What dastardly deeds did the Spainish Government hold for us on this day of days?
Our train was to leave from Zaragoza train-station at 12:21 exactly (though we were not sure if trains in Spain took the Swiss approach to departure times), and so we endeavoured to be there an hour early so that there would be no chance we could miss it. Packing expertly we wheeled our bikes, fully laden, out of the hotel and up the street that led, almost directly, to the train-station. Passing a small shop, open on a sunday, that sold stuff useful for breakfasting and lunching, we stopped for a short period to stock up. Inside they sold the most fantastic large croissants for 50 cents each - Spain is literally so cheap for food. After our little stop we continued at a pace and arrived at the station at 11:21. Excellent! An hour ahead of when the train was due to leave, exactly.
It was at this point that I noticed a large digital clock outside a pharmacy that, inbetween telling the public that a) the building it was attached to was a pharmacy and b) that the temperature was a decidedly warm 20 degrees, gave the time as 12:21. My suspicions were aroused and I recalled a little conversation we had with an English couple in Duras, cycling from Bergerac to La Reole, that the French would putting their clocks forward on a certain sunday. I continued this rather disturbing train of thought to the logical conclusion that Spain, also, made the changes to the clocks so that, appearing one hour early for our train's departure, we had actually arrived just in time to see it leave without us. Damn!
Suspicions were confirmed when Danny, throwing Spainish around like a pro, inquired at the ticket desk about trains. Bum. Well thankfully another train was to leave shortly before 5pm, but till then we had to find ways to amuse ourselves. We sat outside in the sun, ate lunch, and while I dozed and went for explorations, Danny made friends with a Polish guy, who had been living in Spain for only a year or so, and thus both used very simple spainish - definately a good way of getting some practice in.
Finally, after much waiting, our train was scheduled to depart. To get to the platform we had to pass through suspiciously heavy security - one of those x-ray machines that you find in airports - so we had to take all our bags off our bikes then quickly put them back. When we got to the train we once again had to take our bags off and then suspend our bikes vertically (which I was able to understand quite well from the man who was trying to tell us because, as I didn't know the language, I focused on his use of sign language, whereas Danny was too involved with trying to figure out the words he was using). Finally all our bags packed away we were off to Barcelona - Buenos Dias, Chocolate, y Picasso!
On the trip we met a troubled, female cycle tourer, travelling to Taragona, who had punctured a tyre but was stuck without a pump (surely the pump is the towel of the cyclist - I was not impressed). Danny helped her fix the bike and we swapped tales of where we had been - it's amazing how much info you can get across when you cannot understand a word the other person is saying (she was spainish). She had a mountain-bike, and huge tyres, but her set-up looked far more professional than what we were carrying (in fact, our gear has without fail looked haphazard compared to every other cycle-tourer's gear, a fact of which I am proud).
Danny had invested some money in a detailed street map of Barcelona and so spent most of the trip either planning our route to the Youth-Hostel where Fred and Lucas were staying or sleeping. I, however, read Nietzsche, listened to music and stared at constantly changing scenery (as somekind of replacement for all the terrain we were not going to cycle through to get to Barcelona).
And so we arrived in Barcelona, but that deserves its own post so I'll write soon.
Wednesday 23 April 2008
Sunday 20 April 2008
Day 29 - ... or "Day 28" take two
So with our rather failed day yesterday - Zaragoza was not reachable - we know had to spend most of today trying to either get my bike fixed or figure out a way for us to get our bikes and bags to a train-station so we can get a train to Zaragoza.
Danny woke earlier than I did, I just was not feeling in a good mood that morning thanks to an overwhelming sense of despair that I had completely fubared any straightforward attempt to get to Zaragoza and thus Barcelona. Danny left some breakfast and sailed off on my bike into Ejea to a) find the elusive tourist info office of the day before and b) see if my bike could be fixed. We didn't hold up much hope, but Danny insisted that we try.
He left and I stayed behind to have breakfast and pack things away, which I did slowly as the sun was making things hot and all I wanted to do was lie down and soak in the pleasure such weather brings to the skin. Eventually, after much moving of things I took the time out to lie down and just not think of a thing. So enjoyable in the sun. There is something quite unique about the warm sun on your skin, it isn't the warmth that does it, but some strange combination of everything that great nuclear furnace in the sky gives us. Its how I imagine plants must feel when they are fed with solar energy.
