The Pillars Of Hercules

Sadly this is the last day of my holiday, back to work on Monday.

I spent my last night in France, checked out of my hotel, bought some pastries for breakfast and spent the day walking around Perpignan, the sun was out, it’s an attractive city; but with no guide book though I was sort of wondering about aimlessly. I checked up on 43places and Wikipedia, but there wasn’t much listed about the town, popped my head into another gloomy church. I kept saying things in Spanish rather than French, I missed the place already.

My flight home left in the afternoon, it was a flight where you sit where you like. I grabbed the best seat on the plane, window seat, right at the front, lots of leg room, first off the plane, the flight back was pleasant too, no clouds in the sky, I spotted us going over the Isle of Wight. Finally got home at 9:24pm.

While on holiday, I’ve been reading South from Granada by Gerald Brenan, it’s a great book about Andalucia rural life before the Spanish Civil war. In the preface written in 1953, he spoke about Spain’s character:

...No one is going to find in Spain a model country like Sweden or Switzerland, conditioned by rhythm of it’s machines, but on the contrary one which has up to now insisted on preserving a certain modicum of anarchy and non-compliance. How long this is going to continue I can not say, but it is still true that south of the Pyrenees one finds a society which puts the deeper needs of human nature before the technical organization that is required to provide a higher standard of living. This is a land that nourishes at the same time the sense for poetry and the sense for reality, and neither of these accords with the utilitarian outlook.

I believe the Spain that he describes still exists and I’m happy to have witnessed a bit of it. What I’ve experienced over the last two weeks has been emotional, the memories have become a part of me…

Not yet sure when the next part of the journey will be, but it’ll be back to France and then on to Italy.

Lastly, thank you for reading my thoughts as I went, it’s been good knowing you’re there, your comments and cheers have been welcome company.

This is my third day in Barcelona. I’m feeling unrelaxed, torn in two. I want to see all that Barcelona has to offer, but I know there’s no way I’ll get to know this city in the short time I have here. My time off is coming to an end, I think that’s what saddens me.

My plan for the day was to move on up the coast towards Figueres, the birth place of Salvador Dali, his home town has a gallery of his work, the place is ment to be absurd. But first I wanted to use the morning see Parc Guell, by Antoni Gaudi. It was commissioned by Eusebi Guell in 1900 and finished in 1914; it was ment to be a private, but in 1922 it was opened to the public instead.

Getting there was a bit of a trip, first metro, then a walk up hill, but they provide escalators to help out. The first part of the park provided a stunning view, I could see across the whole of Bareclona and beyond to the sea. I sat there, admiring the view, eating my picnic lunch.

The second part was via a walk down to Gaudi’s creations, it was very busy, but rewarding, seeing his designs in person, being able to see the lizard up close. I noticed how he took printed tiles, smashed them up, then jigsawed them back together, forming a mosaic, great idea. His biscuit coloured creations look edible, like the house from Hansel and Gretal or something designed by Willy Wonker. He used water in the park too, you can watch it fall from place to place, giving life where it lands, green plants and paddling pigeons embrace it.

Next, leaving Barcelona via train. I headed towards Estacio de Franca, patiently waited. An hour later, I got to talk to someone about ordering tickets, embarrassingly he told me I was at the wrong station, I needed to get to Barcelona Sants. By this time it was too late to go to the see Dali. So I ordered a direct ride to Perpignan, France, I’d booked my flight home from there a couple of days before.

Got one last metro ride to the other station. I think Barcelona metro is so civilized, they have bars that sell beers at most stops; una Cervesa por favor will echo in my mind for a while to come.

Crossing the border was simple, they didn’t even stop to check passports. Arrived in Perpignan at around 9pm, nervously not sure of my French and without a book to guide me. I found a rubbish overpriced hotel for the night, but the bed was alright. Went out and had an enjoyable Lebanese supper.

