Camino Sant Jaume…
Thursday 3 October
We slept really well last night. No noise to wake us in the middle of the night. It was good to be on firm land. We all felt like we were still swaying before going to bed last night. We had a generous breakfast at the youth hostel and then started the day with a visit to Park Guell. The imagination, the madness, the originality. And it continues today. As we walked through the wonderland we stumbled upon a labourer with undies half way down his crack as he was bending over mixing cement and religiously placing hexagons. We stopped to watch him work – an extension of Gaudi himself. He soon realised we were there. He explained how much he loved his job. It was like going back into the mind of Gaudi for him, channeling his spirit when there were no clear answers. He explained the significance of the hexagon and to this particular part of the fence. He spoke slow, clear Spanish which strangely enough, we all seemed to understand – more or less – whatever was not understood in words was understood in feeling. We continued our way down and down until eventually we reached the Disneyland effect which made us veer off, head for down town and stumbled across the beautiful craftsmanship, sensational architecture and superb exhibition signage in the Palau Macaya. We learnt about Josep Puig i Cadafalch – a contemporary of Gaudi. The delicacy of the detailing, the spatial calculations, play of light showed us what chairo-scuro could look like in architecture. The videos explaining the metal work, stained glass and ceramic processes were deeply, meaningfully, captivating. Simply presented. Easily consumed. Lisa shed tears for beauty and simplicity. The boys didn’t quite understand – yet.
We kept heading into town and as fate would have it, we met Pietro, the professor of fine art at the academy in Rome that Xavier shared his cabin with on the boat. Pietro was also on his bike and so gave us an impromptu tour of the part of town we were in as he was headed to his swimming class. A flash of Amelie leading the blind man through the bustling streets of Paris came to mind. He told us where the best gelato in town was, where the best markets in town were and gave us a brief history into the growth years of Barcelona – after the first international exhibition in the late 1800’s when a number of monuments were installed including the Arc de Triomf and again in 1992 for the Olympic Games. He recommended we go to La Barcaloneta the man made beach, although we didn’t have our swimmers and also to visit the cultural centre in which they found roman ruins. We exchanged emails and parted ways. A wonderful spirit.
The boys are being incredibly difficult at the moment or maybe we’ve just been with one another too long now. We all need a break. We rode around town with such ease and inhaled a number of architectural, sculptural, artistic elements while lamenting the mass tourism epoch – again – which we know we make part of. Well sort of. Can’t say we’ve seen very many families doing bike tours. We visited La Sagrada Familia which seems to be turning into such a mish-mash of era driven, technology influenced styles; discovered the architectural work of another contemporary of Cadafalch and Gaudi, Lluis Domenech i Montaner, the architect of the beautiful Hospital de Sant Pau; relished the exterior of the Museo Torino. We wove our way through the wonderful streets of El Born, with its gothic beauty, Santa Maria del Mar. With ease on the generous bike paths we continued towards the market Pietro told us about. We bought something from every second stand, including the most expensive jamon to taste the difference between the standard version and this. We took a peak at the ancient Roman ruins Pietro mentioned, although the feisty poetry exhibition was refreshingly liberated and captivating. Sandwiched that with an experience of Casa Vicens, Casa Batllo before eventually making it back to our most beautiful 100 year old mansion come Youth Hostel. What a hit. We were drenched in the uncompromising, free wheeling creativity and electrical energy of a truly passionate city. It was fairly early when we got back to the hotel so we could eat dinner and prepare ourselves for an early departure from Barcelona in the morning.
The ease with which we travelled through the city on bikes was liberating. The courteous nature of car drivers. The well organised infrastructure. The sense that yes, there were a lot of cars but it was being managed somehow. What a magical city. The ideas that were pumping out of this city in the early 20th century and the vision of its town planners to make it happen is an example of purely liberated genius. How wonderful it would have been to be part of that moment that has today turned Barcelona into one of the most exciting Spanish cities. Blend this with an outspoken, free and freedom loving, passionate people and you have this incredibly edgy, exciting, empowering place. The squatters are well and truly alive here and they add so much needed tension in the Catalonian city. They colour it with their sense of righteousness, that brings, discussion, debate, love and an unrelenting engagement in the life of society and its people.
