My short trip down into Portugal and across to Castile was a spur-of-the moment decision, so not as well planned as would normally be the case. But, fifteen minutes down the road towards the border, it struck me I probably had intended to bring with me the small suitcase I’d packed the night before . . .

Stimulated by Michael Jacobs, my destination – after stopping for a wonderful lunch of fresh mackerel by a Portuguese lake – was the classically Castilian, hilltop town of Toro. This could be the quietest place in Spain – possibly because it’s not far from Portugal! – and, for the first time in seven years, I managed to sleep without earplugs. But, sadly, I didn’t bump into the mad woman who wandered round Jacobs’ hostel with an omelette on her head when he first visited Toro in the late 60s. Nor the barber who moaned to him when he returned in the early 90s that a small town of only 7,000 souls had 13 banks. Things could have been worse; in the 14^th century, the place had over 40 churches.

I did, though, find that I could feast on Galician octopus. In fact, it was the major item on the board outside the first restaurant I checked out for my birthday dinner. Fortunately, they also had traditional Castilian dishes, though I wasn’t sure what the floppy stuff in the sopa castellana was and feared it was pig’s ear left over from another Galician dish. Thankfully, I’ve since discovered it was just stale bread.

Should you be thinking of going to Toro yourself, be aware it’s bitingly cold even in early November and that, according to one of the tour guides, there’s a month during which the sun is never seen and the icicles never melt because of the 24-hour fog. My guess is this is in winter. Apparently this sort of weather contributed to the fact that the nuns in the unheated convent once had an average lifespan of only 25. I imagine they were quite pleased to pass away. And not much stiffer after they had.

Contrary to the published timetable, none of Toro’s three main churches were open. As the last on my list was next to the Tourist Office, I was able to have the following classic conversation:-

Good morning.

Good morning. Can you tell me when the churches in this brochure are open?

Now.

No, they’re not.

Yes, they are.

No, they’re not. I’ve just tried to get into them and they’re all locked.

Are you sure you tried the right door?

Yes, I tried all of them.

The brochure you’ve got is for the period until the end of September. This is the current one.

Are the opening times different, then?

No .. . . I’m going to call the woman in charge.

Maribel. I have some very angry people here saying the churches are closed . . .

I’m not very angry. Just perplexed.

I know but I have to say something like that. Anyway, she’s got a bit of a cold and had popped out to have a coffee. They’ll be open very shortly.

Many thanks.

In the end, I tried the churches again after visiting the Monastery of the Holy Spirit and found only one of them open. But it was a wonderful example of Mudéjar architecture and well worth the return trip. That said, my memories of it were later almost obliterated by the sensational Convent/Monastery of Santa Clara in Tordesillas. This was built in the 14^th century on the site of an earlier palace which combined Arab and Christian design. The whole place is a gem but the Mudéjar ceiling of the church must rank as one of the most beautiful things ever created. Simply stunning. Thank God for religion. Both Christian and Muslim. Sometimes and in some ways, at least.

Driving up the A6 towards Galicia, I noticed a couple of Castilian fields full of solar panels. As they were facing the setting sun, I wondered whether – like sunflowers - they rotated during the day to follow it across the sky. I decided that they did and that these places were effectively sun-panel plantations. Twenty minutes later, I tuned into a Notes from Spain podcast in which Ben and Marina discussed the huertas solares [sun-panel market gardens] that are springing up across Spain. Isn’t life funny, sometimes? Sunny, even. As I first typed . . .

Finally . . . The brochure of my hotel in Toro comes in Spanish, English and French. Respectively, it says guests will be attended to by a young team of professionals, a young and professional team, and a team of professional young people. I’m still trying to figure out the nuances. If any.