Today the day started with that deceptive calm that I like so much because it means breakfast without rushing, half-asleep humans and zero important decisions for at least half an hour. Then came the less poetic part of camper life, tidying the house on wheels, filling up with clean water, saying goodbye to the grey water in the campervan area and setting off a little before eleven. Daddy Edu had a time slot for the guided tour of the Pueblo Viejo de Belchite but the journey, theoretically short, was full of roadworks, diversions and roads that seemed to never want to take us anywhere. I was looking out the window with a responsible dog face while Edu was looking at his watch with a look of a regretful human.

We arrived just in time but we arrived, parked near the door of the village, that solemn access that already warns you that serious things have happened here, and we joined the group. There were about twelve of us and the guide, a woman who lives in Belchite, spoke of her village with a mixture of affection, habit and respect that was noticeable even before she started. I went in too, of course, because dogs are allowed in the Pueblo Viejo, and that already says a lot about the place. Belchite is not a set, it is a place that was frozen after the Spanish Civil War, especially after the very harsh battle of 1937. The ruins were not rebuilt on purpose, so that they would remain as a living memory, and walking through its streets without roofs, among destroyed churches, houses open like broken books and towers that no longer sound, impresses even a dog hardened in ruins.

For an hour and a half we walked between history, silence and wind. The guide explained to us what life was like before, how the village was destroyed and why it was decided to build the new Belchite next door, leaving the old one as a witness. I smelled old stones, walls that have seen too much and corners where the echo barks even if there is no one there. It is not frightening, but it makes you serious, even me, who usually takes life with more lightness and four firm paws on the ground.

After the tour we went back to the car and went to the so-called Little Russia, a group of houses built in the fifties near Belchite for agricultural workers, with an architecture very different from the traditional Aragonese one. Aligned houses, functional air and a style that is reminiscent of the working-class settlements of the Soviet bloc, hence the nickname. Today it is abandoned, silent and empty, and this time we were completely alone. I ran a little between the houses, barked at no one and confirmed that the silence there weighs differently.

We continued north and deviated towards the hermitage of Santa María Magdalena, near Mediana de Aragón. A quiet, open place, with good views and zero witnesses, or so we thought. There we ate in the camper and Daddy Edu decided that it was a perfect day to shower outdoors, because the weather was good and there was no one around. Spoiler: there's always someone. In the middle of the operation a couple of cyclists appeared who greeted us with total naturalness while Edu was in his most basic version, without accessories or taboos. I pretended not to know them.

After half past four we set off again towards Rodén. Next to the current village stands the Pueblo Viejo de Rodén, abandoned after the Civil War and never rebuilt. It is on top of a hill and preserves the ruins of the castle, the church and many houses that are slowly crumbling but with dignity. It's a fascinating place, not very big, but with a brutal presence. Daddy Edu took out the drone, made videos and photos while I watched that no spirit sneaked into the backpack. Then we went in on foot, walked around what we could, went up, down and looked at the horizon until the sun decided that it had worked enough for today.

It was time to find a place to sleep. We could have stayed there, but it was all very open and I like to sleep with some natural shelter around. We kept driving and, already at night, we arrived at a small car park on the edge of the pine forests of La Alfranca. Beautiful, quiet, with no one else, with the smell of the forest and the promise of deep sleep. We parked, we gathered in the camper and, with everything calm, we celebrated my eleventh birthday right there. Without great fanfare, but with intention, affection and that special something that comes with celebrating birthdays on the road. I'll tell you more about the celebration in another article. That's how we closed the day, with the feeling of having travelled through history, the landscape and one or another compromised situation for absent-minded humans. And me, one year older.