Friday 4 October
Today we leave Barcelona and start our longest trip through any country so far not to mention hilly. Not sure where we’ll end up tonight but we are making our way to Zaragoza. On the pilgrims pathway. It was sad to leave Barcelona although the panties on the bike track as we left the centre of town gave us something to giggle about.
Otherwise, this day will go down as one of the worst days we’ve experienced along with the 14th July and 22nd September, not for almost being killed or trying to pitch tents in a storm or having a huge argument in the middle of a restaurant but rather because Léon fell off his bike because his chain snapped while we were rolling on dirt track scattered with big and small rocks, rounded and sharp. Luckily the scratches and cuts were fairly superficial but there were several – shoulder, deeper ones on the knees, forearm. He’s lucky he had his helmet on because when he fell it was almost like he’d face planted the dusty track. Mouths covered with a thin layer of dirt, Lisa got to the first aid. Xavier got to the bike and started repair work. All this time we’ve been travelling and not once have we needed to use his bike chain tool but without it, and of course Xavier’s know-how, we would have been completely stuck. After some 45 minutes, we were back on the dirt track again.
We did have some memorable moments along the way, including picking delicious wild figs and riding through passages that were almost out of Dante, most notably the passage created by the tall Pampas grass beneath which ran a narrow stream, watching snakes slither across the track, the boys decorating their bikes with flowers, greenery and plumes of Pampas grass in their helmets turning them into modern day knights, prickles in shoes and riding through a flock of sheep. We continued to ride on to Martorell, a village that was impossible to escape from. We couldn’t seem to get out of this village, by 8pm it had become maddening and somewhat scarily claustrophobic. We went to the local supermarket to buy some lunch supplies when we first arrived – the usual – bread, salad, tomatoes, cheese with which we enjoyed the lomo ibericano from yesterday’s trip to the Santa Caterina market in Barcelona. After a pre-lunch snack and a local ice block “horchata’ which did indeed taste like acqua d’orchata, we made our way to a shaded local park. As we were sitting down eating our sandwiches, an elderly lady struck up a conversation with us. She started speaking to the boys who didn’t understand what she was saying so they called on Lisa to translate. Strangely enough, Lisa understood pretty much everything. The linguistic proximity between Italian and Spanish makes it accessible. While Lisa struggled to respond in coherent sentences there was a basic exchange about the benefits of riding bikes. She spoke of a family member who preferred to have her stomach stapled instead of taking control of her diet and lifestyle. As we were leaving she got emotional kissed Lisa and wished us buen Camiño. If she could have she would have gladly joined us and we would gladly have welcomed her. It was a special exchange. Her teary eyes encouraged us to continue the magic.
As with all adventures however, sometimes the magic turns. We left the park because we realised that the albergues in Montserrat which was the village we were meant to reach closed at 6pm and it was already 4pm and we still had 35kms of uphill to do. We realised that we wouldn’t make it so had to come up with a plan B which was to find an alberghues in Martorell. We went back into the town centre to a local church to find where that may be but we were told that there weren’t any in the town and that the closest one was at also some 30kms away. We started to make our way to the next village and then as we were starting to ascend another dirt track just outside the town, Léon’s bike chain snapped again. Twice in a day. It was paralysing. It took another 45 minutes for Xavier to piece it together again and the sun was going down quickly. Just before nightfall a mountain bike rider came our way. He gave us vital information. There was a bike shop in the centre of town. So, we made our way back into the town like yo-yos for the third time!
