Day 88. Tuesday 3 June.

Warm day, so we took our swimming gear just in case. Headed back to Riumar to check out boat trips on the L’Ebre. Stopped in at the swish, new Tourist Information office there: closed, with no hours of business or any other advice. So headed for Port de Deltebre, and we’re greeted by a gaggle of souvenir shops, restaurants and cafes and various sized cruise ships/boats. Fronted a ticket seller for Creuers Delta De L’Ebre, hoping for a small craft, but the minimum was five people: sadly, three others who were looking to do the same had given up and bought tickets on the big boat, departing at 1230. We had one minute to make up our minds, so opted to go with it. It was pretty full and the commentary started in Spanish, followed by German, then back to Spanish. We were with a German tour group! Didn’t we write last night it was great to be in a ‘non-tourist’ zone? Karma.

There was the usual rush to get off, and to get to the cafes, souvenirs and restaurants, so we decided to head to L’Ampolla – or so T thought, and was a bit surprised when D took her to Amposta. Bit of a communication mixup there.

Amposta seemed to be a working town, further up the river, with a clear presence of a Muslim population. We parked (after having been honked and abused while waiting in a narrow one way street for an earlier spot to clear), and while examining the parking meter, D was approached by a young lady who advised it was free until 1600. Muchas gracias. D did wonder if he looks like he needs to be helped, but in fact this sort of friendly help for strangers has been quite common. We were the only customers at the cafe in the plaza where the Tuesday street market was being packed up. For someone it seems to have been a devastating morning’s trade.

The waitress was bemused and confused by our order (the usual scenario): we ask for two espressos and a small jug of hot water. Invariably, there is no jug and the water comes in a big glass which is very messy for pouring into the little espresso cups. Fortunately, there’s always a napkin dispenser handy. After coffee there was a short wander through the covered market, also being packed up,  with impressive stained glass windows featuring the local fauna and delta agricultural activity. The tourism office here was closed too but T noticed advertising for upcoming festivities around rice planting. The town also seemed to have some serious music training facilities. And T was relieved that D had chosen a ‘not modern haircut’ yesterday rather than some of the  options available in Amposta.

Then headed to L’Ampolla, which turned out to be a decidedly upmarket beach town/city – Noosa comes to mind, although the beaches we saw were very different.

That meant we moved on, more or less towards home, looking for somewhere to have a dip. Roads criss-crossed through rice paddies, giving us up-close views of the equipment, houses and fields in different stages of rice growth. T had seen a serrated-wheel tractor moving through the rice next to our abode earlier today, spreading fertilizer and it is indeed a very serious piece of equipment that surprisingly does not permanently damage the juvenile crop as it moves through, leaving flattened seedlings in its wake.

Homes are little islands within a sea of water and green (and the algae is common). The older style house/shed is box shaped with sloping roof (there must be a reason for this); the newer, more substantial homes are a mix of square and sloping roofs.

We arrived at Restaurante Los Vassos Deltebre, at one end of Platja de la Marquesa, on the Balearic Sea. The water (and beach) were uninviting with dark sand and choppy surf – apart from one hardy couple.

We decided on a walk along it instead, until we looked up to see a threatening sky in the distance and coming our way, with lightning and thunder. 

Back home. A former worker’s house, now Booking.com.

Dinner. Turkey Surprise: with artichokes in creamy coconut rice; the canned artichokes have been the pantry basket for months, so it was time to add them to a rice base (since this is a local staple).

Day 87. Monday 2 June.

There’s something wonderful, marvellous, different about being in a ‘working town’ rather than in a tourist destination. The delta is a fascinating complex of lagoons, canals, cottages and slightly larger ‘island’ homes in the middle of rice paddies (obviously not affected by the surrounding cycles of flooding). We think the cottage we are in was previously a working rice home. Thankfully the warm day was tempered by a strong breeze and we weren’t bothered overnight by mosquitoes.

Into town for Tourist Information and Doris didn’t disappoint: there was nothing that looked anything like an information centre where she took us. 

