Catelonia!

“Catalonia is not Spain!” Said the cliff-side as we negotiated another hairy hairpin ascent out of a rocky inlet town. So we have to watch our p’s and q’s then (or is it our c’s and z’s? Where’s that guidebook?)

Advised on his on-line forums not to risk having to take out a mortgage for a wheel-bearing repair in France Gareth reckoned we should continue our journey on and into Spain. A workshop in Figueres could be the place and the Dali museum is there too; what a happy coincidence! The drive wasn’t too taxing for Hymer initially. We drifted along nicely along the French coast and through Perpignan, the Pyrenees across our horizon like a ragged blue ribbon. 

Mountains form natural borders and this one between France and Spain is a good one. Tunnels  have made for “freedom of movement” in these modern times of course, for freight, commerce and itinerants like ourselves. The tunnels, though, are mainly for the toll routes. Ms Sat Nav’s “easy, non-toll” route had poor Hymer grumbling about her sore bearing as we climbed around the Pyrenees where they meet the Med. The views were lovely, and so are Gareth’s biceps after his work-out on the steering wheel. We weren’t the only motorhome negotiating this spaghetti route, either. Like bugs on a leaf stalk, we all climbed around and about munching through the kilometres on our way southwards.

We crossed into Spain - sorry, Catalonia - through an old graffitied border control point at the top of a col. There were guards all over it, but not apparently doing much. They were all just hanging around for a chat it seemed, and certainly weren’t interested in us. So we continued our up-and-down journey across the rest of the mountainous border until we reached the coastal plain, and a straight road brought us to our night stop, a fully serviced (no leccy) aire at the entrance to Peralada.

Peralada is a restored ‘medieval’ town with a clock tower bell that sounds like someone banging an old frying pan. There are a few little shops including an expensive artisan bread shop, and the cobbled streets turn into rivers when the heavens open. You know what they say about the rain in Spain? Yes, we got a soaking, and so did our artisan bread as we splashed back to the van. Thanks to the library of films and music that our good friend Jock (Alan) had collated for us we spent the evening watching a film on our new Smart TV. You’re a star, Jock. 

Btw, last winter we didn’t have a TV, thinking we could do without. We hadn’t realised how long and cold the nights could be, even in Andalusia and the Algarve. This time I’ve brought more reading material and entertainment that doesn’t all rely on data. Oh, and we’ve (ahem, Gareth) also fitted a solar panel which is working well to keep everything charged up, including the vacuum cleaner (no excuse now for a mucky van).

Today, Saturday, the sun is shining, Hymer’s wheel didn’t fall off and it’s a big world out there, with lots to explore.

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Post-script: Blogging on

Many years ago I kept my parents entertained with letters home from trips and adventures. My mother kept those letters safely in her desk along with those she’d had from her own parents about travels in Europe. Unfortunately those letters disappeared during the house clearance that followed her passing, and I would dearly love to have kept them myself.

Letter writing has died, replaced by social media which is what now informs us about each other’s whereabouts and antics. I first joined Facebook in order to follow the adventures of my Canadian nephew and nieces as they set off on their adventures on the other side of our planet. It’s now part of my everyday communication, of course, as it is for so many of us. This blog began as an intended on-line letter home for my cyber-savvy family as well as a personal record of our travels. It is probably every bit as ephemeral as those letters my mother kept and which disappeared with her breath. Nevertheless, I am touched by the number of friends and family who are for the moment following it and, I hope, enjoying it.