We had every intention of carrying on to the hilltop town of Rocamador. It's one of those amazing places that you see from the air coverage of the Tour de France. Sweeping valley vistas that take your breath away and there perched high on an escarpment a gravity defying Medieval City stands out in cream and pink overlooking the dark winding riband of some ancient river. The battlements could still be peopled with soldiers in chainmail awaiting the next attack. That's Rocamador, though the only invaders now are regular tourists and the odd motorhomer.
Unfortunately the weather closed in and it started raining heavily. We decided it would be much better to return here and continue our travels along the Lot on our way back from Spain. Little did we know that was never going to happen. We headed South and our first stop was Toulouse.
This is now the techno hub of France with the Airbus Factory just north of town. It also houses a division of the European Space Centre. But there are much older things to marvel at. The Jacobins Church has the most amazing interior. All the columns appear to be palm trees. They meet the ceiling where the supporting domes are styled like palm fronds. The old city is also quite beautiful with a huge central square and lots of narrow streets that are now mainly pedestrian areas. But many were being dug up to replace the old drainage and the place was noisy, barricaded and the repair job consisted of using bitumen to replace the beautiful cobble stones they had torn up, Very UnFrench. Maybe they are going to fix it later, but the norm here is to carefully remove the old stones, store them somewhere, do a great job then replace the original stone so there is virtually no evidence the street was repaired. Although the European economy the way it is I guess cheep and cheerful just has to do.
The next stop was Lourdes, a rather unimposing town that lives off the Miracle of Bernadette. This is Assisi on steroids. Every Street and alleyway that leads to the Grotto is awash with shops festooned with the gaudiest souvenirs and cheep religious trinkets you can imagine. Fortunately the trash ends at the park the Grotto and Church is located in. The park is manicured and paved and brand new as most of this was washed away in the floods two years ago when we were in Andorra. Here you only have to pay for the candles – small, medium and telegraph poles. Its like the Medieval Pilgrim Trail never ended. The entire economy of Lourdes revolves around the Grotto. No wonder the local council pulled out all stops to repair the flood damage. Maybe Toulouse could suddenly find some Saint's bones among the street repairs.
The rain was coming and we were going, over the mountains and into Spain. Well under the mountains to be more precise, 13 kilometres under the Pyrenees through the Somport Tunnel. It's a great way to get from France to Spain, except for the bit where you wind your way up the valley of the Gave d'Aspe. I don't think I've seen so many “Beware of Falling Rock” signs in one place in my life. I lost count of the bits of road that had been realigned because the old bits were somewhere down there. There is a train line here as well, that is no longer in use. Can you guess why? A train derailed and destroyed one of the bridges. You were going to say rock slide weren't you. It use to be the mainline into Spain but was closed down in the 70s. The French decided it was uneconomical and left it to deteriorate to the point where now most of it is overgrow or sections removed to accommodate the realignment of the road. Although we saw section being worked on. The old tracks and sleepers had been removed and it looked like they were turning it into a Voie Vert or Green Track. These walking/bicycling trails are all over France now. Usually they are tow paths along the many canals that snake along the inland river systems but in some place old disused railway lines.
On the Spanish side is the Canfranc station. This is an outstanding piece of architecture that was built in the early part of last century. It was the main terminus and border post into Spain and in its heyday was a thriving hub for travellers of every kind. It housed the border post, hotels, restaurants, cafes, rail company officials as well as a rail yard for trains heading for inland Spanish cities. It had deteriorated badly during the decades after the line was closed but now there are plans to renovate it and turn it into a hotel and resort although it may take some time given the state of the Spanish economy.
The other side of the mountains was greener but no drier. Pissing down barely covers it. The roads were much better though for a while we even had motorway and then it just stopped. There were beautiful wide lanes, astonishing viaduct over deep valleys, huge cuttings through hillsides then nothing, zip nada. The Road just stopped abruptly and we diverted onto the old road, emphasis on the old It reminded me of the poor Spanish roads of the 70s. Another sign of the Eurodream hitting the hard wall of reality. Unfortunately Spain seems to be one of the Crash Test Dummies of the EU's Brave New (Gan)Grene World.