Found an ‘i’ spot on a paper map, punched that in, and arrived at what turned out to be an Ecomuseu, covering the history of the delta: its geography, including changing structure, development from a duck hunting ground to a rice growing area, the rice growing process, ecological protection, and its population. A simple but very effective display, spread over a large area and several buildings. What a tough life before mechanical processes! T still has some questions to ask. And no mention of the ravages of malaria that must have been a feature in days gone by, although the development was opposed (unsuccessfully, obviously) because of the mosquito risk.

Something of interest for our fisher folk – how would they cope?

Coffee time – not easy to find a venue. Having scoured the streets of Deltebre, we headed more or less accidentally to Riumar, a seaside ‘resort’ town of very modest single-storey villas about 10 kms away on the Mediterranean. No luck there either (although there were several beachfront restaurants offering a lunch menu) so headed for home to make our own, with sweet treats and pastry lunch from Lidl. It has come to that!

In the afternoon, while T stitched, D snuck out to be shorn.

Late afternoon we set off to find the flamingos at Cemitiri de Barques, near Badia del Fangar (Fangar Bay) recommended by our hosts. A bit of a daunting drive along very narrow pathways between canals and rice paddies, but we didn’t encounter oncoming traffic. Got to within 800 metres, at a reasonably spacious fishing wharf area, so decided reverse back a bit and walk the rest rather than take the potholed dirt track.

In the distance we could see some Great Egrets, and as we got closer picked up a flock of Flamingos in the distance with the binos, then spotted four much closer – but not close enough for good photos. We also saw (again) glossy ibis, grey heron, black winged stilt, tern, yellow legged gull, and silver gulls. As we walked we frequently disturbed big carp feeding in the lagoon shallows. The late afternoon colours were fantastic: silver waterways, grey skies, green rice paddies.

Dinner.  After 10pm Turkey curry (time to give that fowl a try)…with brown rice of course (conserving that vitamin B, which scares off the mosquitos and lets the neighbouring rooster have another day/ night of crowing).

Day 86. Sunday 1 June.

Moving today from Olopte to Deltebre, about 210 kms, almost due south.The road down from the mountains was absolute joy…speed of 70-ish, few tailgaters, with mountains, gorges and ‘impossible’ stone villages, many perched high or on cliffs all the way (and lots of cyclists in Lycra and mostly white socks). Followed the Segre River, a fast-flowing stream from the snow. T wondered about the old days in the region…tiny farming communities (with a church and maybe a fort/castle) and then as industry, and later, technology and leisure took hold, ski resorts and hotels??And hills with hundreds of wind turbines…T commented, ‘There’s not much breeze happening here’…only to see at the next turn, they were all spinning! To which D said, ‘They’ve turned some off to save crashing the grid!’ We do remember Lisbon.

The day warmed quickly and passing through Ponts (again) the mountains gave way to plains of wheat, olives and grapes. The wheat was golden and partially cropped. There was some irrigation. Stopped for coffee and a sweet treat in an air-conditioned patisserie in Tarrega, with temperature hovering around the high 30s, so no incentive to stay and wander, even though the town square with pollarded plane trees was the place to be (as usual, older men, just sitting).

Continued until a lunch stop beckoned; we’d made good time and would be too early to meet our host. Decided to try our luck on the coast at Salou, expecting it to be busy: sure enough it was, so we left the main part and followed a road beyond the souvenir booths by the esplanade until we found a parking spot right above a nice cove. The water below looked so good…shallow, clear aquamarine water, sandy shore, gentle waves. 

Lunch finished,  the obvious question was “might we swim?” Of course – we still had 90 minutes up our sleeve. We could do a quick change in/at the car…yes! Our water gear was in a bag in the boot, only once-used, many weeks ago.

The water was absolutely perfect and not the ice cold of our last dip in the Mediterranean. It was easy to understand the appeal of ‘taking an apartment’ above. Steps and a walled esplanade led to sandy coves.

