Over the Mountains and Far Away

We left Barcelona with unfinished business, though with the knowledge that just like Arnie we'll be back. We headed north literally through the coastal range via some of the most impressive tunnelling we've seen so far. The highlands didn't stretch too far before we were climbing toward the Haute Pyrenees. Eventually we emerged from the five kilometre long Cadi Tunnel to the sight of the spine that divides France and Spain. The sky had turned dark and foreboding as we settled into the campground at La Seu d'Urgell on the Spanish side of the mountains. It's a peaceful valley perched in the foothills of the Pyrenees with panoramic views of the mountains.

The night however wasn't so quiet. We were woken around midnight as night was turned to day by lightning flashing like paparazzi milling around some publicity seeking celebrity. The distant thunder was welcoming for us but not for those who heard it at its loudest. To the west all hell was about to be turned loose on unsuspecting residents on both sides of the mountains. Devastation visited two countries in one night as the thunderstorm poured its floodwaters down both sides of the Pyrenees.

We didn't find out about it though until we reached Andorra the following day. After parking in the border village of St Julia de Loria we went in search of our morning coffee and WiFi at Maccas. To our astonishment the plasma on the wall had the news on and the images were not pretty. Just to the west on the Spanish side a village had been hit with flash floods in the middle of the night. Houses and even a bridge had been swept away by the floodwaters. The French fared no better but it wasn't until we camped for the night in Andorra la Vella and got WiFi that we found how badly French towns were affected. The place where we were headed was Lourdes and it was one of the worst hit. The sacred grotto was flooded and parts of the town were badly damaged. Pilgrims had to be rescued and the water supply was damaged. The town where we were going to meet Tony and Gaille was also flooded and some of Le Tour de France routes were so badly damaged they will have to re-route part of the stage.

We only stayed one night in Andorra before heading down the French side of the mountains. This side is much steeper than going up on the Spanish side. Fortunately we didn't have to go over the old high pass as they have built a five kilometre tunnel through the mountain. But there was still a zig-zag of spaghetti to get to the valley floor and the town of Ax-les-Thermes, where we stopped for coffee and a rest after the roller-coaster ride down the mountain. We stayed two night at Tarascon-s-Ariege just to gather out thought and decide what to do next. We decided not to go to Lourdes after watching the French News and speaking to some people who had just been there and we heading for Spain. We decided to head east to the French Mediterranean coast.

Carcassonne on the Aude river was our next stop. This ancient city has one of the best preserved Fortified Cities in Europe. It is an entirely preserved Medieval city inside the original walls, complete with royal residence and gothic cathedral, even the shops are in original houses and although selling modern wares they do not detract from the period setting of Le Cite. The Canal Du Midi also flows through Carcassonne. This is a canal system that crosses France from Bordeaux on the Atlantic all the way to Marseilles on the Mediterranean. It follows the ancient overland trade route that brought amber and tin and other goods to Mediterranean cities in the Iron and Bronze Ages and the canal remained a main trading route up until railways took over the transport of trade goods. Now days it is a major tourist route with canal boat hire serving a big international market. It's not cheap but it is a wonderful way to see parts of rural France you normally would pass by in a car or train. (Canal Boats are like Motorhomes on water - I'll check the prices when we get home).

We took the country road to the coast through rural towns where the house seemed to almost reach out and grab you they are so close to kerb and the streets so narrow you cringe as a semi crawls past in the opposite direction. “No more 'D' roads Paul”. We skirted Beziers and stopped on the coast at Le Cap d'Agde at Camping Crap d'Agde. This was supposed to be Four Stars but it was more like Two. It was cramped and the pitch was just dirt that became a dust storm when the wind came up. We cycled along the beach in the afternoon and walked along the promenade of the seafront. We even found a Luna Park – not much fun as it was closed as were most of the apartments and townhouses. We left the next morning, never to return.

The only notable thing about Agde is that it is where the Canal Du Midi reaches the Mediterranean, well not exactly as it exits into the Basin De Thau – a long narrow tidal lake that is separated from the sea by a thin stretch of sand dunes. The road runs along the dunes and the view is spectacularly boring. We kept going until we reached Palavas les Flots (don't you just love the names). We are camped in an Aire, another one of those special ones. It's like Puerto Gelves in Seville only bigger. We are parked in a marina which is on a canal that runs out into the sea 300 metres away. The town is on both sides of the canal at the entrance, five minutes walk away right on the beach. Heaven on a stick again.

