It was another hot on the mountain and water was hard to find. My tanks were empty and I hadn't seen a stream, or even a puddle, in a few days. I'd been parked up outside someone's home in the little village. There were a few stores with signs that poked fun at my increasing thirst, but there wasn't a soul in sight.

When you don't know where you're going, down is all you need - eventually, you have to reach the sea, or perhaps an arid valley. In the latter case, you'd better hope you have enough fuel to get back up the hill.

As I traversed the narrow, winding, rocky road around the sunny side of the hill, I came across a promising RV park, where I pulled in to fill the tanks and get out into the air. The cab is hotter than hell in the midday sun, even with both windows wide open, and the breeze seems to ignore you on purpose. After I pulled into a spot beside a private coach, I stepped down to touch the ground and was reminded to put something on my feet; a light burn formed where I'd touched the scorching gravel and moving the wagon was going to be a little less fun because of it.

I headed for what looked like a cafe, but it was closed, and so was the beer garden that had piqued my interest a moment later. Everything's dead, and soon, I thought, I might be, too, if I didn't find something to drink. Around the corner was a grand entrance to an otherwise unassuming little house, marked by huge, reaching palms and thick with greenery. As I approached the gate, I was met by a hulking guard dog and we locked eyes for a moment, in a movie-style, panic-induced freeze-frame. As I started to back away from the gate, the inevitable barking drew support from his peers, who quickly came to terrify me a little more. A gang made up predominantly of the doberman and alsatian persuasion, who agreed with the original decision, joined in to escort me from the entrance to just about anywhere else, and I was happy to oblige.

Back at the truck stop, and with nothing else going on, I took the opportunity to snap a few pics of the stunning scenery, before climbing back up into the oven to continue my search for water. Ten of fifteen minutes further down the hill, if you don't include the five it took to wiggle the wagon around the tightest corner I ever came across, I took my chances on a blind exit, right on the bend, and found myself in an expansive car park, surrounded by picture-book forest and seated next to some kind of low building, which turned out to be a cafe. And it was open.

I pulled up in the nearest bay and barely got my pumps on as I made a B line for the door. It was sad that this place had a closing time, as the location was magnificent and the local wildlife were calm and relaxed, allowing for unusually close encounters. At the foot of a narrow pathway into the forest, a pair of wild pigs lay contentedly feeding their babies, whose striped bodies made sweet sounds of enjoyment throughout the meal.

After feeding, the babies came over to meet me with excited squeals and the energy of puppies at playtime. As I crouched to let them smell my hand, one of them immediately began eating my t-shirt and another chose just to print his cartoon nose on it. The mothers, of whom I was wary, didn't seem at all upset at my proximity, and even appeared to smile as I stroked their babies on their heads.

Watered and cooled off, and with nothing else on the schedule, I could have happily stayed for the rest of the day, and overnight, and would probably still be there now, but as five o'clock approached, I was turfed out with the rest of the vans and forced to continue my journey towards the sea.

First pretty place I found would be home until my curiosity grew again.

Parked at someone's house.

Curious Garden. A place that apparently has events when the siesta is over, which is not very often.

Some of the local scenery.

Lunch time for wild piglets.

Close encounters of the eye-lashy kind.