I dozed peacefully in the sun till I heard Danny cycle up the farmer's road and onto the field. Ah, what a welcome sight, for Danny appeared with bike and a new carrier, shining bright and shiny in the sun that I had so been enjoying. We packed up quickly and continued on the route were to have taken the day before. Ah, but cycling of the day before had gone, as if in punishment for my broken-down machine. The wind tore right into us and the straight roads left us travelling directly into the wind for most of the day. Slow, so slow. Danny was suffering from a somewhat upset stomach that day, so he was not on his best performance. The sun was still hot, but the rest of the day made the whole experience frustrating rather than enjoyable.
Danny wished to take the train to Zaragoza, to make up for lost time and because he was feeling unwell. I had chosen a route that would not only take us near a town with a trainstation, but would also take us closer to Zaragoza as well.
Trains in spain do not operate as they do in the UK. We reached Zuera to find the trainstation for Zuera wasn't actually there, but rather in a small industrial part of a smaller town just outside it. Once more the Spainish signs came to ruin our day and we spent an hour or so cycling through industrial estates. We found a huge carpark, and we thought it was connected to the train-station, but on closer inspection it turned out to be a car-depot for cars before they are shipped off to be sold.
Finally a friendly spainish bloke showed us in his car, and we stopped to check the time-table and what can only be described as a very run-down and, more importantly, very shut train station. It turns out there were only two trains a day that stopped in Zuera (its not a small town), and in between times the station was closed. Very, very strange. Obviously trains were never as important as they were in Britain, and Spain never developed a history of travelling by train to the same extent as we have.
With no train till 5pm, we decided to make the 25km to Zaragoza instead. In Zuera we stopped for lunch (late), and then cycled south to join the main roads into Zaragoza. We arrived there, along a messy and busy motorway-esque dual-carriageway, that was mostly the complete opposite of pleasant. Once again the Spainish made finding the tourist info offices hard to find, so we cycled to the train-station of Zaragoza as the light faded away. We found a tourist info box and whilst I counted the seconds on a rather cool digital clock, Danny queried the people inside.
We found out that there was a train tomorrow at 12:2o, just as on saturday (seems sundays work the same as saturdays for trains in spain), so we went a-searching for accomadation. We ended up in this dingy, if somewhat grand hotel, in that classic style where everything is brown and everything is bathed in brown-light.
Danny went down to the cafe that stood next to the hotel, and I slept and watched spainish TV. I became fascinated by the Spainish version of our channels devoted entirely to those stupid word games. The woman presenter (whose face reminded me of the "Mouth of Sauron" off of the films - her mouth was out of proportion to the rest of her head) seemed to not be getting any calls at all, and because I couldn't understand the language I focused entirely on the body-language, which was classicly nervous - it was almost fun. Eventually I drifted off to sleep, and Danny returned at 3am (though really it was 4am, and had we known that we would have been in Barcelona earlier).
Tomorrow Barcelona and the apex of our travels.
Danny woke earlier than I did, I just was not feeling in a good mood that morning thanks to an overwhelming sense of despair that I had completely fubared any straightforward attempt to get to Zaragoza and thus Barcelona. Danny left some breakfast and sailed off on my bike into Ejea to a) find the elusive tourist info office of the day before and b) see if my bike could be fixed. We didn't hold up much hope, but Danny insisted that we try.
He left and I stayed behind to have breakfast and pack things away, which I did slowly as the sun was making things hot and all I wanted to do was lie down and soak in the pleasure such weather brings to the skin. Eventually, after much moving of things I took the time out to lie down and just not think of a thing. So enjoyable in the sun. There is something quite unique about the warm sun on your skin, it isn't the warmth that does it, but some strange combination of everything that great nuclear furnace in the sky gives us. Its how I imagine plants must feel when they are fed with solar energy.
I dozed peacefully in the sun till I heard Danny cycle up the farmer's road and onto the field. Ah, what a welcome sight, for Danny appeared with bike and a new carrier, shining bright and shiny in the sun that I had so been enjoying. We packed up quickly and continued on the route were to have taken the day before. Ah, but cycling of the day before had gone, as if in punishment for my broken-down machine. The wind tore right into us and the straight roads left us travelling directly into the wind for most of the day. Slow, so slow. Danny was suffering from a somewhat upset stomach that day, so he was not on his best performance. The sun was still hot, but the rest of the day made the whole experience frustrating rather than enjoyable.
Danny wished to take the train to Zaragoza, to make up for lost time and because he was feeling unwell. I had chosen a route that would not only take us near a town with a trainstation, but would also take us closer to Zaragoza as well.
