Sue4Don

After being home for a few days now and catching up on other things, I would like to recap on my trip:

It was a wonderful experience with lots of encounters, different impressions and a feeling of freedom and “finding myself”. I was EXTREMELY lucky with the weather and most people were very friendly and helpful. The cliché about French people not speaking foreign languages is definitely not true. After my trip to England 2 years ago, when I travelled through northern France, people told me it would be different in the south. I always attempt to speak the language of the country I am in, which I found that the French, just as any others appreciate, but that they are always willing to reply in English or German if you want. My French, which I had learned at school, came back gradually and improved from day to day. I did get a little confused after crossing the Spanish boarder and attempting to use my little Spanish, followed by Italy and trying to remember my to Italian.

On the whole I found drivers very courteous towards cyclists and in Switzerland and France it is quite OK to use pavements if there is no cycle lane.

I was very glad I had taken the tent. Although this had initially been planned for emergencies, I enjoyed camping so much that I didn’t even attempt to look for a room, the only exception being in Barcelona, where I stayed in a youth hostel. Even in the town of Narbonne, where I went into the tourist office, I opted for a campsite on the outskirts, rather that a hotel in the centre.

Of course I am extremely grateful to all my warmshowers hosts, Isa & Rebecca, Dominique & Ursula & Christian, Leo & Carlitos, Maud & Lionel, Rainer and Maciá & Steve who  all made me feel very welcome.

All the difficulties I overcame on my trip contributed to the overall feeling of success and strengthened my self-confidence.

Would I do it again? YES, definitely. However I did opt to do this now at 60, while I still have my own knees, hips etc. If I am lucky enough to remain fit and healthy I will almost do another trip, although it will probably be a slightly shorter and easier one.

before embarking 

Genoa

It was not possible to go home by train from Barcelona with my bike, but there were 2 other options. Either I could catch the overnight ferry to Genoa in Italy and regional trains from there to Brenner changing twice, or I could fly home from Barcelona to Memmingen by Ryanair. Obviously the 2nd option sounded considerably more attractive and there was not a vast difference in price. However to fly on Friday would have meant spending my one and only day in Barcelona trying to find a bike shop to provide me with a box and take my bike apart, also I would have had to fasten all my luggage together in such a way that it only counted as one piece. Could I count on there being someone at the airport with that plasic foil? Quite honestly I thought it was too much hassle. There were no flights on Saturday and after not liking Lloret I didn’t think I would want to stay 3 days in Barcelona (as it turned out I loved it there). So I decided on the ferry. I managed to get my ticket on Thursday morning. Again there were several options: a pullmann seat or a cabin with a considerable price difference or the compromise I chose – one of four berths in a ladies’ cabin, almost expecting to be alone, as I didn’t think there would be many ladies chosing this option.

On the day I pottered round the old town again, but soon got nervous and headed for the port. On my overpunctual arrival at check-in, I was told to go to the car park where I joined the motorcyclists. On boarding I was directed by smart uniformed staff to my deck, where I was given my key. There were several young men wearing black trousers and white shirts and one was told to take me to my cabin. As I didn’t hand over my rucksack, he just pointed, telling me to keep going right back and turned around. He’d obvioisly been wanting to carry my luggage for a tip!

I had just got into the cabin, in which only the 2 bottom births were made up, when the door opened and a younger lady came in – Lauren from Australia. We got on well instantly and ended up going for dinner together in the nice restaurant rather than the self-service. This being my last evening I went for the best steak.
The stairs on the ship were beautifully carpeted and I’d seen signs for swimming pool, exclusive fitness club, beauty salon etc. so I thought I was on a cruise ship. I set off really excited to find my way around and what a disappointment! The pool had rubbish in it and was covered with a net, through the parts of the beauty salon windows not covered in paper you could see a sofa and a load of metal crates and the fitness club had been turned into a mosque. Of more than two thirds of the passengers the ladies were wearing headscarves and the men long robes. On the deck where the rooms of pullman-seats were, people were lying on the corridor floors with sleeping bags and it smelt of urine. Lauren and I were so glad we had paid the extra to be able to lock up our stuff and have our own ensuite. Using combined efforts we managed to turn the air-conditioning down, as it was like a fridge at first. At night there was a turkish sounding disco directly under our cabin but thanks to earplugs I had an excellent night’s sleep!

