spain – Heron and Home and Abroad

Montserrat

For the final day of my trip I planned a visit to Montserrat, the ‘serrated mountain’, which is about 25 miles from Barcelona and had the dual attractions of hiking opportunities and a monastery complete with boys’ choir who sing daily. A day on a mountain followed by Vespers seemed the perfect way to bring my trip to a close, but the practicalities weren’t as easy to bring together due to the timings of the last train/cable car down from the mountain. I had an early start, but managed to find time for a short stop at a cafe for my now traditional cafe con leche, accompanied by a croissant, on the way to the metro.

The connection to the train was uneventful, helped by the convenient numbering system which makes it easy to identify both the right platform and the right train when it arrives. I had to stand for the first 15 minutes it so, but once we had left Barcelona there was a bit more seating room. The highest point of Montserrat, Santa Jeroni, is 1236m which, if it were in Scotland would put it up there with the ten highest mountains. It’s all the more striking as it’s not surrounded by other mountains and really looms over the town of Monistrol at its foot.

Although there is parking on the mountain, the typical tourist options are to take either the cable car or the rack railway (Cremellana) up to the abbey. I had decided though to hike up, and had the choice of two routes. When I got out of the train at Monistrol Aeri (where the cable car also starts) I looked up at the side of the mountain and it looked pretty daunting. It’s a steep mountain with quite a lot of rocky outcrops and I wasn’t too sure whether I would cope with the exposure of the path. I did briefly consider taking the cable car up and saving my hiking for the top of the mountain but I really wanted to do what I’d set out to.

After a short stretch along the side of the main road, the path off to the monastery was easy to spot (one reason I’d chosen this route rather than the alternative that set off from the next station) and I was soon on the mountain side. There were a few scrambly bits that made a little uncomfortable but nothing too bad. The climb was steep, but not ridiculously so. I’d hoped to have put a little more hiking time in the legs over the past week than I achieved, but even so, I feel like I’ve a bit more strength than I’ve felt for a while.

Tile showing monks, the abbey and the Virgin of Montserrat on the side of a building where the path left the main road

The path was well marked, and I never had any issues with finding it, even through the scrub, much of which was made up of rosemary bushes. Having reached about 300m though I was struggling. There were a couple scrambles which I found uncomfortably exposed and a big stretch. I could see on the map though that the path was going to level off a bit following the contour of the mountain, before joining what looked to be a bigger track. I was hopeful that the hardest stretch was over and that I might feel better, but this turned out to be the worst bit as the path was all of 18” or so wide and with only some low bushes between the edge of the path and thin air. I managed a very short stretch and realised I just couldn’t go on, especially knowing that there was still about the same amount of climbing left to me. I was about half way along this stretch so turning back wasn’t necessarily any better than continuing except that I had no idea what was ahead for the rest of the walk. I had a suspicion it would be better but wasn’t confident enough in that suspicion to continue.

Somewhere around the point where I lost my nerve, although I’d put my camera away by that point as I couldn’t cope any excess movement/weight

So, with shaky legs and palpitations I made my way back, hugging the mountain side and clutching every prickly plant along the way for security. Writing this now (on the plane home, with ironically an even great drop out of my window) I can feel the same squirming in my stomach and sensation of panic building up. I’d walked about 45 minutes uphill and now I had to retrace by steps, along with quite a bit of bum-shuffling down the scrambles. On the way up I’d thought how I’d not like to do the path downhill, but the relief of getting off the mountain side helped. I had one small stop to watch a very determined ant trying to climb up the side of the rocks along with what looked to be a piece of insect exoskeleton that was huge in size compared to its own body. It kept falling back down and then doggedly carrying on back up. That really put my struggles into perspective.

By the I reached the cable car station again I was feeling rather despondent. Two routes up the mountain remained to me, the cable car and the rack railway, whose station was about a 45 minute walk away. The cable car seemed the logical option but, still feeling a bit trembly, a bit daunting. I was beginning to think I had taken on something that was beyond me, but I was determined to get up there, so I stood in the queue for the cable car and had about an hour to collect myself as a train had disgorged a large number of passengers just as I arrived and the cable car could only take 28 at a time.