Trains in spain do not operate as they do in the UK. We reached Zuera to find the trainstation for Zuera wasn't actually there, but rather in a small industrial part of a smaller town just outside it. Once more the Spainish signs came to ruin our day and we spent an hour or so cycling through industrial estates. We found a huge carpark, and we thought it was connected to the train-station, but on closer inspection it turned out to be a car-depot for cars before they are shipped off to be sold.
Finally a friendly spainish bloke showed us in his car, and we stopped to check the time-table and what can only be described as a very run-down and, more importantly, very shut train station. It turns out there were only two trains a day that stopped in Zuera (its not a small town), and in between times the station was closed. Very, very strange. Obviously trains were never as important as they were in Britain, and Spain never developed a history of travelling by train to the same extent as we have.
With no train till 5pm, we decided to make the 25km to Zaragoza instead. In Zuera we stopped for lunch (late), and then cycled south to join the main roads into Zaragoza. We arrived there, along a messy and busy motorway-esque dual-carriageway, that was mostly the complete opposite of pleasant. Once again the Spainish made finding the tourist info offices hard to find, so we cycled to the train-station of Zaragoza as the light faded away. We found a tourist info box and whilst I counted the seconds on a rather cool digital clock, Danny queried the people inside.
We found out that there was a train tomorrow at 12:2o, just as on saturday (seems sundays work the same as saturdays for trains in spain), so we went a-searching for accomadation. We ended up in this dingy, if somewhat grand hotel, in that classic style where everything is brown and everything is bathed in brown-light.
Danny went down to the cafe that stood next to the hotel, and I slept and watched spainish TV. I became fascinated by the Spainish version of our channels devoted entirely to those stupid word games. The woman presenter (whose face reminded me of the "Mouth of Sauron" off of the films - her mouth was out of proportion to the rest of her head) seemed to not be getting any calls at all, and because I couldn't understand the language I focused entirely on the body-language, which was classicly nervous - it was almost fun. Eventually I drifted off to sleep, and Danny returned at 3am (though really it was 4am, and had we known that we would have been in Barcelona earlier).
Tomorrow Barcelona and the apex of our travels.
Day 28 - Sun and the Citrus Air
We awoke to yet another day but, oh, what is this ... sun? Indeed yes, for the skies had cleared and the sun was out (as is its wont). It was really quite hot, so it was certainly time for the shorts and t-shirt only affair (wish I had taken my Oceana top as I think the dual combo of type black lycra shorts and tight black lycra top with lapels might just have been a winner) - we looked like proper cyclists in our gear.
Out of the campsite we joined the main road again and carried onto Olite, which sports a rather dashing castle in the Navarre style (or at least thats how I view it). Onwards and onwards, with the wind behind us, and we had finally found good roads in Spain for cycling. The weather was so good and the cycling so much better that I almost forgave the devious Spainish transport departmant for its dodgy road "planning". We cycled at a pace that was fast but so easy, some 16mph and before too long we had done 20 miles and I hadn't even felt it. Fantastic! It was like flying.
The most noticeable thing about the whole day was the scent of plants that mingled in the air giving it the sweet mediterranean smell that I instantly associated in my mind with memories of going to Portugal and Greece so many years ago - so much so that I wasn't sure which one was which in my head. The smell, the air, warm sun on my legs, everything seemed designed to make me feel more alive than I ever had. I feel sorry for all those people in cars, for even with their windows down they couldn't have felt how glorious the entire day was.
We reached the town of Carcastillo before midday and it looked like we would make the journey to Zaragoza in one day (which is what we had planned to do). It was then that I made a small map error and cycled the wrong way up a road away from our destination, I only figured this out after we had cycled up a hill someway and realised that the valley that should have been on our right was in fact on our left, we had gone up the wrong side of the hill. However, not to be put down by such an error and not to make the small but steep climb up the hill a pointless venture I noticed a small road that followed a river south further ahead that would take us back on the right track.
It was in fact slightly further up the road than I had thought, and it wasn't actually a river nor a proper road, it was in fact an access road for utility vehicles to a canal. But it was on the map and I knew where it went so we sailed along this road for some hour and half or so, crystal blue water glistening in the concrete basin of the canal and our bikes making the most of the flat if somewhat rough road. Finally we made it to the town of Sadaba, where we stopped to have lunch.
Next we raced down to Ejea, a trip that was far shorter than I had expected and we looked to be making good time, though Zaragoza would not be reached that day and Danny made the call to get as far as we could but camp early rather than try to get to the city at night. So we stopped in a Lidls in Ejea and stocked up on water and tasty foods. We spent sometime in Ejea looking for the tourist info office, for it was well sign-posted from the centre of the town, but to no avail for (as Danny was to find out the next day) the plucky Spainish had decided that the best way to support tourism in this part of Navarre was to have a sign for the tourist office pointing - the opposite way to where the office actually was. In fact, the tourist office could almost be seen from the sign if you stood underneath it and ignored where it was pointing. Almost, but not quite as good as the Tourist Office in La Reole, but definately in the top five worst signposted tourist offices in Europe (we are making a list).