The bike shop was just opposite the supermarket we bought our lunch supplies from earlier in the day. We bought the bike chain which Xavier quickly changed over. It was well and truly dusk so we looked for hotels, air bnbs, anything, but nothing was available. We knew that we had no option but to camp wild. Before we took off we went to another supermarket to stock up on breakfast and a few nibblies. We were in the main street, las ramblas, which had roads running either side of a very long Central Park area with many benches where people sat, chatted and watch the locals go by. People looked at us as if we were martians. That was true from the moment we entered the town after the devil’s bridge. People looked at us as, almost not sure whether to be afraid or have pity. As we were riding down las ramblas we heard “Mira ! Mira!”.
By the time we left it was well and truly dark. After crossing a railway bridge we started to enter into what was supposed to be a nature reserve although from what we could see with our bike lights it looked more like a small farm or private patches of land. Fulfilling their protector roles, dogs barked as we rode by although we couldn’t see where they were. We rode until we felt we were relatively far enough from dogs and cars. We were under a train track, not far from a highway both overhead. We quickly made up the tents and dove straight in. It was already 10pm. Way passed all of our bedtimes. There were a number of cars that appeared in the distance that put us on edge but in the end fatigue took over. As we were pitching the tents, Léon noticed some lights that looked so high up in the sky and said, “Look, it looks like heaven”. It was a nice way to end the night after an incredibly physically, emotionally, and organisationally challenging day. A reminder that control is a figment of our imagination.
Saturday 5 October
We woke up to find out that we were pretty much sleeping in a dumping ground. Old foam mattresses tossed to one side. Someone’s shoes on another and toilet paper strewn across various parts but thankfully not where we pitched out tents. The sun rose quite late. It was 7:45am by the time it peaked over the mountains we faced. Unfortunately the day started with yet another battle with Arsène refusing to work as a team. Proclaiming his rights while walking around with hands in his pockets.
By the time we left it was 9:30am and there we started to see the various faces of Montserrat which is where we were supposed to be last night. What an awesome range of uniquely formed mountains. Gaudie’s inspiration of vertical forms became very clear – at a mega scale. We rode some 25 kms up hill which after a night like last night was very challenging.
We stopped at a road side supermarket to buy new water bottles because the quality of drinkable water from taps in Spain is awful. The taste of chlorine is very present and difficult to drink. After a little brunch, we studied the rock formations some more next to the petrol bowsers of a station that doesn’t seem to be very popular. Watered, fed and sugared up, we got back on our bikes for another 20 odd kilometres. Once we got to the top, it was, as is often the case, magical. Hallucinogenic so.
With these rounded column like forms jutting out from a deeply green area. We turned into the ‘Coll del Bruc’ just to savour the view when a fully clad mountain bike rider came straight over to us and from behind his reflective helmet began speaking. It could have been a robot. We couldn’t understand any of the muffled words coming from this massive helmet and were impressed by his space like outfit. The rider finally realised that we couldn’t understand what he was saying and that we probably didn’t speak Spanish so he took his helmet off and we met Marc. He was as fascinated by us as we were by him. He said that when he saw us from a distance that he was ‘attracted to us’. “You look so fresh. You look like you have only been riding for half an hour” he said, at which we all laughed given the shitty night and start to the morning we had. “That’s all you’re wearing?” He continued. “I wear all this stuff because society tells me that if I ride a bike I have to, but you, you are breaking all the rules.” We reminded him that we have a number of rules because otherwise, we couldn’t travel as a family of 5. He still thought we were breaking all the rules anyway. We told him that we do this to see amazing things like El Bruc, which he told us is believed by the locals to have special powers. He also told us that mountain climbers went up last night to light a section of it as part of the protests for independence for Catalunya and again El Bruc was chosen because it is a strong representation of Catalunya. It was at that point that Léon told Marc about what he saw last night – ‘the lights on in heaven’ – Marc confirmed that from where we were we would have been able to see the lights of independence. We exchanged numbers in the hope that we may see him in the town we were riding to later that day or if not in Sydney one day. As we were leaving, he asked “Please can I watch you? I think it’s amazing to see you”. We bid farewell knowing that given the chance, we could share a great deal more time with this kindred spirit.