Started thursday still in Barceloneta, Barcelona, sitting on my balcony; the sun was out, with a cooling sea breeze to accompany me. I fixed my skates, packed up a small bag and headed out.

The partner of the friend I met yesterday is an architect, specializing in industrial design. One of his previous projects was to design small food stalls for the city, in keeping with the modern look of the water front. His elegant solution expands and contracts like a clam, open during the day and locked up and closed at night. I wasn’t far from my hotel so I skated over to take a look, I saw something that looked like it could be it, but didn’t get a chance to see it open and close, so I might be mistaken.

Barcelona is a great place to skate, most of the centre is flat, and the routes are fairly smooth. I spent the day getting to know the city. It has a fine beach, I started my tour at the southern end, skating all the way along towards the ginormous copper fish at Port Olimpic. This was the area they had the village during the 1992 Olympics, it’s been converted into smart appartments now. Just here, I was asked for help breaking by a beginner. I did my best to help them out, they thanked me and headed off. I think this made me do a bit of practicing myself, going backwards and spinning turns. I’m not too good at that, stupidly wasn’t waring elbow pads, fell over, grazed my elbow and ripped my watch off it’s strap; both can be fixed, no permanent damage done.

There’s a Picaso gallery in Barcelona. I seriously thought about going, but decided not too. I really enjoyed the gallery in Malaga and didn’t want to spoil the memories, something to look forward to when I return. I caught a bit of sun today, made me a bit sleepy, I could feel the heat on my face. I found a nice Moorish looking juice bar, not busy, sat in a comfortable chair, ordered a bannana, orange and mango smoothy. It gave me a chance to type up and post the previous day. I followed it with a kicking sharp ginger and lemmon.

I had a look around the La Seu, Barcelona’s cathedral. It’s described as one of the great gothic buildings of Spain. There’s a court yard in the centre, where a flock of geese live. I took some pictures. I didn’t think the place had enough light, I felt the main cathedral to be quite gloomy.

Antoni Gaudi
I had not heard of him before coming here. I’ve become a fan, he was an architect, much of his later life was spent on Sagrada Familia, but before that he worked on many buildings found around the city. His designs are fun and colourful, he whirls the raw materials into organic shapes that feel alive. I walked up past Catalunya, along the tree lined street of Passeig Gracia to his creation – Casa Batllo. It was built in 1907, this stunning building looks aquatic, imagination made me see giant frog faces in the balconies. He used multicoloured mosaic in many of his designs, clearly influenced by Moorish design, yet he’s made it feel more natural and less mathematical. Your heart get’s deceived into thinking that no one actually designed it, this thing of beaty just nataully evolved this way.

Barcelona, Thursday night group skate.
I made it, I’d planned for this. I’d read that every Thursday night at 10:30pm, people meet up at the centre of Catalunya and go for a skate in group. I was familiar with the London friday night skate, where groups of 200 to 300 people turn up (I wrote about it on 43things previously.) I didn’t know what to expect here. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

Less people – Only 30 of us were there, but they were all good, fit and skilled. We would stop regularly for rests and water at the numerous city drinking fountins.I think that’s a great idea, shame London doesn’t have them.Less Saftey – I was used to marshels, skating ahead and blocking off roads. On this skate, we were more like a raft of people watching out for each other. As we’d skate past a side street, I’d hear shouts of “E bray” if the street was clear or “Cot cha” if a car was coming. When I get home I’m going to check what that means. I was too nervous to shout it incase I said it wrongly. We were skating over pavements, past people and round motobikes.
Less Breaking – Man, this was the scary part, there were times I was going at maybe max 40 miles an hour, downhill, turning corners, not knowing what comes next, just shouting F@CK, F#CK, F$CK, I was near the back too, the other’s knew where they were going.

Benidorm knows what route we took, I know we skated past the communications tower, on the way up to the Olympic stadium at the top of Montjuic. On the way back down I was skating so fast, my left boot felt like it was wobbling. Mental, an amazing experience. I finally got back at quarter to one in the morning. My body ached, but I’ll do it again. ...I loved it.