We cycled out of Ejea aiming to camp wild somewhere in the hills to the east. However, we had barely got 5km down the road before Danny noticed something rather disturbing about my back carrier on my bike, it seemed to be dangerously leaning to one side. In fact it was completely fubar, the stand connecting it to the back forks had broken, snapped completely on one-side. There was no way that this was a safe thing to cycle on, there was no telling when it would break completely. Danny spotted a little wall on the road side, that shielded a small field from the view of the road and we stopped down there for the night. Feeling slightly guilty that I had ruined our trip a bit with the crappy bike, I cycled off in search of a bit of extra food for breakfast. Things were not going well for me and my bike, it seems that as soon as one thing is fixed something else breaks.
I returned and we slept well, sustained, psychologically speaking, by chocolate. The plan for tomorrow was to somehow get a bike shop in Ejea to get a new carrier on my bike, and if that failed we were in a bit of trouble. Zaragoza was so close, less than an hours car journey away, but for us on our bikes (and especially mine) it was an almost impossible goal.
Out of the campsite we joined the main road again and carried onto Olite, which sports a rather dashing castle in the Navarre style (or at least thats how I view it). Onwards and onwards, with the wind behind us, and we had finally found good roads in Spain for cycling. The weather was so good and the cycling so much better that I almost forgave the devious Spainish transport departmant for its dodgy road "planning". We cycled at a pace that was fast but so easy, some 16mph and before too long we had done 20 miles and I hadn't even felt it. Fantastic! It was like flying.
The most noticeable thing about the whole day was the scent of plants that mingled in the air giving it the sweet mediterranean smell that I instantly associated in my mind with memories of going to Portugal and Greece so many years ago - so much so that I wasn't sure which one was which in my head. The smell, the air, warm sun on my legs, everything seemed designed to make me feel more alive than I ever had. I feel sorry for all those people in cars, for even with their windows down they couldn't have felt how glorious the entire day was.
We reached the town of Carcastillo before midday and it looked like we would make the journey to Zaragoza in one day (which is what we had planned to do). It was then that I made a small map error and cycled the wrong way up a road away from our destination, I only figured this out after we had cycled up a hill someway and realised that the valley that should have been on our right was in fact on our left, we had gone up the wrong side of the hill. However, not to be put down by such an error and not to make the small but steep climb up the hill a pointless venture I noticed a small road that followed a river south further ahead that would take us back on the right track.
It was in fact slightly further up the road than I had thought, and it wasn't actually a river nor a proper road, it was in fact an access road for utility vehicles to a canal. But it was on the map and I knew where it went so we sailed along this road for some hour and half or so, crystal blue water glistening in the concrete basin of the canal and our bikes making the most of the flat if somewhat rough road. Finally we made it to the town of Sadaba, where we stopped to have lunch.
Next we raced down to Ejea, a trip that was far shorter than I had expected and we looked to be making good time, though Zaragoza would not be reached that day and Danny made the call to get as far as we could but camp early rather than try to get to the city at night. So we stopped in a Lidls in Ejea and stocked up on water and tasty foods. We spent sometime in Ejea looking for the tourist info office, for it was well sign-posted from the centre of the town, but to no avail for (as Danny was to find out the next day) the plucky Spainish had decided that the best way to support tourism in this part of Navarre was to have a sign for the tourist office pointing - the opposite way to where the office actually was. In fact, the tourist office could almost be seen from the sign if you stood underneath it and ignored where it was pointing. Almost, but not quite as good as the Tourist Office in La Reole, but definately in the top five worst signposted tourist offices in Europe (we are making a list).
We cycled out of Ejea aiming to camp wild somewhere in the hills to the east. However, we had barely got 5km down the road before Danny noticed something rather disturbing about my back carrier on my bike, it seemed to be dangerously leaning to one side. In fact it was completely fubar, the stand connecting it to the back forks had broken, snapped completely on one-side. There was no way that this was a safe thing to cycle on, there was no telling when it would break completely. Danny spotted a little wall on the road side, that shielded a small field from the view of the road and we stopped down there for the night. Feeling slightly guilty that I had ruined our trip a bit with the crappy bike, I cycled off in search of a bit of extra food for breakfast. Things were not going well for me and my bike, it seems that as soon as one thing is fixed something else breaks.