As the ferry was due to land at 7, I was rather hopiong to get the 7:53 train, although I did realise that it would be a bit tight. However they announced in the evening that landing time would be 8:15 and that still hadn’t changed by the morning, probably due to the strong winds. In any case it took over an hour to disembark so I wouldn’t have made it anyway. This meant a 5 hour wait in Genoa which went extremely quickly. I had bought my ticket and was walking to the town thinking of coffee. Just as I came to a small cafe it started to rain, so I put the rain covers over my paniers and locked up my bike. I was hardly inside when the heavenss opened, so after the coffee I ordered a fresh orange juice, charged my phone and read a book. After a good half hour the sun came out and I had a very pleasant walk in the interesting old town. I don’t know how I managed to wander so far, but consulting the map I had picked up at the tourist office, I started to get a bit worried that I would miss my train. However I even had time for spaghetti in a quaint little taverna near the station.
The train journey itself was long but quite OK except for all the stairs at the stations and the high steps into the trains. (as opposed to Switzerland where there were ramps), but people were so helpful and assisted me carrying Bonny (*) with all her luggage. The change at Milan went surprisingly well, as according to Austrian rail I would have had a 2 hour wait, but the ticket clerk in Genoa had given me an earlier connection with only 7 minutes to change platforms. The hiccup came in Verona where I had nearly half an hour to change and even went for a coffee, while waiting on the wrong platform! When the train was called out nothing showed on the display, I looked again at the depatures board and had to go down stairs, run the whole length of the corridor and up another flight of stairs. I just made it, again with help, by the skin of my teeth.

My husband, Peter met me at Brenner and took me and Bonny home, where the were long red roses waiting on the table!

* Bonny was the name I gave my bike on my last trip to England.

I left the campsite and stopped at a little café for breakfast. I would have prefered fruit and yoghurt but there weren’t any shops open. The temptation to go back to the English pub for full-English was great, but they didn’t open till 10. However, this proved to be one of the best breakfasts I have had this trip – a cheese roll, a chocolate croissant, coffee and orange juice (330 ml. Pago) for just over 5 Euros.

Unlike Grau du Roi I didn’t like Lloret any more next morning. In fact I don’t know how anyone can come to this part of the coast for a holiday. The road was full of traffic and the only times I got lost were when I tried to get away from it. At some point it was possible to cycle along the sea front and this was enjoyable, though slow-going due to all the pedestrians.

Then there was a big hill – more like an enormous rock to circumnavigate and the ONLY way was on the road. Once on it the only ways of leaving it to seemed to be in the towns, where I could go on service roads or the wide tiled pavements which I nearly always took despite them being slow going – lots of traffic lights, up and down kerbs etc. Despite a motorway running parallel, there was a tremendous amount of traffic, but fortunately not many lorries, and usually a wide hard shoulder, but it still wasn’t pleasant – this should be my last day – the big one / and now this horror trip! Between the beach and the road runs a railway line with ugly overhead cables, preventing a decent view.  The guest accommodation was nearly all to the other side of the road and there were subways in every town for people to go under road and rail to the beach.

I hadn’t shopped for cheese and tomatoes (not that I would have found a nice place for a picnic anyway) as I had decided to treat myself to tapas for lunch at some nice little café en route. Well obviously without doing a detour, they were all near the road and I eventually stopped at one, where I had not tapas, but an excellent lunch at a low cost.

As I sat there, I thought “You never would have planned a route like this!”, so I got out my bike-map printout and it seemed to show a little yellow road along the coast. This was not recognisable on the “proper” Micheein map I had been using. Just before lunch I had seen a subway with a ramp (most of them are just stairs), so I went under road and rail and what did I find? Not a yellow road, but a cycle track!!! I don’t know how much of this I had missed, but everything changed from horror to pure delight within seconds. I stayed on it until about 10 kms. before Barcelona and decided I wanted a swim in the sea. But everyone had said how careful you have to be in Barcelona and I was scared to leave my stuff unattended on the beach. What to do?

I found an impressive looking Club Nautique, went in, explained my situation and asked if I could pay to leave my valuables there for half an hour. After he had finally understood what I wanted, the man was extremely cooperative and a lady who was also in there and had interpreted, said I should also leave my bike within his sights too, so he could keep an eye on it! I had a fabulous swim and on collecting my things asked the price – no nada! I wanted him to take money for a coffee or a beer, but he declined in such a manner that I know he would have been offended if I’d insisted.

