freeze up water on the silver screens and to have me sliding about the car park when I took Charlie for his morning drag. I poked around the back of the van again to inspect the damage from our runaway bush-crushing yesterday. It’s minimal, just an inch-wide piece of plastic from the edge of a light cluster and some pea-sized indents. Not that I don’t love Zagan and the lifestyle he enables us to have, but this kind of minor damage doesn’t bother me. From experience, it seems kind of inevitable something gets bust on longish trips. Not putting the handbrake on though? What a muppet.<\/p>\n
Our position in the valley below Ans\u00f3 village meant we weren’t going to feel the sun for a while. The heating had been on low all night. We got up about 8 and cranked it up to 20 degrees. Ju sat in Zagan and crafted some stuff on the laptop. I stood outside breathing brand new air and warming my hands under the heater’s vent when, with a cough, it conked out. Neither of us can work it out. The gas had stopped flowing, both bottles were open, but the system’s auto change-over valve didn’t trip. Maybe the 11Kg bottle had gas left, but only butane which was refusing to come out of liquid form in the cold? Dunno. The heating started when I manually switched to the 6Kg bottle, and worked again from the main bottle later in the day. Happy days.<\/p>\n
<\/a>Cold LPG perhaps means butane only left, which won’t turn into gas and hence stays in the bottle?<\/p><\/div>\n
<\/a>Ans\u00f3 on a cool November morning<\/p><\/div>\n
Casting about for something to do around Ans\u00f3, I came across an article in the Telegraph about a chap on a walking holiday, who’d raved about a traditional eatery up the road – the Borda Chiquin. Hmmm, up the road<\/em>. That means north towards the mountains and France. Our map showed all the roads around Ans\u00f3 as white, which is one up from a dirt track. In other words, white road = white knuckles when attempting to amateurishly manoeuvre a great big stupid-wide white box. Balls to it, grub sounded cracking, cheap, simple and authentic – all roasted lamb and wild boar sausage. Off we went.<\/p>\n In a car, I imagine the route would be a synch. In Zagan, I flinched. It felt like the time we accidentally drove down a cycle path in Belgium. The white line mocked me, as I spent the best part of 8km straddled across it. These small roads at least have the decency to inflate and deflate as they go, so you get a few minutes of relief on wider stretches where constructing the thing must have been marginally easier than hacking it into the cliff face, where it rapidly breathes in again. Given a hand-on-heart guarantee no-one would dare come the other way, it’d be an easy ride. As it was, we each made our best attempt at asking the universe for a break, which it in return gave us. Except for this cow:<\/p>\n She point-blank refused to move more than a foot. We edged past. Her mate stood, amused, on the other side of the road.<\/p><\/div>\n Rolling into the beautifully fat car park alongside the Cocina (N42.82403, W0.83166) we knew the truth before wheels stopped rolling. It was long shut.<\/p>\n We had tried to work this out before setting off, but various websites refused to yield opening times, so we just chanced it. Ho hum, we took a walk alongside the road, peering through trees at the stone cliffs to the north, got back in Zagan and repeated the road-roulette south. But for a couple of cars which we crept past, the only other traffic we came across was the same two rotund cows, this time being gently persuaded south by a lady with a stick. She managed to get them both onto one edge of the road and we slid past.<\/p>\n Back to Ans\u00f3, we found the bus car park (N42.76267, W0.82866) we probably should have stayed in last night, and pulled in for a breather and a plan check. I liked it up there. The parking area was quite fabulous, something we’d once have happily paid \u00a325 a night for at home, and raved about it afterwards. Here it was just another free parking space. The decision on whether to shift on waited until we’d ambled into town and grabbed some food at Hostel Kimboa. Three courses for \u20ac15 apiece, which included water but not wine or other drinks.<\/p>\n Highlight of the Kimboa meal: Migas. Breadcrumbs cooked in garlic, with some oil, ham, mushrooms and whatever else he fancied chucking in. Fantastic.<\/p>\n Migas, delicious.<\/p><\/div>\n Lowlight of the meal: the pudding seemed a bit, ah, pre-packaged?<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/p>\n<\/a>