We rode down the mountain side it was a steep but pleasant descent. A similar gliding feeling to descending the Apenninnis. We made it down to the village where we were told yesterday we could stay in an albergues. When we arrived, the town looked completely empty. Deserted. As we started to crumble at the idea of spending yet another night wild camping without a shower a gentleman showed up telling us that we had to go and get ‘la chiave’ from the bakery. We sighed a huge sigh of relief, thanked him profusely and made our way to the bakery. The slightest gestures seem a god send to the vulnerable. There we were given a code and exchanged some information and off we went. It was essentially a community hall equipped with shower and bathroom, tables and chairs. Very basic but we were so very grateful to have access to a shower. We settled in, went for a very expensive lunch in the town although the quality and diversity of the food was very good. We came back for an early night’s sleep but not before Arsène smashed a jar of honey from Claudia’s bees and made another one fall which oozed out all the fabulous honey. From 5 jars we went down to 3 and a bit. A real shame. Arsène isn’t having a great run at the moment. The night finished with boiling enough water for our bottles tomorrow because we have just learnt that being Sunday, all the grocery stores are closed tomorrow.
Sunday 6 October
Woke up in the clouds this morning. We slept very well even if there were moments where we felt a little cold. Yesterday was the first day where even while riding there was a chill in the air. A fellow pilgrim from Madrid with who we shared the hall last night gave us important information about albergues. He led us to a website that should be able to help us at each stage although we have learnt that the Camiño we are doing is still undeveloped because so few people do it.
We went down to the local bakery to return the keys, offered a donation for our stay and bought croissants for breakfast this morning which we took back and enjoyed with a nice bowl of hot tea. It’s impressive how the simple things in life are just so powerful for the soul. So fulfillingly enjoyable.
It was obvious that we had all slept better. Everyone was a great deal more relaxed and rested. We took off from Castellolli at the usual time of 9:30. It was so misty that Lisa’s glasses were covered in a thin layer of mist and our clothes began to get damp so we had to pull over and put on our rain jackets even though it wasn’t raining. It was a beautiful ride and a descent climb of 700 metres over 35kms. We saw a wounded falcon by the road side which was hoping we wouldn’t notice it but its sheer size and form stopped us in our tracks. We rode along a beautifully rugged landscape with the bike track lined with freshly misted sparkling yellow flowering shrubs, occasionally spotted with purple shrubs. As we continued to ride, it began to get warmer and the mist disappeared. When we turned to see where we had been, the mist was still there, it’s we who had left its mystery.
We rode and we climbed and we climbed and we climbed. It’s very beautiful landscape. Green yet rugged, earthy, dusty, harsh facades, red earth in some areas. The bike tracks and Spanish drivers are the best we’ve experienced so far. The bike tracks are seperate from the main road by blocks or barricades, different coloured paths and they are generously sized where two riders can easily travel side by side. Xavier really struggled today so Lisa was in the lead for most of the climb. Xavier is so concerned about where we will find ourselves at the end of every night that it is taking a great deal of his mental energy. The incertitude is something that Lisa has accepted and is therefore quite happy to go without and opt for wild camping. Xavier would prefer to not do wild camping because it’s not really accepted here, but as Lisa reminds him, we can only do what we can do and we are certainly not going to spend ridiculous amounts of money on accomodation when we’ve got a perfectly good set up that worked well for us in Japan where we did a hell of a lot of wild camping.
We eventually made it to La Panadella. As we were waiting for Xavier and Oreste to arrive we saw a helicopter overhead and a fire engine arrive. We then realised that the helicopter was landing in the petrol station just in front of us. People came out of the restaurant, the stores and people started filming what was going on. We realised that the police car that flew by us 10 minutes earlier was at the scene. We don’t know exactly what happened but clearly it wasn’t good. We went into the local restaurant Bayona, and had the most divinely, exquisite, succulent meal. A well balanced lunch for a reasonable price. Oreste had a meat paella, Lisa had a black ink seafood paella, Arsene and Xavier had a delicious boiled then grilled rabbit with allioli, while Léon enjoyed some meat cutlets. Absolutely succulent. So perfectly cooked. Tender. Mouth watering.