Back on the road to Deltebre and almost on time until Doris decided to play some tricks (and additionally the address given on booking.com was in the middle of nowhere). Fortunately,  D remembered our host had sent a message that contained an address (D: I know, should have checked that at the start!) so we arrived about 45 minutes late with effusive apologies and Google translate-written excuses. The hosts are a couple and their young teenage son: no English, so they promptly called for a cousin, who soon arrived. He had very good English, which is a good thing as he’s studying to be an English teacher.

We received a very comprehensive guided tour: they are obviously proud of the place and although we suspected we may be amongst the first visitors, the Visitor’s Book goes back at least until April last year. The cottage was apparently part of the parcel when they bought the surrounding rice fields.The delta at the mouth of the Ebre River is a rice-growing place…(T had wondered about mosquitos). Yes, mozzies are part of the deal, hence window screens and repellant. We are still trying to work out if the cottage was originally a rice worker/manager/owner cottage, a granny flat or purpose built. But we’ll walk/cycle along the river (bicycles and helmets provided), do some bird-watching and find those flamingos.

And there rice ‘paddies’ all around.

And there is a rooster and church bells! Time to go home.

Dinner. Baked traditional sausage (recommended by previous host) and vegetables: potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, onions, tomatoes, flat beans. Current hosts have greeted us with cherries and peaches!

Day 85. Saturday 31 May.

After a good night’s sleep, T took an early morning walk through the village. Only cats were about and then through the mist the balloons rose. It was a perfect pink morning after a night with firmly embedded earplugs and the rooster was in fine form.

Today was a little driving circuit,  stopping at those places in bold: Olopte to Bellver de Cerdanya (8 kms) to Isovol (5 kms) to Bolvir (8.5 kms) to Puigchedra (5 kms) to  Llivia (7 kms) to Egat (20 kms) to  Font-Romeu-Odeillo-Vi a (3.5 kms) to Mont-Louis (10 kms) to Saillagouse (13 kms) to  Bourg Madame (9 kms) to Olopte (15 kms).

First destination was Bellver de Cerdanya, just down the road, to chase up two recommendations from our host Maria Angel: stone-baked bread from Forn Pous and traditional sausage from Cansaladeria I Xarcuteria Pernils LLonganisses (we think known as Cal Jaume). At the bakery, the answer to “English?” was “No”, so Google translate asked “stone baked bread?” Enthusiastic nod and smiles and pointed out.

At Cal Jaume we waited in line as the two ladies attended to other customers: they would cut/pick up the selections, wrap them and when the order was complete walk over to another counter to complete the transaction, all the while talking, sometimes including us, although all we could do was smile and nod. Our turn, same response to the question, request typed in: “traditional sausage please’ then again nods and smiles as she disappeared into a back room to reappear with a couple of metres of thin sausage. We agreed to the amount she suggested for 2. Smiles and nods all round, but as we left D heard one say “English” so he turned back to correct that mistake: “Ah, Australien!’ – more huge smiles, laughs and enthusiastic waves. It was, unbelievably, still too early for coffee!

We continued on our drive, crossing into France via an international road, then  pausing at Llívia. The town of Llívia is a Spanish enclave surrounded by the French department of Pyrenees-Orientales. Because of a technicality in the Treaty of the Pyrenees signed in 1659, that transferred only “villages” in the Pyrenees to France, Llívia, which was designated a “town”, remains under Spanish control. Llívia is separated from the rest of Spain by a corridor approximately 1.6 km (1.0 mile) wide, which includes two French communes, and is traversed by a road owned by both France and Spain. Since 1995, there are no formal borders. Speech was in both French and Spanish. At a fruit stall we bought ‘gold-plated’ veggies and some fresh basil (first time we’ve seen a variety of fresh herbs, but they were suffering in the heat).

By now it was hot and humid, and threatening clouds were gathering.

We drove into Font-Romeu-Odeillo-Via along a steep and very winding road, much loved by the many cyclists zooming downhill. There wasn’t much to stop for, although the views en route were breathtaking – the scale being beyond our little iPhone cameras. At this point Doris played another trick and sent us down the wrong road, for which she was loudly and harshly admonished. Back on track again, we saw a most unusual structure, which turned out to be the Odeillo solar furnace, the world’s largest, serving as a science research site studying materials at very high temperatures.