Finally I was shepherded onto the cable car and tried to squash my nerves, taking a spot right in the middle and distracting myself by chatting with a group of Americans and their tour leader. The journey was ok, and the views spectacular, but when we arrived at the top I needed to scuttle away quite quickly through all the people who were dithering around near to the exit so that I could find a spot a little less close to the edge where I could relax a little. It’s an odd experience arriving at the little village which is perched on a crevice in the mountain at about 700m altitude and is bustling with activity with hotels, restaurants and plenty of cars parked up, I’m more used to Scottish mountains after all.

My first stop was at the tourist information to ascertain whether I would be able to get back off the mountain using the train after vespers. Oh yes, no problem was the answer. The last train down to the bottom goes at 7.15 and vespers will be finished by then. I had a few doubts but as there was one further train that only went partway to a car park at least there was a back up option.

The second order of business was to get a hiking map and some advice on whether the paths were going to be just as scary as those of the way up. I had the feeling that the staff may be trained to discourage people from the path to the summit at Sant Jeroni which was the longest hike they described but still only estimated as 1h15min walk in each direction. With a couple other options circled on the map and my confidence low I headed to the funicular as it gave me access to a walk back down to the monastery. I felt discouraged, to be honest, that I wasn’t doing what I set out to, but having ‘cheated’ by taking the cable car up I could no longest be purist about my hike, which has actually been a pretty good theme for this trip!

There are two funiculars on the mountain, the other of which is currently out of action, and I was horrified to see workmen climbing on it from the cable car. The funicular journey was a short trip taking us up about 230m over a distance of 500m. At the top I was reassured to see lovely wide paths, more at home in a country park than up a mountain but very reassuring to me at this point.

The hiking routes from Pla de les Tarantules, at the top of the Sant Joan funicular

Feeling a bit better, I decided to start with a 45 minute out and back hike to a number of chapels. The views were tremendous but still rather shaky I was hugging the inside of the path, shuddering at the people on the outside of the path posing for selfies. It was around that stretch that I got talking to an Australian lady, who was roughly of Mum and Dad’s vintage. She and her husband were on a 9 week tour of Europe and I was curious to know where they’d been. Imagine my surprise to find that not only had they just come from Manchester, but that they’d stayed with family in the house 3 doors down from Granny’s house. This little coincidence gave me a great boost, and made me feel better about the way my day was going as I would most likely never have bumped into her if my day had gone according to plan. In the end I made it most of the way along this trail, but turned around a little bit before the end when the trail narrowed and became more exposed with a scary looking set of steps. Exciting perhaps only to me on this section where what I believe to be alpine swifts swooping back and forth over our heads.

The final stretch before I turned around and walked back

Having regained some confidence and with about 4 hours ahead of me until vespers I decided I had plenty of time to attempt the longer walk to Sant Jeroni as had been my original plan. This trail was certainly less popular than the other and narrower, but had good barriers on the side where necessary and felt fine to me. Finally I felt like I’d escaped the more touristy side of the mountain and could enjoy the scenery and the experience a bit more. The mountain truly is dramatic, with steep drops and huge vistas along with giant rock formations some of which were being tackled by climbers. The times when the path passed through the woods gave some much needed shade and a bit of relief from the exposure that still caught me out now and again. The main part of the climb up to the summit comes towards the end of the hike and whilst it was effortful, I’ve done harder hikes, although before I became too smug it shouldn’t be forgotten that I had skipped an uphill section at the start by taking the funicular. There was a big party of primary school kids who seemed to have managed it and were all smiling and happily high fived me with a cheery hola when I stopped to let them past.