Before lunch we went to the local bakery/delicatessen and bought a number local products – cheese, sausages, bread and home made biscuits. We were most impressed with the payment method. The person scanned the cost. The amount came up and instead of handing the money to her, it went into a machine, which then spat your change back out with the receipt. She didn’t have to touch the money at all, nor have to remove her gloves. We got back on our bikes looking forward to the 70km descent into Llieda but quickly realised that fate had something else in mind. Despite being downhill we had to push against the very strong wind that had started. It was frustrating not being able to enjoy the downhill after all the climbing. After the ritualistic Oreste toilet pit stop we made it to Tarrega, a town we were planning on staying in because it was clear that we wouldn’t reach Llieda tonight. When we eventually made it to the albergues we were told that they only had three beds left. Lisa offered to sleep closer together, but that wasn’t an option. We went to a hotel which was way too expensive although there was a grocery store that was next to it so we were thrilled that we could by some juicy local pears and delicious grapes.
It was also a day of plenty in Aragon. We collected almonds, pomegranates, wild fennel and black figs by the road side. One gets the sense that it is a land of plenty that people and animals are happy to share.
We decided we would keep riding in the direction of Llieda. We tried a rural house but the owner was on holiday in Majorca, we tried a hotel that clearly had some signs of life but there was not a sound. We decided to stop there, had our light sandwich dinner and pears and then Xavier found an albergues within 3kms. We rode straight there given that the bar was open until 10pm. The sun was setting and we were offered a fabulous display of colour, landscape and form to contemplate.
We arrived at the bar when it was already dark only to find that it was closed and that if we wanted the key to the albergues, we had to call two numbers. Lisa managed to get through but for some reason the connection was not very good and the woman on the other end hung up. There was a young guy that we could see just a few doors down and Lisa approached him to ask to call the number on our behalf. As it turns out he spoke very good French. He was Algerian with half his family in France and the other half in this village. He came over and quickly struck up a conversation with another guy who got out of his car, came over to the sign and called. We couldn’t understand what was going on but we could see that the guy that got out of his car had success in contacting Simone and the young Algerian guy had to go knock on a door a few houses up. Complicated. Within minutes he came back with an elderly man who explained to us that there were already two people in the albergues and there was only room for eight. We just scrapped in.
He then opened the bar and stamped our pilgrim cards and explained a few things. After I told him he had a beautiful signature he told us that today was his 69th birthday. Eventually he walked us down to the hall where we met the Swiss girl who wrote a note we read in the booklet at Castellolli and another pilgrim from the Basque Country. After showers and a little time getting know them and watch the geckos hunt the insects next to the windows, we all decided that was it for the day. Lights out.
Monday 7 October
We were the last to leave this morning so we went to meet our new friend Munjo at cafe Modern at 8:30am for breakfast. He opened the bar just for us and spoilt us with his undivided attention. He even decided to not allow a few people in, which we didn’t really understand. We spent a good hour chatting with him learning about his life as a voracious reading truck driver that travelled the world three times by boat as a truck driver before retiring here. So many experiences. His understanding and genuine congratulations for what we were doing was heart warming and spurred us on for the rest of the day. People are constantly paying us compliments here either by the roadside or on the streets or in conversation. Perhaps it’s because we have already clocked 3000kms that people are taking it more to heart and they are justifiably in awe of the 10, 12 and 13 year olds that are doing this. So are we.
After bidding Munjo farewell we started our ride to Llieda where we had to go to the post and do some serious washing. The boys are down to their last pair of undies. The ride was again difficult because we were riding against the wind. Not since Germany have we had such unrelenting wind that really is tiring. In fact that constant sound of wind in the ears is exhausting. We stopped occasionally to check on the fig trees and found an incredibly bountiful and delicious tree where we savoured pure nectar for a good half an hour.