On to Mont-Louis, a walled commune on a hill, also home to the Commando Training centre. We were well and truly in France.

Entry was through two narrow stone gateways, across a moat bridge. We chose a cafe/snack bar for lunch bypassing the restaurants that do a brisk trade with 3-course menus of the day. After nearly three months in this lifestyle, we haven’t taken on the dinner & wine scene in the middle of the day, preferring to return to home base ( by car) for this. The waitress had excellent English and when we ordered the quiche to share she advised that it was not home-made, recommending the bruschetta (for two): we selected the cheese and chorizo option. When it arrived it was huge, and about 80% garlic. This was, however, a single serve!

Spotty rain turned into showers as we drove away, becoming heavy enough to have a brief pull-over to wait it out. D stopped the car for T to take a photo of the boom gates he said were the border: actually, they were only a railway crossing!There are no marked borders.

Rain continued on and off…D took to the screen and T picked up needle and thread.

Dinner is a spicy soup using leftover chicken, red curry paste, veggies ( including Joan’s technique of breaking potato chunks).

Day 84. Friday 30 May.

A peaceful night in an idyllic setting was the promise. The church bells continued to ring until 2300 – and for some reason rang twice each hour, two minutes apart. Then the rooster started in the early morning! Not hourly, but every 15 minutes or so. Promise not delivered – could have been made by a politician. T’s earplugs didn’t cut it; the rooster continued to crow. 

But the day is brilliant. After breakfast, checked out an information board and started on the 3.5 km round trip walk along the Riu Duran. 

We passed through the village, seemingly mostly deserted – it reminds of Thredbo, and we suspect the chalets are mostly for winter time skiers. The rough track meandered through bush and meadows, with the sound of the river, cow bells and small birds constant.

We were delighted to come across a swarm of white and blue butterflies on a short seepage of water. It reminded us of the Barbara Kingsolver novel Flight Behaviour and also cycling through swarms of Blue Tiger butterflies in Mackay.

At the 1.5 km mark there was a rather doubtful looking bridge to cross, but we did so safely, if pretty cautiously. The stream was too enticing on what was now a very hot day, so T had a quick dip of the feet. (D edit note: and everything else), Water was freezing, of course.

The second leg, about 1.9 kms, was a bit harder, as it climbed up and over several ridges and had a couple of very boggy patches. The perfume of broome was ever-present amid ash trees and small flowers. Eventually arrived back at our start point, crossing a far more substantial bridge over the river.

A quiet afternoon, listening to the thunderstorm brewing. D has pre-washed the Peugeot in anticipation of a good rinsing. T played with some fabric, unsure of its final outcome but it includes a cotton beach towel from way back…perhaps that day in Nerja when we just had to drop into the sea.

Dinner: A ‘clean up’ of salad vegies and anchovies, with some (stodgy) crepes and salmon slices. A little rain cools the air…hopefully the rooster is in hiding.

Day 83. Thursday 29 May.

Just as you’d expect on a Cran trip.

Time to swap one mountain village for another….today’s destination is Olopte, a speck of a spot in the Girona part of Spanish Pyrenees and a very long drive. T wanted to see snow and mountains (not necessarily be cold). Forecast is for thundery showers where we’re going and we don’t really want to be bogged-in in a village of 35 residents, so fingers crossed. Just after Pamplona  a view of snowy peaks were ahead…yes! And dramatic cliffs appeared soon after, with white-water rafters in the river below.

The day heated up and quickly got into mid-thirties as the mountains disappeared! Doris took us south, south, south and it was flat land, golden wheat and 35 degrees of hazy heat as we moved through Aragon and into Catalunya. Surely, she’s got it wrong!

