L'Estartit (Day 4)

You wont forget, will you? Hopefully not Marge. Every morning John sprays his deodorant and shortly afterwards Angela lights the gas to boil the water for the morning coffee. So, she has to make sure the van is well ventilated before she does it otherwise it will be 'goodnight, Vienna' as the saying goes. 

Chores out the way we cycled in to town to buy provisions for lunch and to visit the tourist office to pick up a cycling map for the area. We chose the ten-mile circular route which would take us to Torroella de Montgri alongside the Baix Ter Natural Park. The cycle out took us along country lanes passing small farmhouses the colour of the arid ground they sat upon.

Vegetables grew in the parched sandy soil alongside apple trees heavy with blossom.

High on the hilltop overlooking the town sits the thirteenth century castle. We arrived at Torroella de Montgri just as the morning church service ended. We were surprised at just how large the congregation was. As they left the church, many people were carrying fragrant sprigs of bay leaves as part of the holy week Easter celebrations. 

We found a place to sit in the main square by the town hall and ate our lunch whilst admiring the architecture that surrounded us. Architecture that we imagined the local residents probably didn't give a second glance at.

Just around the corner from the square we stopped to look at the window display of Easter chocolate and cakes in a pastisseria. The shop now closed for the day, we could see a table had been set up inside with twelve place settings ready for a family lunch. Conscious we may be intruding we spent less time than we wanted looking at the fascinating and beautiful creations. 

Our ride back to L'Estartit took us along the river Ter. An annoying head wind hampered our progress. The same wind forced its way through the reeds along the river bank causing them to struggle to remain upright.

Eventually we arrived at the coast, the breeze still brisk we stopped a while to watch the wind ruffle the waters of the lagoon that sat behind the white sands of the beach. Reluctant to return to the campsite as this way our last day here we rode down to the marina and sat outside a cafe.

Angela's coffee arrived with a miniature muffin, which was very nice but a full size one to match the size of her mug of coffee would have been nicer. 

The weather today has been lovely, despite the wind. Our faces red from wind burn we returned to the campsite where we found a very sad Marge. No Marge, we're not happy either about the new neighbours, their dog, and their badly behaved children. So Angela went to the reception, paid the bill for our four nights stay and asked if we could move as it was very windy up at our end of the site. Which it was. Tact, Marge. Tact.

We have enjoyed our time at L'Estartit, as we have every time we've been here. Tomorrow we will begin our return journey back into France, as the weather forecast there is looking a lot better than northern Spain. We know the next few days will pass quickly, and intend to make the most of everyday. Just two more weeks and we will be at Cherbourg ready to catch our sailing back to England.

L'Estartit (Day 3)

As we lay in bed this morning with our sliding roof window open we could see the trees at the top of the hill waving to us. We watched the barely risen sun, as it was captured by the moving clouds. Rain was forecast for nine o'clock, but it didn't materialise. Everywhere here is very dry, and local people have told us they have had very little rain over the winter, just cold air coming from the Pyrenees. The nights are certainly warmer, but John has taken rather a liking to our over blanket, or 'the fluffy' as he likes to call it, so we take it to bed with us to keep him cosy. 

In no rush we planned our day. John's knee was playing up after our walk yesterday so we decided to take it a little easier today cancelling our cycling trip. There is a shop in the town called Monica run by an English lady and her Spanish husband. They have been trading since 1969, and when we visited L'Estartit last time we bought some pottery from the shop. Keen to buy some more items we walked down to take a look and spent some time talking to the owners and deciding what to buy. Their stock was slightly limited as they were unsure how much to carry in these uncertain times, but Angela chose a couple of items that would look nice in our newly painted orange kitchen. 

Around lunchtime, there was a flurry of new arrivals at the campsite. A French van, which isolated itself at the far bottom of the site, German, Spanish, Dutch and even a van from Luxembourg. Marge, still has her own exclusive V.I.P. area.

We decided to take an afternoon walk along the beach. The view towards the Ile Medes beautiful. The Mediterranean sea, with its characteristic green colour rolled on to the shore chased by a north westerly wind. We found a seat that was sheltered a little from the breeze and ate our snacks.

John's empanada a rather disturbing radioactive looking orange tasted a whole lot nicer than it looked, and Angela's glazed apple tart was delish. One of the best. And she should know. She's eaten an awful lot of them.

Back at Marge, despite the cooler weather we were able to sit outside. Who ordered and 'English'? Was it you Marge? We expected better weather than this, after all we were in Spain. It had been 19c today. We'll take that. In fact we find anything over 16c summer like.

Tonight was pizza night. John had worked out that we could convert our outside grill to act as a pizza oven. At Carcassonne he'd had success. On our first night at L'Estartit we had a disaster. Working out we needed a really thin based pizza for the experiment to work, we were please to find exactly what we were looking for in the local supermarket. And hey presto, result! As we savoured the delights of our success, we could hear the birds singing in the nearby trees. Or were they on the cadge. No chance with you two, I bet you'll eat every crumb. You're right their Marge.

Tomorrow we must decide which route we will take to return back into France. We have two weeks of our holiday left and want to use it wisely, meaning we don't want to be driving each day for hours and hours. I'll agree with that. We thought you might Marge.

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.