After being relaxed, away from people, today was a bit of a shock. I felt like a naive peasant, learning about the ways of the city for the first time. I had to figure out how the metro worked, reading instructions in a language I didn’t understand, deciding the most cost effective ticket. I pushed my ticket in the wrong machine, a guide tried to explain, but at first I didn’t understand, I felt very stupid. Leaving the metro is different too, I’m used to swiping the ticket on exit, but on Bacelona metro you just push through the double gates. I had to watch someone to see how it was done.

I wanted to buy some replacement wheels for my skates, ended up walking about for most of the day till I found a place that stocked spare parts. Started at Placa de Catalunya, slowly made my way down Las Ramblas, it’s a wide tree lined pedestrian walk way, with traders, selling birds, rabits, jewellery, even tacky sombreros. The path was taking me down to the harbour, but I turned left, half way down and went through Barri Gotic. It’s part of the old town, narrow streets with interesting cafes and shops. While having a rest, looking at the pidgens, I was startled to spot a beautiful green parrot, eating amongst them, I’ve since been told that’s common to see them flying about the city.

I’d aranged to meet my friend Carrie, (who I hadn’t seen for eight years) in the evening outside La Sagrada Familia. It’s one of Barcelona’s main landmarks, a hundred years in the making, an as yet unfinnished cathedral, the guide says it’s due for completion in 2017, but I doubt it will hit that date. You can’t help be be moved when you walk up from the underground, turn round and see it for the first time.

It was great catching up, after such a long time, so much to talk about. She’s been here for two years now, she couldn’t speak Spanish when she first came over, but now, with a couple of lessons, speaks it well. She showed me the interior grounds of hospital de Sant Pau, it’s a lovely collection of buildings built in 1902 and still a working hospital. Walked to a small restaurant, and had a rustic Spanish supper.

The day was spent on the move; starting on Formentura with a breakfast by the beach again, today the orange juice was back in stock, so I had that with a local pastry.

Packed up and ordered a taxi to the port. Got there just in time to catch the fast boat to Ibiza. The ship was small, for foot passengers only. I enjoyed the 25 minute journey, experiencing the climb of each wave, followed by the slap as it knocked back down into the water, looking out to the cliffs and rocks of Ibiza ahead of us. Reached EivissaIbiza town at 11am.

I was in Ibiza last year for a friend’s stag do, so I knew the town reasonably well, it’s been a town for hundreds of years and has thankfully kept that historic apeal. It’s easy to see the differences in culture between mainland Spain and Ibiza, much more of hedonistic, an anything goes culture, less concervative in their dress, more bright colours and long hair. I know it’s expected, but I still found it odd seeing so many adverts for celebrity DJs and billboards for night clubs everywhere.

From Ibiza, I planned to get to Barcelona. I had two choices, either fly, taking an hour or get the ferry, taking eight hours. I liked the idea of going via water, found out the ship leaves from Sant Antoni, once a day, on the other side of the island, in two hours time. I thought it wouldn’t take long to get there so i spent some time looking round Eivissa again. I under estimated how long it takes to get across the island, only just made it, got to there 10 minutes before departure.

The ferry across was relaxing, it’s a big boat, and I had the place practically to myself. A sign on board read:

Passengers: 31
Staff: 32
Total: 63
Capacity: 800

It was great, I had a desk to work at, then a walk outside, followed by a nap lying down on a soffa, finished off the trip reading my book with a drink and a packet of crisps at the bar.

I finally arrived at Barcelona at 10pm, booked into a great value small hotel in Barceloneta, on the waterfront called Marina Folch. My balcony has remarkable views of a tree lined street, overlooking the bay and Montjuic. Compared to my last two weeks, Barcelona was a shock, it doesn’t sleep. The other thing I noticed was the change in weather, it was cooler, cloudy and about to rain.

