to a different sort of place.
We didn't realise, when said train stopped beside a fence, that this was in fact Cercedilla Pueblo (two minutes up an olden-gauge track from Cercedilla - it's younger, and bigger, sister). I shot along the carriage to ask the driver's friend/brother/cousin if this was the station - just as the train started moving. It was. So they stopped the train and let us off, merely suggesting we be a bit quicker off the mark next time ...................... Coo!
So there we were in the middle of gorgeous nowhere - the foothills of the Guadarrama mountains, actually - in search of mountains, woods, and a complete absence of bright lights, noisy city.
We passed some handsome gardens on one side, and meadows with cattle and horses on the other. All the cows in Cercedilla have bells around their necks, which bongle constantly as they graze: it could drive you nuts because the sound carries, but it's so mellow and comfortable, that it seems to blend with all the other country noises. I liked it.
We had a stream for company at first.
Then the path started winding up, and up, in long shallow sweeps.
Though the most spectacular sights had to do with long decay and slow, steady regeneration.