wolves, a casa rural to die for and the best lake ever

Juan chose well – San Pedro de las Herrerias is full of charm, but in no way manicured. From our bedroom I watched a beady-eyed old woman, dressed in the obligatory head-to-foot black, patrolling the streets, keeping them clear of windfall apples and anything else that could destroy their perfection.

The casa rural run by Antonios senior and junior is a stylishly converted building. If anything was lacking in the cuisine (variations of fried meat followed by shop-bought dairy puddings) it was more than compensated for by their warm welcome, generous loan of equipment and provision of information.

We knew that we would need luck to see the wolves and Juan dedicated himself to each of the dawn and dusk opportunities. (I lazily chose sleep rather than the early shift and missed some lovely views.)

In mid September the timing and temperatures were not uncomfortable. It was just a question of standing for two or three hours, in company with a dozen or so fellow enthusiasts; a battery of Opticron, Zeiss and Swarovski lenses lining the forestry track overlooking the rolling plane. Even the police were interested, arriving with guns on their hips and binnies in their hands. Good allies to have; as ever the presence of the wolves isn't tolerated by all, and they are not protected in this area.

After three days the rocks, bushes and trees became intimately familiar as we scoured with binoculars and telescopes. The shifting shadows and light beautiful to watch, the act of slowing down therapeutic. But, despite our many pairs of eyes, no wolves showed themselves.

One day we drove to Puebla de Sanabria:

... and from there to the village of San Martin de la Castañeda. At a village restaurant Juan was served the biggest pork chop he had ever seen – it must have been close to a kg. Our explosion of shocked laughter turned heads in the restaurants. Clearly, the gastronomic revolution Phil had talked about has yet to reach far flung Zamora.

Another day we stopped at Villardeciervos, stocking up on fruit to complement our 100% animal protein diet. The options at the spit-and-sawdust bar where we stopped for a coffee were moro (pig face), callos (tripe) and oreja (ear). Luckily we weren't relying on the place for lunch!

Strolling around, an elderly woman was perplexed when I snapped at her chick peas drying in the sun. España profunda…

Perhaps the highlight of this part of the holiday was following Antonio junior’s recommendation and discovering a lake just 5km from the casa. We had it entirely to ourselves. To skinny dip was pure heaven for me; seeing what might have been a wolf track did the same for Juan.