I have spent the day at Fonda C’an Rafalet, on Formentera, the smallest inhabited island of the Belearic archipelago. It’s a little hostel and restaurant, at the fishing port of Es Calo; when I say port, I meen a humble haven. There is scarcely enough room for a dozen small elderly wooden boats. I noticed at reception, a painting of the spot, the detail had a recognizable likeness; I then saw the date of the picture, 1986. It’s great knowing that this place hasn’t changed for at least 20 years.

I started the morning with breakfast on the beach, in the shade of a wicker umbrella; lemon tea, apple juice and some marmalade on toast. The sun was out, with the sky a dark blue, I wanted to swim, but decided to wait for the afternoon to lessen the sun’s rays.

Side note: I went snorkelling on the east coast of Malysia once, neglected to wear a T-shirt or suncream, out in the cool water for a couple of hours, ignored how much sun I was getting. My whole back and shoulders burnt, I wasted a week recovering from sunburn. Even now, five years later, my back still has dark freckles from that day. I’ve never had them checked, I’ve booked an apointment next week with the doctor back home.

I spent the morning reading, thinking about the next part of my journey and looking out to sea with my binoculars. Purely by accident and the power of magnification, I was startled to realize that the neighbouring bay was in fact a nudest beach, I quickly put the binoculars away, hoping I’d not already been judged as a twisted deviant. Thinking with hindsight, I did notice someone at the table next to me, with a much larger pair of binoculars, obviously curiosity got the better of his modesty.

Mid afternoon finally came, got changed and headed back. To get to the sea I had to climb over hard volcanic rock, light gray, infused with big air bubbles, holey like a sponge, but sharp and lunar in apearance. I kept walking till I found a secluded cove; a spot to safely leave my towel, shoes and T-shirt. I jumped off the rock into a warm sea, instantly swimming slightly out of my depth, looking down through the crystalline water to the rock, white sand and fish beneath me.

While swiming, I started thinking about round the corner, I’ve never been to a nudest beach. I was trying to decide if it should be something I experience, something to put on my list of 43 things to do. I concluded that nude sunbathing isn’t for me, but a naked swim in the sea might be nice.

I checked, the place was still deserted, so I swam back to my towel, stripped bare and jumped back in. I noticed an isolated rock in darker water further out, so with euforic energy, I decided to head for it. I felt liberated; sadly, my sense of freedom was short lived, quickly changing to fear, something stung my back. I’d accidently swam directly into a consentration of jellyfish. Deciding this nude swiming wasn’t such a clever thing, I turned round to head back, swimming as calmly and as quickly as I could; or rather as quick as one can when only one hand is swimming, with the other holding what I value. Well, I’ve done it, it’s one thing to tick off my list. My obvious advice would be pick where you swim wisely.

That evening, I skated up and headed east to the light house at the end of the island. It was about 5km, up hill for most of the way. At the top was a panoramic view of the entire island. On the way back, I was stopped by the police, they told I should be walking, when I pointed out that I was in the middle of nowhere, they let me continue skating. It took me an hour and a half to get there, but just ten minutes to get back. It was so steep, I had to control my speed by using the inside edge of my wheels as breaks. They are now worn down almost to the metal, dangerously out of action till I find replacement wheels. Also, I think I swallowed a bug.

It ended up being a dark cloudless night and the island has no light polution, my day finished with me lying flat on a rock, listening to the sea gurgling through pot holes, looking up at the bright stars, I could clearly make out all the constellations.

I must be relaxed, I have to think twice to remember what day of the week it is. It is great to have the freedom to sleep when tired and wake up when I want, refreshed, without the need of an alarm clock.

The other night, I sat on Moraira beach, deciding how to proceed, not sure where to go next. I had always planned to get to Moraira, but didn’t know the coast north of costa blanca and had no fixed route after. I plan to reach Barcelona on Wednesday, I’ve arranged to meet my friend in the evening. That gives me three days in between. With a flip of a coin I went for the Balearic islands. I went to Ibiza last year, but didn’t get the chance to see the other islands. So yesterday morning, I packed my bags again said goodbye to Moraira and got a taxi to the port of Denia.