I returned and we slept well, sustained, psychologically speaking, by chocolate. The plan for tomorrow was to somehow get a bike shop in Ejea to get a new carrier on my bike, and if that failed we were in a bit of trouble. Zaragoza was so close, less than an hours car journey away, but for us on our bikes (and especially mine) it was an almost impossible goal.
Day 27 - The Going Down
We awoke rather warmer than we otherwise would have been, and praised the world for radiators. We left the campsite after paying (very important) and got lost. Stupid bloody Spainish road system.
Finally I figure out where we went wrong (bad Spainish signing was to blame) and we cycled up and out of Leukanberri. As we climbed higher and higher we could begin to see snow appear in small corners of fields, then across most of the field, until finally our vision was just bathed in white. The going was easy however, the roads not too steep, and we reached the peak of the pass without too much trouble at all. This road had not been swept clean of snow and I enjoyed making patterns in the slush (kept my mind off the stupidity of the venture). We saw a huge rat like creature, road-kill, in the middle of the road (it looked like it had been there for sometime), but I don't have a clue what it could be, very strange. At the peak of the pass (780m) we stopped to take a few pictures before cycling on (I love it when you reach the top because the way down is ... well ... down). However, once more the cold ripped into us, and I can safely say that it was even colder than it was the night before. The hill was so steep going down, and we carry so much weight, that there is nothing you can do but coast, which is not a thing that makes heat. Not helping matters was that we were still in marginally wet clothes from the day before so all in all a bad going down.
Not looking to try that again in a hurry we quickly popped into a restaurant in a large, ugly town that seemed to exist merely for the purpose of being in a place where three roads intersect. Got some chocolate (instant make-good) and warmed up over some coffee. Danny ordered some calamari tapas for us whilst I went to the loo. He had asked for two orders of calamari tapas and was given 3 rings of calamari, which begs the question: "What do you get when you order one?" We didn't need to share anyway as Danny had mistakenly thought it was one of the two orders and eaten them all before I got back. Wouldn't have mattered anyway, I was waiting for bigger lunches than that.
We followed the main road into Pamplona and ate lunch alongside the main square before sitting in a cafe for an hour or so to warm up again. The weather was starting to clear and we as we looked south we could see clear skies. Yay!
We finally reached Olite after dark and found the campsite thanks to good (if somewhat oddly place) signage. For the campsite in Olite was not in Olite, nor on the road to Olite. But such are things in Spain. Slept well to a peaceful night free of rain, wind or snow.
Finally I figure out where we went wrong (bad Spainish signing was to blame) and we cycled up and out of Leukanberri. As we climbed higher and higher we could begin to see snow appear in small corners of fields, then across most of the field, until finally our vision was just bathed in white. The going was easy however, the roads not too steep, and we reached the peak of the pass without too much trouble at all. This road had not been swept clean of snow and I enjoyed making patterns in the slush (kept my mind off the stupidity of the venture). We saw a huge rat like creature, road-kill, in the middle of the road (it looked like it had been there for sometime), but I don't have a clue what it could be, very strange. At the peak of the pass (780m) we stopped to take a few pictures before cycling on (I love it when you reach the top because the way down is ... well ... down). However, once more the cold ripped into us, and I can safely say that it was even colder than it was the night before. The hill was so steep going down, and we carry so much weight, that there is nothing you can do but coast, which is not a thing that makes heat. Not helping matters was that we were still in marginally wet clothes from the day before so all in all a bad going down.
Not looking to try that again in a hurry we quickly popped into a restaurant in a large, ugly town that seemed to exist merely for the purpose of being in a place where three roads intersect. Got some chocolate (instant make-good) and warmed up over some coffee. Danny ordered some calamari tapas for us whilst I went to the loo. He had asked for two orders of calamari tapas and was given 3 rings of calamari, which begs the question: "What do you get when you order one?" We didn't need to share anyway as Danny had mistakenly thought it was one of the two orders and eaten them all before I got back. Wouldn't have mattered anyway, I was waiting for bigger lunches than that.
We followed the main road into Pamplona and ate lunch alongside the main square before sitting in a cafe for an hour or so to warm up again. The weather was starting to clear and we as we looked south we could see clear skies. Yay!
We finally reached Olite after dark and found the campsite thanks to good (if somewhat oddly place) signage. For the campsite in Olite was not in Olite, nor on the road to Olite. But such are things in Spain. Slept well to a peaceful night free of rain, wind or snow.
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