We reached Pamplona in the gloom and stayed in an Aire by the local Sports Centre, just out of town. The rain didn't let up and the next morning we decided to give city of San Fermin the miss. The Taurian descendants will just have to do it without me. We headed south skirting the Navarre Mountains and the scenery in another century or even another decade would have been breathtaking but is now marred by grotesque giant pinwheels standing tall and white along every ridge and mountaintop like candle offerings the new Church of United Rent Seeking Ecozelots or C.U.R.S.E, which is exactly what they are on the land. This area is called the Badlands, seems a perfect description.
Under sunny skies we arrived a Zaragoza and stayed just two nights with a day wandering around the city. Its an ancient city but one that lacks the flair of Barcelona or the charm of Seville. It does however have some of the most beautiful modern suburbs I have seen anywhere in Europe or the rest of the world for that matter. The streets are wide and tree lined with parks and play areas. The houses are beautifully proportioned and even the townhouses and low rise apartments blend into the overall design. This is a lesson in medium density housing that many cities could copy.
We found our way to the mountain top village of Albarracin, pronounced al-bar-athin. The Al at the beginning is the giveaway, this being a Moorish fortress town that was later Christianised. The town occupies the side of mountain with the river running around most of it. The streets zig-zag up to a small main plaza and from there narrow laneways radiate out in all directions. We sat and enjoyed cafe con leche and tapas in the Plaza then wandered the sloping streets and steep interconnecting stairways. The next day we climbed beyond the city to the fortress walls. High above on the battlements you can see the city below and off in the distance the valley stretches out green and verdant to a distant point where forest and sky blend into one.
The weather had now changed for the better and we decided to head for the coast. We passed by Valencia and found the uncrowded little resort town of Cullera. Our first day there we wandered almost deserted streets and most of the bars and shops along the beach promenade were closed. So were most of the apartments. We found a welcoming cafe that served great coffee and even better pizza. We lapped it up. The next day was the complete opposite. We had arrived on the Thursday before a long weekend holiday and the place was packed. Everything that had been closed was open and going crazy. The beach was packed, the bars were overflowing and the restaurants and cafes were full. The place was crazy for the whole weekend. We enjoyed every minute. The music and partying went on until the early hours. There might be a recession here but the Spanish really know how to enjoy a long weekend.
We were so happy here and looking forward to heading down the coast to Alicante when disaster struck. I had been exhausted after we climbed to the battlements at Albarracin and on Monday morning I started to have chest pains. A very familiar pain that I hadn't had for nearly 10 years. This was serious. My wrists were stinging and knew that I was in real trouble. We decided to head back to London straight away.
We drove all the way from Cullera to Bordeaux in France that day and while there used the internet to book a crossing via the Eurotunnel late the next day. We drove from there to Calais and got onto an earlier train but still didn't get to the Canterbury Park and Ride Aire before the barriers locked at 9:30pm. We headed for London and arrived at Dal's place just before midnight. We had rung him from Spain the day before and told him our plans. I didn't make it through the night before the pain got worse. By 5am I was in an Ambulance under blue light and on my way to the Accident & Emergency at Northwick Park Hospital.
On the Saturday morning they performed an angiogram and place a stent into one of my coronary arteries. I can't praise the staff of the NHS hospital system enough. From the Ambulance Paramedics, the A&E, the HSU, the Drayton Ward Staff to the Coronary Care Staff of St Marks I thank you all. Thank you to Will, Jose, Voltaire, Charmaine, Nikki, Sandra, Raj, Pablo, Sinead, Carol, Dr Spiro, Dr, Shaw and all the others who were just as important but whose names I have sadly forgotten. Without their care, dedication and professionalism I probably wouldn't be writing this blog post right now.
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