Sant Jeroni path – there were climbers on the rocks ahead

If you look hard you can just about see the winding around the rock formations

The views approaching the summit were fantastic, but unfortunately my camera battery was empty by this point and I had to rely on my phone for the rest of the hike

The last 30m or so of the climb took you up a set of steps built into the rock formation. I was dubious I’d manage it, but figured I’d try it. I only got a couple steps up before deciding that it really wasn’t for me. I was, I’ll admit, somewhat comforted that the lady coming up behind me only got a couple steps further than me before coming to the same conclusion. I was a little sad not to see the views from the very top as there’s something special about a full 360 degree vista but I suspect I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy it much! Time then to turn tail and hike back to the monastery. I stopped for a few minutes to look at the Sant Jeroni chapel which had been surrounded by a group of chattery Germans on the way up but was now deserted. It was another plain building, most notable for the presence of a desfibril-lador (defibrillator) on one side. I’ve seen plenty around in public areas on this trip but this did seem the most bizarre location.

The final set of steps heading up the rock formation and someone at the summit at the back of the photo

Not long after the chapel the return path to the monastery split off and wound downwards through the woods. My feet were beginning to feel the weight of the day’s walking by this stage, although my legs felt as strong as the start. I enjoyed the wooded section but the last part of the walk was a bit daunting with an endless set of steps winding along the side of the mountain again, twisting and turning to its contours. It certainly wasn’t as exposed as previous sections but it did feel a bit daunting coming at the end of the long day. It was quite a relief to catch sight of the village ahead and walk down the last steps and find myself a bench to sit on and rest.

The rock formations never failed to appeal

A nice set of steps, with no drop to either side

The village was finally back in sight, though it still felt too far away on tired legs

My aborted attempt to climb from the bottom, the cable car and funicular and finally my hike

I found myself back with about an hour and a half before Vespers so I thought I’d find something to eat. Despite being a touristy site though, nowhere was serving food it being too late for lunch and too early for dinner. Time then to dig out the emergency chocolate ration that I’d purchased before setting of on my hike. Apparently made by the monks and flavoured with crema catalana. To be honest it was rather odd tasting and I can’t say I’d recommend it.

The basilica was a rather dark building and very ornately decorated. Truthfully I was too tired to appreciate it. Although early for Vespers I found myself a pew and allowed the praying the Rosary to wash over me. High up behind the altar is a statue of the Virgin of Montserrat, and there was a steady stream of people climbing up to her and paying her homage. As the Rosary came to a conclusion, the monks started filtering into the pews around the altar. Expecting a procession of choristers to follow I was disappointed when one of the monks opened the service and I realised that there was to be no choir that day. Still, there was something very evocative about being part of this daily office and thinking about the monks living their lives up on the mountainside. The service was in Catalan, and reminded me that I’d read about the monastery being a protector of the Catalan language and people. It wasn’t the musical experience I’d been looking forward to, indeed some monks were clearly more musical than others, but an emotional one nonetheless.

As the service drew to a close I rushed out to catch the train down only to find, as I somewhat suspected, that I’d just missed it. Fortunately my feet were feeling better after their short rest as I was going to have to walk the final stretch to the station after all. After 15 minutes of waiting I was the only passenger in this last train down and very glad of its warmth. After some stumbling around the multi-storey car park I found the way out and was relieved to find myself within the little town of Monistrol in a matter of minutes and not walking along a dark road the whole way as I’d feared. This walk I’d dreaded became something to enjoy as the village was quite attractive even at night, and I thought that in daylight it would be worth making the walk up to this other station rather than taking the train from the main station just have a better look.

I didn’t stop to read the information, but I assume this was the original train up to the village (at Monistrol Vila station)

Finally at the station I had another 20 minute wait for the train back to Barcelona, and eventually arrived there at about 10pm. Although I was worn out and had another early start in the morning to catch my flight, I took advantage of Spanish restaurant hours and stopped at one of the places I’d visited the night before. I’d seen a tempting plate of what looked like wild mushrooms being brought to another customer, so the garlic mushrooms seemed like a good choice and then with the help of google translate, I decided on Cazón en Adobo (fried, marinated fish). The mushrooms, when they arrived, were sadly just your typical garlic mushroom, nothing wild about them, but good nonetheless. The fish was delicious, with a very good herby coating. I walked the remaining 5 minutes back to my lodgings feeling that my day had been a success although certainly not as planned.