We made it to Llieda and started our errands. It’s an interesting city. Almost like it was designed to become the next Barcelona with its wide streets and sense of ‘there’s room’ on all fronts. It felt like a very welcoming place, even if a little quite in the meantime. Oreste turned into a gremlin around midday which meant that Xavier had to seperate him from his brothers. By doing that he managed to pull a muscle in his back pretty badly. So badly in fact that we thought we were going to have to end it on the outskirts of Llieda. Two voltarens later he was riding at his usual rhythm although we got scared for a moment that his breathing had been impacted. Oreste was in the bad books for the rest of the afternoon.
We eventually made it to the plateau of Fraga. What an incredible place. It looks like something you might expect to find on mars. Dry, brownish red landscape although there is greenery. The mountains are a strange formation that make us think this is maybe what some areas in the Grand Canyon or Arizona could look like. Flattened out mountain tops. Like tables. Some of which are covered with greenery, others rocky and dusty.
In many ways the Shepard oozed a lack of confidence in himself that suggested that he himself embodied this blandness and therefore he himself too was as common and uninteresting as rabbits. We left the rabbit. With bleeding paws on Lisa’s bags, ready for a new life that would ultimately end up in Holland as good omens for the nephews in Nordwick. As we got closer to the camping ground, we found prickly pears just as we were heading for one of the only camping ground miles around.
Xavier and Oreste went down the steep hill to do the shopping, while Lisa, Léon and Arsène set up base camp and prepared dinner. By 8pm we were enjoying another one of these fabulous camp meals — guancialle with the leek Xavier found on the roadside, garlic, rice, beans, mushrooms and zucchini. Absolutely delicious. Lisa went to pay the master of the house for our night’s accomodation who on learning about our trip showered Lisa with chips for the boys, beer for Xavier and grapes for us all. Again, they were in awe of what we are doing and congratulated us on our free spirit that will provide the boys and us with the most incredible, memorable moments.
Shower then bed. In our tent. Our new home. Feels so comfortable. It’s just like home. It is home.
On our way to our camping spot for the night we came across a freshly dead rabbit. Lisa had been fantising about having dead rabbit paws hang from her bike handlebars as a talisman since the trip began. As Xavier was cutting the feet off the rabbit, a Shepard came over to us wanting to know where we were from and where we were going. He was a large man with certainly a gentle heart. He seemed overwhelmed at the idea that we had ridden from Barcelona and were on our way to Madrid so we didn’t give him the full story. The idea of moving beyond Fraga seemed overwhelming for him. His speech was a little slurred his teeth not brushed for a few days and his wide dusty, damaged feet wrapped in a bandage from however many days ago in old worn out espadrilles. There was a connection made at the moment his feet came into Lisa’s consciousness. While Xavier was cutting the feet of the rabbit preparing them for a journey that would take them beyond the confines of this land, the Shepard’s damaged feet who had paced this same land may perhaps be released with the feet of the rabbit. Releasing the rabbits spirit was to release the pain and suffering of the Shepard’s feet. When Lisa suggested to the Shepard that he take the rabbit for his dogs, he said they didn’t care for rabbits anymore. So common, so ordinary that they were bored by them.
Tuesday 8 October
It took us ages to get out of Fraga today. Lisa spent at least half an hour in the post office trying to send stuff back home to lighten her load. It’s only 1.5 kilos but you feel it when you’re going up those hills! Then Xavier forgot to buy water from the supermarket so had to go back. There was no way we were leaving today without supplies. It really was like crossing a desert minus all the trucks on the highway in the distance.
Before leaving Fraga we had a surprise visit from the Swiss girl that we met the other night. Headed in the same direction – that is to Zaragoza, we invited her to join us to get to the next village based on the travel intelligence the very kind stranger offered Lisa while they were waiting for Xavier and Léon to come back from the supermarket. And we were six again.