The wind has been blowing a gale for two days but it has finally subsided and is now just a cool breeze. The weather is hot 30+ hot so the breeze is a welcome relief. We cycled along the canal all the way into Montpellier which is 10 kilometres inland. We rode into a 20km headwind all the way there and it was heavy going especially for little legs who has crashed as I write this. We wandered around for an hour or so before heading back. We didn't get the tailwind on the way back as the wind had dropped and the sun was beating down and turning us red as beetroots. Tomorrow we will be browner. We just don't seem to burn in the sun here. I've never seen Margie so tanned.

It's beautiful here and the weather is glorious but there is really nothing to do by lie on the beach all day and that is not out scene. Tomorrow we head for Arles in Provence, one time home of a famous Vincent and two famous Pauls – you can fill in the blanks, can't have me doing all the work.

Barca Barca Bloody Beautiful

Spain has saved the best for last. We are now in Barcelona and are blown away by how amazing this place is. There are no adjectives that can truly do justice to a fitting description of what is without doubt one of the greatest cities in the world. You turn any corner and the only sound that is uttered from your lips is Wow! This place has the WOW Factor in spades.

There is just so much to take in it is a bit overwhelming. The city is a paradise of classic Spanish architecture but even the modern buildings are stunning in their uniqueness. There was so much we wanted to see we took the 2 day City Hop-on Hop-off bus tour and spent the entire day on the two routes just sitting there gobsmacked and sunburnt. After the full tour which started at 10am we finally got back to the campground at 8pm. We then decided on where we wanted to go back to the next day.

We started with Gaudi's garden - Parc Guell. This is an architectural wonderland. His unique style is wondrous to behold. A combination of organic and ceramic with a touch of surreal fantasy. This would have to be the archetype for every fantasy artist. One can imagine goblins and elves and even hobbits inhabiting Gaudi's vision in physical reality.

We headed next to the old quarter, a series of maze-like streets that run off the wide boulevard called La Rambla. The area runs from near the centre of town to harbour and was the original city that was inside the old Roman wall. The dominant building here is the Gothic Cathedral. The exterior is almost threatening with its narrow conical towers, thick muscular buttresses and glaring gargoyles. The front is open to a huge tree ringed plaza where on Sundays the locals dance in typical Catalan style to the accompaniment of a small orchestra that plays from the steps of the church. The rear however is dark, gloomy, towering and full of foreboding. The interior is quite spectacular. The stained glass windows are some of the best we have seen, while the gilt altars and shrines are overbearing and really quite ugly.

We wandered along the cool narrow streets that followed the contours of the old Roman walls until we reached the harbour. The harbour-side is massive. It combines the commercial port, the cruise ship terminal and the harbour leisure and entertainment precinct in one integrated complex. It has everything, a 24/7 shopping mall, conference and trade centre, the largest aquarium in Europe, outdoor plazas and boulevards lined with trees and cafes and a casino. Did I mention we just love this place.

No time to stop we're headed along Passeig de Colon to the Columbus monument and the trip up to Montjuic, the location of Barcelona Olympic site. Here on the hill overlooking the city there are the Miramar Gardens, the Montjuic Fortress, the Olympic complex, the National Arts Museum and the Poble Espanyol ( a exhibition of typical Spanish buildings from different regions) it was built for a World Fair in the early 20^th Centruy and was supposed to be demolished afterwards but it was so well liked the city decided to keep it. Unfortunately we couldn't get to see it as it had been taken over for the Weekend by a sort of Spanish Big Gay Day Out kinda thingy. Lots of Djs with names like Ivano E Magination playing Doof Doof Music.

We walked around the hillside and visited the Olympic Stadium. The exterior is the original early 20^th Century and very Romanesque while the interior is a counterpoint in concrete and steel. We crossed the road and wandered down through the park to the National Arts Museum that dominates the hill overlooking the western side of the city. From her you can look down over a wide panorama of the entire city. Steps lead down the hillside to the base and along a wide boulevard to Plaza Espanya. The entrance to the boulevard is marked by two huge towers and beyond the towers across the plaza is Arenas de Barcelona. This is the old Bull Ring that became too small so they built a new one on the other side of town. But this one was deemed so architecturally significant that they kept the original circular exterior facade. They supported the entire circular brickwork walls on a concrete plinth and raised the entire structure 20 feet. This allowed them to gut the rest of the bullring's interior and build a shopping mall inside. From the circular roof platform you get a spectacular view back down the boulevard with the magic fountain that cascades down the hillside in front of the Arts Museum.

