L'Estartit (Day 2)

This morning we were glad we'd decided to cross the border into Spain. Isn't this wonderful Marge, waking up to a beautiful morning on the Costa Brava? Costa, make mine a vanilla latte. Not that Costa Marge! Shadows dissected the ground as the sunlight crept over the parched earth and spurts of green emerged from cervices in the rocks that towered over us. In the trees the birds fussed. We were glad that we could just sit and enjoy it all. 

Today we planned to walk out to a cove on the outskirts of the town, but before setting out we put on a wash and John attended to a problem with the bathroom sink. You've got to stop this leaking Marge! Unbeknown to Angela he'd accidentally booby trapped the toilet seat, so when she assumed the sitting position, it slipped off. Stop laughing Marge! 

The walk to the cove started with a steep climb out of the town and up to the viewpoint at Cap de la Barra which looks across to the island of La Meda Gran.

 Then we walked on through the dense growth of the low growing firs which lined the path.

Wild flowers provided colour amongst them. As we took the precarious rocky path down both of us slipped on the small stones like marbles. But no harm done. We have walked this way before and know the sharp, difficult descent is worth it. Marge's voice in our ears told us we were silly fools. And she probably would also tell us we'd stupidly left our walking poles behind. 

The little cove of Cala Calella is a tranquil natural landscape. We were lucky enough to be able to sit alone for over two hours. By the time we readied ourselves to begin the uphill scramble the sun had gained heat.

High above in the clear blue sky vapour trails from aeroplanes resembled the flag of Scotland. Trying not to look too undignified we climbed up and over the rocks holding on to the trunks of the pine trees to steady ourselves. About half way up we stepped aside to make room for a couple with a dog to walk on down past us. They stopped to chat. About our age, from Belgium with an apartment in the town. The topics of Brexit and covid dominating the conversation. Feeling we deserved a reward after completing our challenging walk we bought ice creams at the supermarket. Angela couldn't resist adding a bottle of sangria to her purchases. 

This evening as the sun dipped down behind the trees it was warm enough for us to sit out and eat. We had just six sausages cooking on our grill. Our German neighbours twelve. Six each! We felt like right English lightweights.

Tonight, we are looking forward to tomorrow and some more fine weather. We plan to cycle out and explore a little more of the area.

L'Estartit

Today was the day Angela could hand over 'speaking the language' to John. He could speak a 'little' Spanish. Angela, she noa speaka the language. The other English couple emerged just before we left. We'd heard them return from the town last night, and judging by the bleary eyes on the man this morning he'd had a few drinks. When they went out yesterday evening he walked in front of the other vans checking their registration plates. Dutchy, Brit, Frenchy, Belgie etc. You get the gist. Turned out they were returning to England from Benidorm. He had Beni written all over him. We agree Marge, you can just tell! 

As we left Le Boulou we could clearly see an icing of white on top of the mountains. We found out later that it doesn't normally snow in this area at this time of the year. The mountains did look stunning though with the morning sun reflecting off the peaks. 

At the border with Spain, a Romanian registered box van, which had overtaken us on a bend earlier was stopped by border police. We waited, and waited, with our documents ready expecting to be next. Nice one Marge, straight through! Bienvenido a Espana Marge. Yes. Welcome to Spain. This could be interesting, different speed limits, road signs Angela couldn't understand. Oh well, we've been here before and managed.

Just before twelve we rolled into the coastal town of L'Estartit on the Costa Brava. Right Marge time for a little bit of luxury. You get to rest, we get to use some nice hot showers, plug into some electricity and use a washing machine. We have stayed at Camping L'Estartit twice before. The site is right in the town. So once Marge was settled, we took a walk.

No Marge we'll not be buying a straw donkey and a sombrero. The temperature in amongst the shops was registering at 23c. But on the seafront, despite being warm it was considerably cooler. 

Back at the site it was showers and then shorts on. We sat out and read, soaking up every ray of sunshine, moving our chairs as the sun shifted. There are just five of us on the site. Four Germans and us. The campsite is owned by a Dutch family and most of their visitors are Dutch once the season gets going. The owner talked with us for a while. To her it's cold here. But for us the temperature suits us fine. We've been chasing the sun since we arrived in France.

La Boulou

During last night we both felt too hot. Yes, too hot! Time to put our over-blanket away, thank goodness. Today we would be driving to the last Aire before the border with Spain. Excited Marge? Oh, there may be some hills to climb. Before leaving we took advantage of the services. Quick put the cassette toilet away before someone sees it. Why Marge? It appeared some of our European neighbours liked to give theirs a good polish. OCD Marge. OCD! 