Coffee at Ayerbe and replacing the sweet treat it was potato omelette and a sardine. Next stop was Monts (T was really doubting Doris) for a cool drink (beer sin alcohol because that gets entry to a bathroom). A ‘backseat-sandwich’ of cheese and jam, made in the the town park. Then onward. Roads were very smooth and traffic light (T didn’t grip the seat).

Signage referred constantly to Andorra, (seemed just over the hills) so T tried to keep faith re snow. And just out of Monts the landscape changed to dramatic rock faces (onya Doris!) Temperature rose to 37…snow??? We were in the Pyrenees now but at 37 Celsius? Villages have ski chalets, everything is stone and in the distance, peaks have a slight snow dusting. 

Doris announced that we had ‘Arrived’; Olopte at 32 degrees was unexpected and we were greeted by a very narrow walled laneway…No way! Josep and Maria Angel appeared and guided us to the cottage and then over-filled our melted brains with local information. Our cottage is a converted barn with rooster on one side and four horses (for meat) in the paddock next door. Church bells will stop at 8pm (yes, please). Olopte was once a farming village we presume, but now has only 35 residents, with folk coming up from Barcelona for winter skiing and summer hiking. It is picture postcard stuff. There’s no way we’ll need the fire for our 3-night stay.

A cool glass and tapas (olives, white anchovies, pickles, crackers) on the back porch as the sun dips. 

Dinner. Chicken salad.

Day 82. Wednesday 28 May.

An earlier start to the day, as J packs up, but we don’t get out of the house before 1230! T chats to the electricity meter reader: ‘How many meters do you read here?’ ‘Hmm… about twenty’ was the reply, so we guess the population of 17 is about right.

Back to Pamplona for the last meanderings, photo moments, the usual refreshments, a few souvenirs, a stroll through the beautiful shaded gardens and then (right on D’s schedule) to the train an hour before departure to get THAT ticket.

T and D will have dinner well before 10 tonight in preparation for leaving Azanza tomorrow fairly early (ie. before midday) for a long drive (500kms) to Olopte.

Dinner. Mercadona Chicken and vegies (includes potato).

Day 81. Tuesday 27 May.

We all slept a bit longer after a very late previous evening and J’s coughing needs some more drugs. The plan is to do the washing then head for a bit of an explore of Pamplona. Yes, it was past midday before heading out and we were greeted by ponies (mums and bubs) on the road down the mountain.

By the time we got to Pamplona, shops had closed for lunch; our routines are so set.

Took the elevator from the free car park and couldn’t understand why the paper map didn’t match with D’s digital map. So, a bit more walking than necessary to find a coffee spot. We were up for coffee but a couple of other customers (older ladies, one with breathing tubes) were onto glasses of red. As J pointed out, it is 2pm!

Made our way to the Catedral de Pamplona, strolled, rather than ran, the bull route, ending up at the Plaza del Toros de Pamplona (not going in, as deciding that 6 euros per person was a bit too much) then lunched with beers and tasty bites and a joker (Dad jokes, so that was alright) owner.

Then went to the railway station, but failed to get J’s train ticket, although she’d paid for it: ‘You collect it tomorrow’, the counter staff said. So much for trying to get ahead of the game.

On our way to the car, worked out why paper and Apple didn’t match: the lift we were looking at on paper was the wrong one (there are two). For once, Doris was on the money!

Returning in the evening presented a lovely photo shot of our village of 17 residents.

J triumphed in the kitchen with a fish, potato, leek, carrot, parsley etc soup…we’ve been avoiding the bacalhau for nearly three months…J delivered the ultimate comfort dish, adding the fish pieces for just a few minutes at the end of cooking. It was delicious. We’ll do it again at home. And it’s bound to be the cough-killer.

Day 80. Monday 26 May.

Although probably obvious, some of the photos are now credited to J (at least for a few days).

Got out before midday, and a few kms down the road  D remembered that he’d forgotten his ‘waist bag’, containing passport, international driver’s permit, credit card and cash! Back to Azanza, which meant that our departure was after midday. Good to be consistent.

