The decision to go over the Pyrennes instead of around them was not taken lightly but also with a certain amount of blind faith in our on-going good luck. We took two days to cross the mountains with an unplanned stay in a pensionne (at least on my part – Claire always has her own ideas) in the small town of Formigueres high on a plateau dotted with small alpine ski facilities. We had the place to ourselves with access to their kitchen to prepare our own dinner, a welcome respite from the usual camping/cooking on the ground scenario. The following morning, in the brisk mountain air we crossed the highest pass (1836 M) and then started the long descent down to Spain. Every day since has brought a new surprise.
As we crossed the mountains, we were looking forward to speaking Spanish. Though very rusty, once upon a time we were both reasonably fluent in the language. Yet, we had entered Spain in the province of Catalunya so everywhere we look, signs, menus, posters, etc., things are written in Catalan. Though Castillian Spanish is universally spoken we have been thrown a loop by the written Catalan. Whatever, it is still fun prattling away in our simple Spanish and understanding most of what we hear.
More examples of pannier repairs. Lesson learnt! Don’t cheap out on essential gear.
Our first two nights in Spain were spent in the border town of Puigcerda as we rested up from the crossing. Our stay coincided with the town’s most important annual fiesta. Though completely out of sync with Spanish time, ie. lunch between 1:30 – 3:00 PM, followed by a siesta and dinner starting at 8:30 PM at the earliest, we tried to follow the festivities. There were all sorts of things going on, modest in quality/scope but all of long tradition and the whole town came out for the party. To watch the highly animated parade, with assorted floats pulled by big tractors belching fumes through the narrow streets of the old historic town centre, all packed with locals was a lot of fun. Regrettably, we were in bed for the late night entertainment.
The following day we cruised down the valley of the Rio Segre to the larger centre of La Seu D’Urgell where we had the third pannier rack failure. Luckily, we discovered the break before a disaster struck and were able to patch things up but not before visiting the man-made white water course built for the Barcelona Olympics. What an awesome resource and only a short walk from the old town centre. It was packed with young people learning their moves with coaches walking the banks and even a commercial whitewater rafting operation (a bit mickey mouse) was using the course. There was even a conveyor belt system for returning the paddlers to the top of the course without getting out of their boats. Though rather like a climbing gym is to real rock, I couldn’t help thinking how cool such a course would be alongside the Mamquam River. That same afternoon we pushed on, through a dramatic gorge replete with our nemesis (tunnels) to the campground at Organya. Warm air pushing up against the Pyrennes from the hot interior plateau create up drafts making Organya a centre for para-penting. As we sat in the main square of town we could see dozens of chutes (or whatever they are called) playing in the rising air.
As we continue north along the flank of the mountains we’ve tried to stay high to avoid the hot interior. The roads have been quiet and scenic, all we could ask for, but we continue to do major climbs and we’re pretty well wasted by the end of the day, so from the town of Graus we finally committed to the plains. As we headed out onto the hot, dry plateau we realized that food was going to become an issue. Each town was buttoned up tight against the heat and stores, of any kind, were few and far between. The first two towns had neither restaurant nor grocery store. The third we were promised had a bar/cafe but once there, we learnt the owner was away on vacation. Our search for food was starting to resemble Don Quixote chasing phantom knights on the plains of La Mancha but with our energy fading, at the height of the afternoon heat and after 70 km of hard riding we finally pulled into Novales at 2:30 PM to find the only restaurant for miles around. The place was packed with a workingman’s crowd and the ‘menu del dia’, was only 10 euro. Lunch is typically the most important meal of the day in Spain and we are intent on taking advantage of these ‘daily menus’ in small town restaurants given their good value and as a way of absorbing local cuisine/culture/habits. The ubiquitous, cheap house wine of Spain is served chilled and typically drank mixed with ‘agua gaseosa’ which, thirsty as we are, we find excellent. After two full courses, dessert and the good part of a bottle of wine we need a nap, so we headed to a quiet corner with deep shade, behind the local church, lay down on the cool stones and had a bit of a rest.
As we worked our way north we knew that at some point our path would cross with the famous Camino De Santiago de Compostela. This ancient Christian pilgrimage to the site where the Apostle James’ remains are buried (sic) has been going on since the 10th Century and became a major pilgrimage throughout medieval times. With the Black Death, instability, wars, etc. the number of pilgrims steadily declined until just a few were recorded arriving in Santiago as late as 1980. In contrast, this year probably 250,000 will show up at the famous Cathedral. Like so much of our trip we typically find out about the towns we visit only when we arrive. We barely stay ahead of our food and accommodation needs plus planning the next two days of riding, let alone investigating the ‘points of interest’ of the upcoming town, so we were completely unprepared when we finally did cross the Camino in the town of Estella and witnessed the whole spectacle…..hundreds of hikers/pilgrims and all the associated facilities to serve them. It certainly ain’t my idea of a good hike but whatever their motive, be it spiritual, physical challenge, the community it engenders, adventure in foreign lands, etc., one has to admire the perseverance of the pilgrims, most of whom have never undertaken such a demanding walk. The closer we get to Santiago the desire to visit grows stronger. Just to hang out at the cathedral and watch the pilgrims arrive should be interesting, if nothing else.
We are now in the heart of Basque country currently holed-up, due to rain, in a tiny hotel in the small, but historically important town (to the Basque nationalist cause) of Otxandio. We should be in Bilbao and the opportunity to ride around the Guggenheim Museum tomorrow, rain or shine.