A drive through the mountains, hills heavy with rocks meant lots of photo opportunities. The sun cast shadows across the unfurling tarmac. We'd driven this way before in our car a few years ago, but the drive in Marge was totally different. Slow and steady Marge please. Don't look down anybody! At one point three French drivers frustrated by Marge's careful approach overtook. Bloody hell! It's like being back in Italy. One of the points we stopped at was by the old road.

You could see it snaking around the rocks with a sheer drop to one side. It made us feel quite queasy. Although the drive was slow it was interesting and we much preferred it to life in the fast lane as we approached Perpignan. Angela really dislikes the drive around Perpignan. The approach road is shared with lots of lorries, which is why there are 'ladies in waiting' alongside the verge. Is she warm enough? Yes Marge. She's got thighs that could crack coconuts! Probably an asset in her line of work! 

By the time we arrived at La Boulou, just eight miles from the border we were glad to step out of Marge and sit in the sun behind her enjoying the view of the Pyrenees-Orientales. The wind funnelled down the nearby mountains. The temperature 19c, but the breeze made it feel cooler.

Marge is slotted between a French and Dutch van which should protect her from tonight's wing blowing from the west. It is very continental on the Aire tonight with vans also from Sweden, Poland, Belgium and England. Two Belgium vans arrived late afternoon. One, a new van was reversed back into a very large boulder. Ouch! It's not so new now. The second, with a suicidal wife who stood right behind it as her husband reversed badly. We know it's only a matter of time before we see one of these women knocked down. 

Needing to stretch our legs we walked along by the river Tech and into town, stopping for John to photograph a cage fungus.

At the tourist information office we asked about documents required to enter Spain. Thankfully all we need is proof of vaccination. 

This evening Angela is tired from the concentration of today's driving. Tomorrow we will cross in to Spain and head to the Costa Brava where we plan to spend a few days before heading back to France and making our way up to Cherbourg. In the meantime, time to drink some decent wine at around three euros a bottle. We've read that if you're invited to a French person's home you should take with you a bottle of wine that cost between ten and twenty euros. If you take sparkling wine, it must always be champagne. You won't be getting an invite then cheapskates! Seems not Marge.

Carcassonne

Marge's windscreen was covered in ice this morning.

The dew on the grass a carpet of frozen droplets. It was more a winter scene than spring. Once again Angela coaxed her face cream out of its container. Like us it needed some warmth. Tonight's temperature is forecast to be a balmy 6c. Bliss. 

Just after nine-thirty we left. Impressive! Sarcasm Marge. It doesn't suit you. The road from Auterive ran uphill and down dale. Switchbacks added some fun. Soon we found ourselves on a faster road travelling parallel with the Canal du Midi. In the distance we could see the snow capped mountains of the Pyrenees.

A stop at a large supermarket to top up our diesel and buy a canister of camping gaz. The purchase of camping gaz is always a long winded and stressful process. Our destination was Carcassonne. A thirteenth century world of towers, turrets and cobblestone streets. We'd met some Dutch people whilst cycling along the Canal du Midi a few years ago. They likened Carcassonne to something created by Disney, which had put us off visiting in the past. But now, we thought why not? 

Aware that we were about to enter the jaws of a tourist attraction, we packed our lunch into our rucksacks, then took the mile long walk which followed the river to La Cite. The last section of the walk was a steep climb over cobbles worn smooth over time.

At the top John stopped to stretch his legs, or split his trousers!

As soon as we entered the hilltop town through its double walled fortifications with watch towers at every angle we likened it to the streets of Mont Saint-Michel. Gift shops, restaurants, cafes, ice cream parlours and shops selling cassoulet. Finding a quiet corner in the sun out of the wind we ate our lunch.

Nearby a few people took up the offer of a set lunch at twenty five pounds a person. The warmth of the sun made us want to sit a while. So we did. An azur blue sky with not a cloud in sight finished off the postcard scene. The aroma of lavender from nearby shops irritated our nostrils, causing us to sneeze. To be sure we saw the whole town we walked down narrow side streets, stopped at the church, looked over the ramparts and even in the shops.

On our return to the van, we stopped to watch a lizard sunbathe, aware of our presence. None of dare move in this stand-off.  By the time we returned to Marge we'd been away nearly five hours. Did you miss us, Marge? Don't answer that! 

Tonight, we are staying at an Aire next to a campsite. No sneaking in to use the showers. Alright Marge. We've seen the signs! It's cost us just over fourteen euros but we don't mind. The area is so touristy we just want Marge and ourselves to be safe. The Aire is not too busy. Surprisingly most of the other vans are from Belgium. Another English van came in next to us around seven, driven by a young woman in her twenties. Where was she heading all alone, we wondered. We had spent around an hour earlier trying to find out the required paperwork for us to enter Spain. We deduced we only needed to prove our Covid vaccination status. Worst case do what you normally do. Hands up in the air, shake your head, and say, 'we're English'. Good advice Marge.