We caught the bus from Plaza Espanya back to our little motorhome away from home and crashed. Well Margie has and I am just about to.

Tomorrow we take one last look around Barcelona then we head for the Pyrenees and Andorra. On the other side, in France, a 100 year old bike race and my brother await.

Benicassim - Not just another seaside resort town

Benicassim is another one of those unexpected surprises. The town is a popular place to stay with “northerners” but it hasn't been spoilt by over commercialisation and the weather is just as hot and the sea just as warm as it is down south. The campground was lovely with shaded pitches under gums, pines and mulberry trees. There was the usual bar and pool and the fresh bread was to die for. There was even supermarket straight across the road and another a block away. We bought fresh Atlantic salmon and had thick pan fried fillets for two nights. The price – €7.50/kilo.

We took to the bike again and cycled along the beachfront in the opposite direction to the Green Way. The cycle tracks run all the way along the beach promenade. There are several beaches all the way along the coast to the south but its difficult to tell where one ends and the next begins – bit like Northie, Elurea and Wanda but not. We cycled for over ten kilometres to the port of Castellion.

The beaches are clean and the water is crystal clear but there is no real tide here in the Mediterranean and the sand isn't white, or yellow for that matter (no matter what they say in the travel brochures or on travel programs). The sand here is a strange grey/brown and finer than the sand in most of Oz, although it is similar to the volcanic sand in parts of north Queensland. The predominant coastal mountain rock is shale not sandstone and I guess that is where the colour comes from.

The weather is hot and the water is warm yet the beaches are mostly empty. Most of the beachside apartments are shuttered up and even the weekend crowd of locals isn't what I expected. It's hard to believe that all this vacation accommodation can pay for itself during just July and August. It is only the camping grounds that are mostly full at tis time of year.

We caught the bus into Castellion de la Plana, the only major town between Valencia and Tarragona. It is a bit rough around the edges but the centre of town is really nice. The central market square is very old but quite charming with a beautiful fountain surrounded by an ancient church, the town hall and the magnificently preserved market building. The rest of the central district is full of pedestrian shopping streets all preserving that classic Spanish style. There are dozens of open plazas, usually with a fountain in the middle and shaded with trees, where you can sit in one of the many cafes or bars and relax.

Benicassim is now one of our favourite places and where we have stayed the longest. There is something about this stretch of coast that is so appealing to us.

Mazarron to Azahar

Isla Plana is a peaceful little resort town tucked away in a quiet little corner of the Golf of Mazarron just south of Cabo Tinosa and the ancient port town of Cartagena.

The coastal plain and the bay is backed by rugged mountains of many hued mineral deposits and scrub and stunted trees that clinging tenuously to every eroded terrace and crevice. The plain is covered with white meshed greenhouses, which are a stark contrast to the kaleidoscope of colours of the nearby hills. The mountains and the surrounding landscape has been warped and twisted over eons to such and extent that much of the sedimentary mountainside strata is almost vertical. Red, brown, orange and yellow bands streak the hillsides and here and there slivery seams of shale glisten in the noonday sunshine. The twisted landscape overlooks a shallow bay that is of outstanding beauty. White washed houses cluster in the lee of the hillside with the lower level spreading around the curve of the bay. The water is warm and crystal clear, the sky is bright and cloudless and the sea is azure blue. Palm trees line the beachfront boulevard and at random intervals along the shore beach bars, restaurants and cafes provide shade and refreshments from the heat of the sun.

This part of the Spanish coast has avoided the over-commercialisation of the Costa del Sol and to a large extent has kept its charm. It has not however avoided the economic woes of the rest of the country. Half finished property developments abound and most of the rental and investment accommodation is dormant. There is even a recently completed Hotel Resort lying empty – cyclone wire surrounds it like a wall of thorns with the sleeping princess within waiting for the wakening kiss of the economic recovery. A kiss that will be a long time coming. This is the peril one faces when an entire socio-economic-political system lives in a fairytale.

We took the buss across the coastal range to the “big smoke” - Car-ta-hay-na. Margie wanted to see it because she remembered the name from the movie Romancing the Stone, only the Cartagena in the movie is the Colombian namesake. It was another Madrid moment. Whatever glory, prestige and beauty it had in the past has been worn away over time like the crumbling ruins that overlook the harbour. Its ancient past has withered to dust, its moorish past has been reused and its colonial architectures is nought but cracked and broken brickwork and faded and peeling paint. Some of the building are empty shells propped up by scaffolding like movie facades - echoes of what was once a great city but now in decay.

