The creek

I grew up about a block away from a little creek. My cousins and I spent countless Saturdays exploring the woods around the creek; we'd go to the party store and spend all our money on Paydays and Jolly Ranchers and then hang out in the woods all day. Sometimes we'd even go swimming—there were lots of cleaner swimming options but the creek was close. Our parents would not have approved, so we had to be a little sneaky. The little river running through Alcalá del Júcar (river seems like way too strong a word, it's tiny) reminded me a lot of the creek in my old neighborhood; kinda dirty and buggy, with some little trails around that didn't seem to go anywhere in particular and felt more removed from civilization than they really were. More charming than it probably sounds.

Alcalá has the river, a church with a fake bell, and an old castle. We (met up with a friend of a friend of a friend whom I somehow managed to convince that bumming around remote central Spain was worthwhile) got to the castle just behind some kind of senior citizen outing and the old people were singing—very cute. Rocky hills rise up around the river valley, making for dramatic scenery and scary driving. It's funny how some of the things I don't like about small towns can become more appealing when I'm just visiting. If there's not much to do, you just start drinking earlier.