As guided, we rode out on a good road through the village which was getting ready for the Fraga town fiesta this coming weekend. There were rides the entire length of the Main Street and numerous platforms going up.
Once we were on the road. And had already climbed a fairly unrelenting 8% in the searing heat, we came across a rock formation that had a beautiful thin layer of compress crystal. It could have once been a salt pan of some sort. We found ourselves on a typical Camiño walk path with lots of rocks and dust. Arsène’s and Léon’s bikes didn’t cope so well. Arsène’s tyre wore out literally and Léon’s bike rack broke. Xavier repaired both as the others took on the surreal scene of some 500 sheep and one Shepard surrounding a large water hole. Léon loved the Shepard’s fluffy woollen bag. After repair works, and meeting the local prostitute flying solo in this arid, dry country with only an umbrella to protect her, we decided to get back on tarmac but that meant riding alongside long transport trucks rolling at about 100 kms per hour alongside you. The drivers were all very polite and gave us plenty of room when they could but it was still nerve racking. They even beeped us with encouraging hand waves. It’s amazing how great they make you feel. Welcomed, accepted, safe, respected. It is pitiful, so very wrong and actually criminal that people accept bad, selfish, dangerous, life threatening harassement to be the norm when on a bicycle.
We stopped in the little village called Candasnos for lunch and bid farewell to our Swiss companion. We continued to ride in the very hot sun as 5 again. It would be simply impossible to do what we are doing in the summer season. We came across watering pumps for the crops that were by the road side and we all immediately jumped at the opportunity. The boys stripped off completely much to the surprise of the farmer when he drove by to change the settings on the watering system. He was very kind and understood the necessity. He wished us safe travels. We finished the evening in a hotel in Bujaraloz where we enjoyed another homemade camp dinner made in the confines of a cheap roadside motel, and a lovely shower. We had no luck in finding accomodation in an albergues, which seemed to be functioning more as a pokie machine laden nursing home at this time of year. No need for a tent tonight. The boys are sleeping in another room and for fear of bed bugs we sleep in out sleeping bags on top of the bed. We hope that this spares the cleaner and the world from having to cover the cost of washing five bed sheets. We don’t use the motel towels. We’ve got our own. The game we play is called ‘minimal impact’. How restrained can we be? Could we pass through here without a soul ever knowing we were here? The only thing we used was the toilet paper. We use our own soap that we collected from other places before this one. We also take our own rubbish with us so the cleaner doesn’t even have to replace the plastic lined bins. We will leave in the morning rating the imperceptibility of our passage.
Wednesday 9 October
We rode out of Bujaraloz. Grey, cool very few people on the road, then got onto another road heading for Zaragoza and not a soul in site. It was hot. Desert landscape although in reality these are fields simply resting waiting for the next crop but it renders the landscape a sort of desert. Silent. So silent, so abandoned that when we came to a one man road block we were a little surprised. We were told to wait for a moment. Lisa asked whether there were roadworks going on and the guy responded with ‘Una pelicola.’ We thought that meant putting a layer of film over the road. When we were given the go ahead some 10 minutes later, we realised that they were in fact shooting a film. Looked like a crappy film with over turned cars in fields etc. They were just as surprised to see us as we were to see them. As we rode by the film crew, some cheered, some clapped, others looked at us in bewilderment. It was somewhat of a Fellini moment.
The silence in this part of the world was heavy, dense. So beautifully refreshing we fantasised about sleeping in such a place. The only sound we could hear was that of infrequent birds chirping. The sense of freedom and liberty such a place offered was magical as was the vast (supposed) barren landscape. It was nothing else except for what it was. Raw. For all to see. Whether you like it or not. No judgement good or bad will ever make it anything else than what it is. Stoic in its own existence. Pure and confident in its exposure. Absolving yet fully charged. Not sure who the Director of this movie was.