Sant Feliu de Guixols

My original plan for today was to walk to Tossa de Mar, which sounds like a fantastic old town and well worth seeing. It’ll have to wait for another trip though as given the terrible weather forecast I ended up changing my plans. Having had a hard time sleeping two nights ago as it was too warm, last night found me tossing and turning until 2am, and eventually falling asleep once snuggled under two extra blankets. It was a night of frequent awakenings and most peculiar dreams and at 7am I was wide awake and listening to the rain pouring down. The more I thought about it, the less good an idea it seemed to follow my original plan as the remaining two days were the most demanding yet with no good options for bailing out part way and complicated travel plans at the far end. With the blister and thunderstorms forecast, discretion seemed to be advised. After much thinking on my options I decided to find out if my room would be available for another night, in which case I could backtrack up the coast tomorrow, filling in the missing part of yesterday’s hike, and then catch the bus back to El Prat airport. Fortunately that wasn’t a problem, and having organised to extend my stay, I was able to head into town to find some breakfast.

I wandered along to the market square where there was a lone trader selling fruit and found a cafe in the market hall where I acquired a coffee and a sandwich. I had not, however, reckoned with the Catalan taste for rubbing their bread with tomatoes, and some minor surgery was required to remove the seeds before eating.

As it was now dry, and there looked to be a minor break in the rain, I decided to visit the Ermita Sant Elm, on a hill overlooking the city. This necessitated a good steep climb up some steps and I was really pleased to see how easily I managed them.

The Ermita was attractive with good views out along the coast, but unfortunately it wasn’t possible to get inside so my visit was very short.

I decided to extend my walk and try to find a path back down to sea level in the hope of walking back to town alongside the coast. Unfortunately my route took me along a dead end, but there was plenty of bird life to enjoy, including a robin perched on a cactus, which seemed to me to be a very strange sight, and my first ever crested tit.

Having identified the little path that would drop down to the sea, I confidently started down the steps, only to find that they vanished into the scrub. I followed the path, getting soaked by the bushes I had to brush past but it all looked dubious and narrow, perched on the side of the hill. I chickened out, and returned to the road to consult the map. As I did so, a gentleman appeared and posed a question in rapid Spanish. Having ascertained that English would get us further he told me that he was French and used to visit here and walk this way in the past. Emboldened I thought I’d give it another go, with the reassurance of company, but no sooner had we turned the corner onto the rough trail again, he said, ‘well, there used to be a good path here, but anyway, I have to get back to my family who are waiting in the car.’ And with that he was gone! I tried again to follow the path, got about 3m further than the first attempt, panicked again and gave up on that option. Instead I followed the road thinking that I could carry on a bit further and get to the coast that way. Once I reached the main road though I had a proper look at the map and realised that there was no continuous coastal path back to Sant Feliu as I had thought, and that really I would be better turning back. Since there was an option of a forest track, I took that. It was a strange experience being in the midst of forest that didn’t make seem so different from home, and then suddenly happening upon some cacti. There was also an unexpected ghost like silver tabby kitten who sadly turned tail and ran whenever it saw me.

After a few double backs when I hit a main road, I found my way through the forest and back towards the town. By the time I got back I’d walked about 8km and although the pain was bearable, the blister was making its presence felt. I certainly felt that walking double the distance with twice the amount of climbing would not have been so sensible, although with the sun coming out, I did wonder if I should have pressed on to Tossa after all.

Rather than going straight to my hotel I decided to stop for a look at the monastery, which also houses a museum. Although it was interesting to see a small glimpse into the life’s of the town and monastery from the items on display, the one thing that really grabbed me were two huge books of illuminated plainchant. How I wish I could have taken them out of their display cabinet and looked through the pages.

After a short break back at the hotel, I went out for some lunch and found a great little cafe just off the market square. As I was sat enjoying my meal, my decision to stay in town today was backed up by the arrival of the anticipated thunderstorms and torrential rain, which encouraged me to order a dessert and drag out the drinking of my espresso as long as I could.

On the way back to my hotel I stopped and looked at the yoga studio next door. It would be lovely to do some yoga, I thought. There was a schedule on the door, and before I could think too hard about it and hold myself back I opened the door and asked the man on reception if I could come to class that evening. Of course, it wasn’t quite as simple as just asking, but with the help of some French we established that I’d done yoga before, and didn’t have a mat with me, and lo I was booked in for 8.30 class.

