November 2015On our second morning in Apricots (aka Albaricoques) we strutted into town armed with an informative booklet. We'd acquired this from our hotel, whose bar area was heavily cinema themed, with photos from various films on the walls and a veritable hodgepodge of Wild West paraphernalia on display.
The old, dusty streets lined with whitewashed houses had become slightly more modernised since the golden age of spaghetti Westerns, but it's still easy to imagine cowboys riding through (except when you saw the residents' shiny new SUVs).
Once we had explored Albaricoques sufficiently, we rode off into the noonday sun on our trusty steed, Denis. The larger-than-life cutout figure of a gunslinger that stands at the entrance to the town bid us farewell. Denis took us down some even worse beach-bound roads than the day before (not even gravel much of the time).
Full of cinematic knowledge, we moved on and drove east for two and a half hours to reach a little AirBNB where we would spend a quiet week.
Today's post was almost called: Desert Rangers on a Diesel Steed