Our destination was San Sebastián, about 80 km/90 mins. The road was scenic, curved, mostly fast but easy enough. Needless to say, on arriving we were immersed in traffic, so opted for an underground car park near the old part of the city.

Coffee was first priority, and we quickly found a very adequate spot, for both coffee and sweet treats.San Sebastian or Donostia struck as a very classy European city with gorgeous apartments, fine buildings and sumptuous (clothes) shops

At the Tourist Office, we got maps, a small Basque dictionary (good luck with that) and walking route advice, then set off beside the river mouth, by the old town, around the bluff, and there was the sea, surging onto massive grey blocks of granite (?)

The first walking section was longer than expected, and J suggested that it was now time for a beer. We were in the ‘tourist’ lunch scene by then and tavern prices reflected that, usually a 3 course menu of the day, but we eventually found something more suitable: beers, of course, and a shared selection of tapas.

Wavered a bit over the next walk: an esplanade around a beautiful curved beach of  three kms to the funicular. The surf looked fabulous and heaps of swimmers were in and absorbing big doses of UV. Weather was perfect, and the walk pleasant.

A ride on the vintage Funicular (and found a very vintage theme park thing at the top) for astounding views back over the city, and possibly France somewhere over the mountains behind.

Caught the local bus back to the car park, and some quick Lidl shopping before the run home. Quite easy – traffic was light, well behaved and it was still light as we arrived back at about 9 PM, greeted with nonchalance and bell-ringing by the local cows.

As it was late (10pm) and we had had a late lunch, dinner was  a mishmash of leftovers, some new gazpacho for T and J, chicken soup for D, and tapas.

Day 79. Sunday 25 May.

Something of a record: got out quite early, just after midday. Headed for Estella, an historic town about 22 km/45 mins from Azanza, along winding and in parts very narrow roads (has that been written before?)

We can certainly pick our moments: Estella was buzzing as festivities in honor of la Virgen del Puy, running from Friday to Sunday, was still underway, meaning that parking was tight. And for context: Our Lady of Puy, Saint Mary of Puy or simply Virgin of Le Puy is a Gothic carving and an invocation of the Virgin Mary, and the patron saint of Estella.  She was canonically crowned on May 25, 1958. Since the date of her coronation, the patron saint of the town is celebrated annually on May 25, although it is a festival celebrated from earlier dates as well.

It was a big deal: the program, we discovered later, included bull runs, street food, children’s activities, dancing, tradition, gastronomy and music. Followed some P signs to a local school, with parking solo torismos – that’s us, we thought! D was concerned that the gates might be shut early and luckily found a spot right next door. A later search on Google translate advised that in fact it means ‘only bullfighting’. If it meant ‘only bullsh***ing’ we would have been fine.

Fluffed around trying to work out where the old part of town was, and where to find a coffee. A gentleman stopped us and we think offered to help, but we advised, via Google translate, that we were fine (even if that wasn’t quite true).

Took a punt, wandered towards the fair and came across a simple pasteleria where we did get some good coffees and sweet treats from a couple of smiling ladies.

T accosted a young woman outside the shop for advice about the old town, who pointed us in the right direction – we were actually on the right track.

Down the road, over the bridge, and we were there and were on part of the Camino. The Church of San Pedro de la Rua and the Palacio de los Reyes de Navarra were, of course, closed.

Took the lift to the entrance of the church anyway: well, D and J did, but T tramped the stairs to put the other two to shame (point made: she came down in the lift).

Wandered through the streets of the old town, then down to the river. 

By now a beer was calling, so stopped off at Bar Amaya in the Plaza Coronacion for some beers and tapas: white anchovies in oil, garlic and vinegar,  olive, pickle, anchovies and green chilis on a stick, and tempura sardines. Pretty delicious.

This evening has seen accommodation confirmed for the last ‘block’…in the Spanish Pyrenees/Girona. Whew!

And there’s a little tapas of tempura beans, broccoli and leftover potatoes. Worked very well and so eager, forgot the photo. Dinner will be a compilation of pork, chicken and various veg as a salad mix. Tomorrow we’ll start the menu afresh.