Through the desert

What can a day become that starts with having to collect 328 grams of oat flakes from the depths of the minicamper because the bag was improperly left unclosed? And if two absolutely essential screws for the Italian Stella espresso pot are missing, so that the lid and handle don't hold? Zappa's quick repair with string and wire is not thoroughly thought through due to lack of caffeine intake, the hot pot slips out of his hand with a rattling wobbly lid, the precious, very hot brew pours out onto the asphalt!

And if the opening of the yogurt cup, which has always been somewhat sensitive, goes completely awry due to a lack of morning wake-up drugs and the dairy product spreads like Kladderradatsch on the cuddly blanket? A proper dollop lands in the sleeve of the only warm sweater!

It can only get better.

We spent the night in the parking lot of the information center of the Bardenas Reales Nature Park. Five years ago, we landed here by chance. And the landscape is really impressive, so much so that we come here a second time.

The semi-desert can be crossed by car on a circular route. Of course, you can also go by bike or on foot, but you should consider that there is no shade from a single tree, bush or shrub, and the sun usually shines happily and warmly from the sky. And it's very dusty.

In a semi-desert, there is hardly any more precipitation than in a desert. The vegetation is very sparse, there is only a little underbrush, uprooted bushes roll over the dry land in gusty air currents like in the wild west. A constant wind continuously whips up dancing dust devils.

We decide on the tour with the robber's cave in the early, still cool morning hours, right after the Swiss people.

In millions of years, erosion has created irrational formations in nature. Sun, wind, and probably a little moisture have created a bizarre landscape from ocher-colored clay.

In the Kangoo, a thin layer of dust quickly forms on the dashboard, switches, seats, bedding, on the travel gang, everywhere.

Actually, the experiences can hardly be put into adequate words. We drive on sandy bumpy tracks through sandstone and limestone cliffs. A lunar landscape that creates new impressions through light and shadow plays with cloud formations.

The layer of dust is growing, the view through the windows is blurred.

It crunches in noses, ears, teeth, and heads.

We get out over and over again and admire the peculiar shapes and adventurous figures that the forces of nature have created.

Even films have already been shot here, which is not surprising.

I can feel the dust between my toes and under my fingernails.

In the course of the morning, we find ourselves on a trail off the circular route and take a lunch break. 90% of the vehicles have French license plates, the rest consists of Germans, Belgians, Spaniards, Swiss people in the morning, and one Polish person. Many of them race through the nature park at an abominable speed. Presumably, the kicked-up dust clouds befuddle the Cliofahrer's brain and he imagines himself in the middle of nowhere between Paris and Dakar.

The layer of dust in the Kangoo is now about 5cm high, dust is on the bocadillos, it's in the water bottle, the hair is tangled.

In horse-drawn carriage mode, we amble through this indescribable, unusual, remarkable landscape. The wind blows strongly around our noses, making the temperatures bearable and stirring up the dust. After almost 12 hours of adventure in this overwhelming wilderness, we are completely exhausted, impressed, and happy.

There is dust everywhere, a thick layer covers the car, it crunches in all corners and crevices, the eyes can hardly be opened, the scalp itches like crazy, dusty mountains on the bed.

This is definitely not our last visit to Bardenas Reales.

How does the day end? The wind picks up in the evening hours and swirls around small dust clouds. We find a place for the night on a fairly windy hilltop.

A gust blows the bowl with the self-harvested blackberries off the table and the folding chair with my blanket, which was laid out for the coolness, into the olive olives marinated in Mojo sauce.

Now, in addition to the less fresh yogurt odor, the intense aroma of the Canary Islands' seasoning paste guides me into a dusty sleep.