I booked myself onto a boat to iIbiza, with an ongoing ticket to Formentera. The guide book describes the island as:
A calm respite from Ibiza’s dance-till-you-drop madness. The island’s long white-sand beaches are generally unspoiled and you can pedal along quiet country roads in relative solitude.

After a full day’s travelling, I arrived at 9pm, just as the sun was setting and booked myself into Fonda C’an Rafalet. it’s a small hostel, with only 15 rooms, right on the beach. My room has a small balcony that looks out onto cyan clear blue water, volcanic rock and white sand. The bay is too small for package holidays, so it’s beautifully quiet.

I was harsh about Benidorm in the last entry, I could have avoided it, but I went there for a reason. It marks on the map the furthermost south of Costa Blanca that I knew, the area I loved going to on holiday as child.

After Gramps developed a passion for Spain in the 60’s, he purchased a plot of land and built a villa on Cap Blanc, Moraira. It became the family’s second home for many years, until he sold it when my grandmother passed away ten years ago. I have many happy memories of the place; I remember sitting by the pool with Gramps sharing drink and a packet of Spanish crisps. I’ve got to describe these crisps, they were hand made, rough, salted, oily, unique, unlike any other, delicious. I consider myself to be a bit of a crisp expect, I’ve never been able to find anything like them.

Benidorm is a direct 20 miles south of Moriara, with the towns of Altea and Calpe inbetween. It hosts some of the most beautiful coastline in Spain. I decided to set aside the day and make my own way there via foot and skate. At 11am, with sun block on and rucksack on my back, I set off – heading north, north east.

I wanted to experience this part of Spain, understand why my grandparents chose this place. By walking, I hoped to slowly relearn with adult eyes, see and experiance it’s wild unspoilt beauty.

It was hot, no clouds and the countryside was mountainous, I wasn’t sure what to expect, what experiences would recall old echos. the first memory was in Altea, the smell of the sea and sea weed, it was unlike the coast before, second came just before Calpe, the smell and site of the pine trees, thirdly was the hot sun baked clay, unlike any other smell, completely unique; the combination of the three smells was very powerful. I wanted to bottle it and take it home.

The next memory was seeing Penon d’Ifach again; it’s a huge rock more than 330 metres high. It dominates Calpe’s sky, and formed part of the view from the villa. It looks a lot like the rock of Gibraltar. I reached Calpe at about 3:30pm, tired, I found a shady spot and had a siesta for half an hour. Calpe was flat, so it gave me a chance to skate for a bit, I was amazed to skate past a lake full of wild pink flamingos.

Bit by bit, cove by cove, I was getting closer to Cap blanc. The local supermarket was Pepe La Sal, I didn’t know if it would still be there. Heading round a corner I spotted a road side billboard Pepe La Sal 2km, it gave me new strength. Heading up that last hill, it all looked just as I remembered it, there it was the supermarket and side road off to the villa. I was then hit with another vivid memory, it was one of Gramps getting out of his car, walking over the road to Pepe La Sal, limping with his gammy leg. I popped over the road to see if they still stocked the spanish crisps, they did. Bought a packet, some water and headed over the road to the villa.

Cap blanc didn’t look like it had changed much, but they had made a couple of changes to the villa. I think it looked better the way it was before. I took a couple of pictures. The Villa had a pool, but one of the things that I loved about the location was that there was a five minute walk down to the sea. It wasn’t a beach, but rather rocks, someone a long time ago had cemented a metal swimming pool ladder into the rock, making it easier to get in and out of the water. No one else was about, so I got changed into my trunks, left my stuff on a dry bit of stone and went for a swim. This swim is what kept me going today. I was so good to be back, cooling down after such a hot day, the sea soothing my shoulders and aching feet.