After that the cycle route seemed to end because of the port of Badalona, but I finally found it again and followed it to Barcelona. I was feeling quite sick with anticipation, but no big bells rang, no firework display, no bubbly or bouquet, no I didn’t even see a sign that I was in Barcelona! I had been told that I would pass Barcelona port, but it didn’t come and when I finally consulted map and GPS I found I had gone too far! This time my NOKIA did take me all the way to the youth hostel without further hiccups, so after settling in I went out for a good meal and half a litre of sangria!

Tour stats: 81,05 km., 150 m. climb, 6:51 bike time

On seeing my blog on a real computer I have found lots of horrendous spelling mistakes, a lots of which I have now corrected.

These are largely due to me writing the posts on my mobile phone, the small keyboard and the small print on the screen.

It was getting on for 10 when I finally left. I was still a bit unsure which way to go, as when I had asked Matt and Steve for suggestions they said it would be better to go via Girona because of the hills on the coast. However they had suggested untarred and unsignposted farm tracks to Girona and I thought that would cost me too much time.
I had almost made up my mind to go my original way, but when I got to the crossroads and saw how little traffic there was, made a snap decision and took the “yellow)” road to Girona. I was averaging over 25 and thinking I would be in Girona shortly after 11, but if so – how boring. I’ld have nothing to tell:

The “yellow” road suddenly ended and I had to turn left onto a busy “red”road. As the lorries thundered by, I thought “no way am I gong on that even if it is only 2,5 km.” I saw a track running parallel and took that. After 2 big puddles, which I cycled through without any problem, there was a bend taking the track away from the road and up a steep hill, so I turned round. Thinking I wouldn’t get enough speed up round the bend to pass back through the puddles, I tried to push the bike through and walk around them. Easier said than done! There I was trying to get the brambles off one leg with the other foot stuck in the quagmire!  I did eventually escape (obviously or I wouldn’t be writing this). It wasn’t at all funny at the time, but I laugh now at the picture it must have presented. OK then, up th hill it is! The track ended on a quiet road, which took me to a little village just off the main road. I couldn’t find the place called St. Julia, which, according to my map should hav taken me a quiet way into Girona and, trusting my instinct rather than my GPS. tried another track. I’d only gone a fer metres when signs for foot and cycle path to Girona appeared – clever girl! This eventually ended in guess what? A busy main road, but at least there didn’t seem to be many lorries and there was a wide hard shoulder, so I took it – not that I had much choice. I came to a tourist office and the nice young man in there not only told me a quieter way to get into the old town, but also how to get to the “green way” – a cycle route that would take me all the way to the coast. This was fine – mostly flat, but sandy. It must have rained fairly hard before I got there but I only caught a few drops. What I did get though was a shower from some sprinklers. I even had to put rain covers over my handlebar bag and rucksack to go through because there were so many spraying so hard all over the cycle path. Unfortuately I had to leave this route for Tossa and Lloret in order to miss a few of the hills. Matt had suggested me joining the coast even further south, but a cars-only dual carriage way prevented me from doing that.
The pass into Tossa wasn’t as bad as I had expected. The road had obviously been cut through the hill, but going down there was a horrible noise and there was some nylon thread caught up in my back disc brake.
I had to take all the luggage off and upend the bike to get it out, but noone stopped for the damsel in distress. I made it down to Tossa but didn’t go right down to the sea as I thought I would see it on my climb out towards Lloret. Unfortunately that road went round the back of the hill, but there had been some spectacular views which I wouldn’t have missed for the world. I finally got to Lloret and what a disappointment: a busy town with lots of traffic!
Afer my usual beer (which I had to buy in the camp supermarket because the bar was closed), a swim in the pool, and setting up the tent, I set off for a meal.
Walking through the bustling pedestrian shopping area I didn’t see many restaurants, so headed for the sea front. At an Engllish pub I had paella and Sangria and decided to go a different way back to the campsite. What a mistake! There was so much night life; noise and flashing lights, that I ended up taking a taxi.

Tour stats: 85.45 km., 607 m. climb, 6:55 bike time.