I spent the rest of the afternoon snuggled up on the comfy sofa in the living room of the hotel looking at my photos and updating the blog whilst I listened to what sounded like a waterfall outside. Looking out of the window later I saw that where there had only been weeds growing earlier there was now a fast flowing stream.

Come dinner time I headed back to the same little cafe where I took my place at the same seat I’d had at lunch. It didn’t take long to make my choice as I’d been admiring the dishes on the table next to me at lunch. The good thing about tapas is that if you make the right choices you can have something quite light and suitable for a pre-yoga meal.

It’s amazing how something like yoga can be both utterly familiar and utterly different everywhere you go. Going to a class in another style and another language made me realise just how attuned I am to my usual practice, even if the classes differ every time. The studio was lovely and the class small. When it was time for Savasana the teacher came around each of us and put a pillow under our knees, a blanket over us, and the next placed a wee eye pillow on us. As I left after class I received a very whiskery double cheek kiss – I had the feeling that his day had been brightened by the presence of a random foreigner dropping in as much as mine had been by attending. What a lovely way to finish a special, and very different than planned, day.

Sant Feliu wanderings: 8.58km, 278m ascent/275m descent, 2h57min

Begur to Tamariu

After a run of night shifts I had a 2.45am start to drive to Edinburgh airport for my hiking trip in Catalunya. To add to the usual anxieties of getting up in time for my flight and finding the right bus on arrival to take me from Barcelona airport up the coast, there was an additional concern, the protests that were taking place following the sentencing of some Catalonian independence leaders. In the end, the biggest challenge was indeed identifying the location of the bus, though I was eventually helped by a friendly bus driver who made sure I knew exactly where to stand in wait, and I was relieved not to see any sign of the protests nor to have my travel plans delayed in any way.

Prior to the trip I debated back and forth with myself about the best starting and finishing points and how far to walk each day. In the end all these aspects were defined by the practicalities of finding convenient public transport back to Barcelona and the number of days I had available once I’d factored in a day of guided birding as well. Nonetheless on the day of departure i knew where I would be staying the night but hadn’t totally committed to a departure point for the hike. Begur was the sensible option, giving an roughly 8km walk, whereas Pals, which was 6km further just sounded really attractive and worth seeing. In the end common sense won out and I bought myself a ticket for Begur. With the bus ride taking over 3 hours and sunset at 7pm that only left me about 3.5 hours and I needed to get something to eat before heading off on my hike. I dozed for the first stretch of the trip along the motorway, but woke as we reached the coast and stopped at towns I’d be passing through on my walk.

Arriving in Begur the bus stopped just around the corner from a little square with a viewpoint over to the castle on the hill opposite. After stopping for my first photographs of the trip I went to a little cafe in the square for a quick meal. Having been attracted by the word tapas, the only menu I was given was the three course menu of the day, so I went for that, trying croquettes, fideua and cream catalana and setting off rather more full that expected. Still, between night shifts and travelling, I wasn’t sure when I’d last had an actual meal.

I had a very small explore of the town centre before heading off to find my way to the GR92, the long distance route I’d be following for most of the trip. I was slightly nervous about the start of the hike which would involve walking side of a winding country road, but in the event I only saw a couple of cars, neither going particularly fast so it wasn’t an issue.

It didn’t take too much hiking to bring me to my first way marker and then my first official view of the sea (the unofficial one views earlier being from the air and the bus). At this point I was some 250m up on the cliffs looking down to sea and along the coast to my destination which was somewhere hidden in the mist ahead. The drop down towards sea level was a steep and rough one and certainly would have been a good challenge going in the opposite direction at the end of a day’s hike.

My first views of the sea and the coastline I’d be walking along

The final stretch into Tamariu took me away from the coast again and through a forested area. It was easy to find my way through the town and to my hotel. Having checked in, I wandered down to the beach where I found a couple of restaurants to choose from for my dinner. My decision was made based on the one which offered up squid, alongside which I had a glass of wine and grilled sardines for the main course. The latter were very tasty but far too much effort to work around the bones.