We left it to its future fate and headed north and inland where we skirted Mercia and spurned the coast of the Costa Blanca with it high-rise apartments and British enclaves like Benidorm full of wannabe reality TV stars. We stayed just south of the Valencia near the small seaside town of El Saler. The flats behind the coast here have been turned into what looks like something from the Mekong Delta. Rice paddies stretch as far as the eye can see on both sides of the road. The only thing missing was the tanned Asian farmer ankle deep in mud with a conical straw hat shading him from the sun. Well this is the home of Paella. We are constantly amazed at what the Spanish have done agriculturally in such a barren landscape. Unfortunately Australian isn't learning any of it.

Valencia is a jewel. It's like Seville on the Mediterranean. There are wide shaded streets with palms and orange trees lining the pavement. The architecture is outstanding both classic and modern. The city centre is a maze of pedestrian streets and alleys lined with typical classical buildings with their shuttered windows and wrought iron balconies. Below at pavement level the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Familiar storefronts line either side of the street with the centre given over to pavement cafes and bars. The plazas are broad and lined with palms and fountains, and here and there along the route an ancient tower protrudes above the buildings, a medieval church shares the street with classic buildings and then just around the corner the central market, a masterpiece of wrought iron, glass and stone. This city is breathtaking.

The dried up river that once surrounded most of the city has been drained, levelled and turned into parkland. One can walk or bicycle around the city along pathways lined with, and beneath canopies of, botanical variety and shaded splendour. The focal point of this river of greenery is the modern architectural marvel that is the Museum of Arts and Science, the Oceanarium and Hemisphere – an audio-visual experience. It glistens white and modern in the sunshine and is a perfect contrast to the riband of natural beauty it overlooks. The city we could never remember is now one we will never forget.

We are now in the seaside town of Benicassim on the Costa Del Azahar. The nights are getting cooler as we move further north. The days are still sunny and mostly cloudless. It is hard to get used to the sun setting so late here. It is still light at 9:30 – and we're in Spain.

Today we rode our bikes along the Via Verde. When the Spanish modernised their rail infrastructure in the heydays of the EU's spending spree much of the old rail lines were torn up and new lines created and placed in more advantageous locations. The old line that wound its way along the coast and through the centre of the seaside villages has been turned into a Green Road. The old shingle ballast has been paved over and turned into a bike and walking track. The road isn't green at all. The name stems from the fact that virtually every dedicated bike path created in the last ten years everywhere in the world is painted green. Worldwide it's local and state government's arse kissing to the enviro-mentally challenged.

This one winds along the coast passing through fifty foot cuttings, across bridges over defiles and dry riverbeds and through the old railway tunnels. The ride offers outstanding views of the coast and rugged hills that overlook it. The Mediterranean laps against the sheer rocky shore between coastal fishing villages that are almost hidden. Tiny sandy crescents where buildings crowd around a palm lined shore or cluster around a small protected harbours. These were once just whistle stop on the coastal rail journey to somewhere bigger and more populated. Now they are served by a modern rail network that has bought a new prosperity. The only fishing done now is for new ways to relieve gullible tourist of their spending money.

Just Another Day In Paradise

Beyond Malaga the coast returns to days of old – white washed fishing villages carved into secluded inlets like ancient limestone sculptures now stained and crumbling with the passage of time and a neglected serpentine road capturing each town in its coils as it twist and turns along the rugged contours of the coast. Gone are the beach bars, the stained deck chairs, the military regiments of beach umbrellas, the coastal high rise apartments, the gaudy hotels and the over-commercialised real estate that stretches from Malaga all the way back west to Gibraltar. Here there is normality that is only safe from modernisation because the money and patronage ran out.

We are whisked along by the modern marvel that is the Spanish Autovias. From the heights above, the black ribands of progress carry us speedily on our way. We burrow through mountain tunnels kilometres long and traverse dizzying gorges hundreds of feet deep on viaducts that defy gravity and imagination. High above like Olympians looking down on the mortal world below.