I ended up drinking six litres of water yesterday. The map I had was very basic, I failed to realize that the road wouldn’t be a direct 20 miles, but rather a winding, hilly route. Looking back at the map at the end of the day, I calculated that it was in fact 28 miles. I’m quite proud of myself, I’m tough, but could do with a shoulder massage..

On Friday morning, I was still in Granada. The guide book I have is the rough guide to Andalucia, it’s great, but doesn’t cover the whole of Spain. So, I spent Friday morning looking in the bookshops for a new guide, one that would cover the next part of my journey. It was easy to find Spain – Lonley Planet, but I’m not a fan of LP, it’s too popular, if it’s in the guide, it quickly becomes the beaten track. I think the editors know this, so they deliberately fail to mention small interesting places. I couldn’t find a rough guide, so I bought the only other one “Fodor’s Spain 2006” I was impressed that it mentioned Moraira, LP didn’t even mention it.

Next stop was Granada bus station on the outskirts of town. I decided to walk there, got lost on the way, ended up becoming an uneventful 3 hour walk, only point of slight interest on my journey, was a cheep place I found to buy a replacement memory card for my camera.

I was heading to the coast, Costa Blanca, north east from Granada. The bus didn’t leave till 5:15pm, so the rest of the day was spent waiting, typing up the previous day.

The bus was comfortable, but the ride was six hours, the final destination had to be Benidorm. I’ve been to Benidorm before, didn’t like it much. 50 years ago, it was a little village, now it’s exploded into an overdeveloped resort with hundreds of high rise hotels and a bottomless capacity for sun seeking tourists. I thought I’d have no problem finding a bed for the night. Everywhere was booked, I walked around looking, passing loud discos, out of tune karaoke and drunken blokes with inflatable sheep, no one had a room.

I believe you are what you love, I don’t love Benidorm. In the last couple of days, I’ve seen many things, including an Islamic vision of heaven, on Friday night I experienced my own vision of hell, the panic of being stuck here all night without a place to sleep looked fearfully realistic. Thankfully, my nightmare was over, I finally found a hotel with vacancies at midnight. I plan to stay here not a minute longer than I have to.

Yesterday evening I explored Albaicn one of the oldest parts of Spanish Granada, located on the other side of the vally from Alhambra. It is beautiful, the streets are paved with small pebbles, painstakingly laid by hand, using the different shades of stone to form patterns, shapes and swirls. I kept climbing, just before dusk I found a spot with an amazing view of the city and Alhambra. I sat and watched as the light of the day faded into the glow of the city night.

Flamenco
I wanted to experience true Flamenco, not a watered down tourist show. I wanted to see skilled passionate artists, loving what they do, making infectious music, dancing like no one was watching. I spotted a show was on round the corner from the hotel, so I decided to risk it.

The venue was a cave, a capacity of maybe 100 people, the stage at the back, with a small bar at the entrance. The second I walked in, I loved the atmosphere, it felt quite special; for a brief moment, I forgot where I was, thought I was back home, I wanted to phone my friends, let them know about this place, tell them to come meet me. There was some English speaking people here, but it was mainly a Spanish audience.

At arround 11pm two artists came out, one carrying an accoustic guitar. Both were great musicians. After the first song, the singer announced something in Spanish and with a smile on his face pointed at some people in the crowd, I guessed that they were friends of his and fellow Flamenco artists. Next two more people joined them, a beautiful dancer in a red dress and a percussionist. She was a lovely singer, they all clearly adored the music, we could feel the spirit they put into it, it was infectious. Her dancing was amazing, I recorded a bit of it on Video. They then invited their friends on stage too and they all took turns to dance. I felt sad to leave, it was over too soon. They were all so tallented, I felt like I’d witnessed something special, true Flamenco, no casternets in site… ...One lady said me as I left, “That was awesome!”, yes it was.