The immediacy of the world in which we exist. The wind up against our chests, spilling into, under, over every nook and cranny. The insects that prick your skin are a reminder of the impact small things have. The world is your platform, your stage to live out this once in a lifetime existence where the plants, the insects, the roads, the shrubs, the clouds, the sky, the sun, the mountains, everything seen and unseen, are not only your stage but co-producers. They are the musicians, the architects, the actors, in whatever shape or form they appear and in the plenitude of their existence, however distant that may be. Their relevance and stoicism demands the same in return. These sentinel beings that deserve the form of respect for all life forms.
It was a good thing that we bought lunch before we left this morning because the very small supermarket in the little village where we stopped for lunch was closed. Although we were still hungry we kept on track to Zaragoza and had the most difficult part of the ride for no other reason except that the wind had whipped up again and was very strong. It was a real struggle for all of us. Exhausting constant noise, unrelenting conditions. 75kms in all by the time we reached Zaragoza we were completely fatigued. But it didn’t stop us from visiting the vast Basilica del Pilar. As we rode over the stone bridge and the Ebro River running beneath it, the Basilica’s tiled roof stood out spectacularly. We succumbed to its calling. It was the first example that we came across of the Mudéjar style – a Hispanic/Moorish cross which signalled a new place with a very different history and culture to that of Barcelona and sculpted by the surrounding dessert landscapes. It was vibrating. That sense of positive tension made itself felt again. Diversity, complexity, strength all bundled up to make the ground feel like it was bouncing. After a meditative walk around the cathedral, a warm, sincere experience with the pilgrims office, we had to go to a bike shop first because Arsène’s and Oreste’s tyres needed a complete change over.
The city streets are narrow, textured with brick, wood, metal, rusty too, dripping water from heights, open expanses followed by narrow passages. Riding through it was like breathing with it. Such a magical place. The first bike shop wasn’t very can do, although watching the choreographic knock-on effect of a simple act of watering ones plants on a balcony high up play out down below was wonderful. The dripping water pushed people and school groups walking by off the footpath and on to the road, slowing down cars while cyclists zoomed by. The second bike store, let Xavier set up a mini workshop out the front of his shop.
While Xavier changed the tyres over and did a few other bike repairs, Lisa cooked dinner in the park across the road next to a playground. The children and parents were not at all bothered by this woman cooking up a storm and with this bike and all its bags. In fact they were curious. One young boy came up and asked Lisa if she was ‘Roman’. At first Lisa thought his language skills were excellent! How did he know what the Roman accent sounded like? She said ‘yes’ only realising later that in fact ‘Roman’ here means ‘Gypsy’. Irrespective, she wasn’t wrong. By the time Xavier was finished, dinner was well and truly ready and the sun had gone down. We ate dinner in the park. The kids had gone home and been replaced by dog owners walking their pets, who were more interested in our dinner. The fatigue of the day, and the knowledge that we still had another 10kms to ride to get to the camping ground put us all on edge. We were lucky enough to be riding through a wonderful city vibe. So many people young and old out enjoying each other’s company, that of their pets and the throbbing percussion music come from various spots around the main centre stopped us in our tracks. It was only after that we realised we had arrived in Zaragoza for the period of La Fiesta del Pilar.
We continued and rode through what in most cities would be considered the dodgy part of town. In the dark next to the canal under graffiti riddled bridges but in fact it felt quite safe. A few joggers looked at us from the corner of their eyes. We get the impression we scare people. The look of fear in their eyes was strange and fundamentally sad. What sort of a society have we become when people fear one another so much? And for no apparent reason. You get more out of people when they are happy and not feeling threatened, than when they are scared. They clam up and offer less. Why would a family of 5 on bikes be a reason for suspicion? Fear devours curiosity. In the dark we fumbled our way through parking lots, shrubs and the like only to find ourselves next to a type of highway. We entered the camping ground after almost 100kms, plus bike repairs. We eventually got to bed at 11pm after having woken up at 7am. The intention is to wake up at 6am to catch a train by 8am tomorrow morning.