As we near Almeria the hills subside and we cross a plain that runs from the coast to the foot of the mountains. The contrast is unforgettable. The plain is virtually flat for miles and miles and meets the mountains in a abrupt transition. There is a defining line where the plain stop and the mountains rise shear in some places for hundreds of feet. What was once undulating in places has now been scoured flat as a table top and it seems every square inch of the plain is covered with giant green houses. Row upon row, mile upon mile of plastic and shade cloth covered frames. The REAL Greenhouse Effect in operation. Here vast amounts of rubble from the plain have been graded flat and the tailings formed into huge reservoirs – three squared sides backed by the hard edge of the mountains. Each reservoir filled to capacity with water feeding all the greenhouse by gravity alone. At first glance it is an ugly sprawl of white blighting the land but this blight produces crops year round in a climate that has over 280 sunny days in any given year. It not only feed a nation but the rest of Europe and the UK as well. The other blight on the landscape here are the rows of wind turbines that cost a fortune, are hopelessly inefficient at producing electricity, kill and maim thousands of birds each year and have been one of the contributing factor in Spain's economic woes.

Our camping ground was tucked into one of those little forgotten coves just outside Almeria. An old bridge that was part of the old coast road divided the camp in two. We were only metres from the lapping waves of the Mediterranean and were lulled to sleep by the sound of the tide. This campground was old and faded like the villages we passed and must have been here when we were here 40 years ago. We walked across the now disused bridge and along the old coast road no longer in use. We couldn't believe how narrow it was and wondered how back then we had traveled along this very road. 

We caught the local bus into town and spent the day wandering around the town. This is an ancient city like most along this part of the Spanish coast and it's name is a clue to it's origin. Spanish towns and cities with Al, Ben, Gib, Guadal are all of Phoenician origin. Historian like to portray these places as former Moorish enclaves but one only has to go back to Roman and Greek writings to find that this part of the Mediterranean was firmly in Phoenician and Carthaginian control for thousands of years before the Moors invaded Spain in the 9^th Century AD. The Moorish conquest could be said to be a homecoming rather than an invasion. The Arabic language is but a 2^nd cousin to North African Punic and is but a later version on Ancient Canaanite the father of Ancient Hebrew and Berber.

We made our way along the streets of the old town to the Alcazar, a Moorish fortress built on the hillside overlooking the harbour and city. It is one of the best preserved pieces of Moorish architecture in Spain even though much of it has been rebuilt after an earthquake in the middle ages.

The place is astounding with its high walls, corner towers and the beautiful gardens. It is amazing how people from a desert climate went out of their way to produce gardens of such outstanding beauty. I guess every caliph or suzerain was trying to reproduce his vision of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. The dominant feature is water - ponds, spillways and fountains abound. To a desert people 'water is life'. 

We also visited the Cathedral of Almeria which looks like a small fortress. Its plain exterior belies a rather splendid interior. It is built in a very Gothic style with huge vaulted ceilings that are supported by massive external buttresses. While not as imposing as Notre Dame or Amiens it was none the less a very special place. The U shaped choir was notable for its double row of stepped seats that were a double for the one in The Name Of The Rose and I could even imagine Venerable Jorge reading from the spiral stepped pulpit. The organ was also intriguing as several banks of pipes were aligned horizontally – very strange. Needless to say we enjoyed Almeria even though to borrow an adjective from Douglas Adams it looked (like much of the rest of Spain that we have visited) a little squalid.

Our next leg took us into the desert of Tabernas, the only desert in Europe and the setting for many “B” Grade movies that became classics. It was here 40 years ago we discovered quite by accident the movie sets of Sergio Leone. The Dollar Trilogy staring a then unknown Clint Eastwood was made here in a desert landscape that could be the background for every western ever made. Here also the Spaghetti Western with Bud Spencer and Terrance Hill were made. Other notable classic that used the local area and the sets were Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Once Upon A Time In The West, Lawrence of Arabia and many Italian and German westerns. Although it wasn't filmed here one can imaging the Magnificent Seven or Gunfight at the OK Corral as you walk around the now ageing and shabby sets. I don't think they have made a movie here for a while as westerns have fallen out of favour these day.

We left the sets and our fond memories behind and headed for the northeast coast. The barren landscape continued until we crossed (went under) the coastal ranges and ended up on another coastal plain even larger than the one we left with even more greenhouses. If you thought Asia was into intensive farming this beats it hands down. The Motto here could be “You name it we grow it”.

We are now settled into a very nice campground in the coastal town or Isla Plana just south of another Ex-Phoenician port of Cartagena – pronounced 'Car-ta-hay-na'. That's Carthage or New Carthage. We've decided to stay a while and just chill. The campground is beautiful – shaded terraced plots with sea views, quiet with a cool sea breeze, huge swimming pool that is replenished every day with warm clear sea water – heaven on a stick. Not sure where we are headed next but it will be further north when we decide to move on. For now we are happy to stay a while and enjoy the sunshine and peacefulness of Isla Plana.