I first came across this most strange of creature, on my first stroll over the precipice that horse shoes around our little hilltop pueblo.

It was a long and dusty walk, one that would have been made easier had I not had the precondition not to ever turn around unless absolutely necessary.

Often, on days when there is a mild Poniente breeze, the sky is full of paragliders.

From a ledge that over looks the coastline from Trafalgar to Conil, hiking boot clad men and women untangle their lines.

With a quick twist tug and swivel, they then hurl themselves seaward, floating under their colourful airborn mattresses.

This particular evening they were pitching themselves off a higher ledge a few hundred metres away, so with the double attraction of exploring somewhere new, plus the need to kill the pangs of nicotine withdrawal, off I stroll.

Before reaching the second launch pad, I notice a small path. Barely wide enough for a car it heads downwards away from where the rebel flyers ware launching.

Like there was a strange power pulling me I snake around the first bends and then stop. I realise I am doing something quite out of my comfort zone, so I stand for a moment just breathing it all in.

To my left I gaze at the unfamiliar wall of arid foliage and budding cacti, to the right the verdant escarpment rustling with the early evening breeze.

The air, warm and dry with a distinct mix of animal and plant aromas, rising to support the floating pilots.

Well put it this way, I have never really bonded with dogs. Maybe its the years delivering newspapers. I don’t know, but the sight of four Alsatian guard dogs nearly made me break my habit of never turning round a distinct possibility. 

Their silence was probably the most frightening aspect as the prowled the fencing and large gates marked with something about guard dogs in Spanish. There must be some hell of a property up that slope, and I certainly had yet to be invited to view. 

So sliding gingerly past on the steep crumbly slope, praying there was no break in the fence, I slipped, and immediately triggered a bark.

It was a yappy noise and strange coming from such a big dog, but then noticed its origin, a small scruffy terrier type of beast favoured by the locals in the Campo.

Now I was not enjoying this. Exactly the kind of rural terrorism I hate.

The scuffing on my palm stung. I really should think about the correct footwear for such a trip into the wild.

Walking, ever since my knees swelled up at school and was told I had something called housemaids knee, has not exactly been my favoured mode.

Sweating, which I was now excelling in, really had me thinking about the logic of this torture, but I mustered up enough to carry on.

It was a downward trajectory into the ever encroaching greenery. 

So what has all this got to do with a strange 3 cm long ant like insect that looks like its wearing a sleeping bag, I hear you, and ask myself?

Fast forward to the bottom of the slope.

I look down and ponder the strange sight of what looks like couples.  Bright orange dashes on otherwise black and extremely unwieldy creatures.

Its all about the baggage. They with their sleeping bag like bodies full of stuff, and me with my years of it all culminating in a joint moment of silent pondering.

Did I want to continue to fill up my emotional space with even more crap and end up with a giant sack on my back? 

May as well stick me in a bright orange reflective gilet with a warning sign on the back.

Well as it happened, the walk in the Campo only got worse. More savage dogs barking and slavering at probably the only fool to venture solo down these paths in a long while, no doubt sensing the flavour of milk fed urbanite.

At one point I thought I was going down a tunnel to an uncertain encounter as the undergrowth completely wrapped itself overhead only to eventually emerge at a small clearing by a well.

Walking in the country often reminds me of death, clearly a bad preset etched into my psyche from early days in the Surrey woodlands.

I will be doing more of it, and even finally grow to like all those itchy little creatures, stumpy horses, lumbering cows and maybe the odd dog.

Long way to go yet…