A week is a long time!

Wow, it's been nearly a week since I wrote, partly due to a lock of internet and partly due to a lack of time and motivation.

Now, lets try and catch up..... sit tight, its a big one!!

I left Margalef the next morning (Thursday 5th). It was a shame to go without catching the Chulilla guys, but as I later confirmed, they had gone to the dam and had no phone signal, and obviously enough supplies to stay there, so I'd had an idea to check out a couple of the favoured van storage places over the next couple of days and being a little closer to Barcelona would be useful. I decided to visit Montserrat.

Mac and Holly heard my idea and said what a lovely place it is, my friend Dave had been recently and the pictures he'd shown me were beautiful... And they were all right!

As I drew closer the pinnacles grew and grew and this, unique, wonderful, magical place appeared before me. I stopped in El Bruc (after getting slightly lost and discovering the monastery road has an entry fee and gate), and bought one or two bits and pieces and had a coffee in Bar Anna which had some old guide books to flick through (and wifi).

I swung Sparky around the bends as we climbed up the mountainside into this strange other-worldly landscape of conglomerate pinnacles, walls and soaring towers, until I found a good parking spot on the west side. I left the van with chalk bag and rock shoes along with a small lunch and wandered along the path. Once into the tress the path swung this way and that, around the base of the towers. I'd climb up to ledges on some of them and on one easy angled pinnacle I solo'd up to the top to savour the view and have a bite to eat. What an incredible place!!! What a view!!! Word simply cannot do it justice I'm afraid, at least my words.

It's like a seemingly endless climbing playground, hilariously funny shapes but with serious implications... At the top, the path just stops at the edge of things with massive drops below to the forest. No barriers, no signs, no health and safety here.... On your own head be it. Rightly so!

I walked and bouldered around, finding the refugio and a ruined castle, totally lost in the moment, a special moment, one I feel honoured to have experienced, before I realised the sun was setting and I'd been having so much fun nearly all day. 

A wonderful magical, so special day :)

Back at the car park there were 2 other vans for company and I felt ok about staying the night. I went out in the dark later to look at an amazing landscape, lit bright by the full moon and chat with Themi, once I'd found a signal, but the chilly evening air soon forced me back into the warmth and an early night all cosy and happy.

In the morning the drive along the north side was regularly interrupted for more amazing photo opportunities until eventually, the main road east to the city demanded my full attention.

I had been a wonderful 24 hours. A very special day, in a special part of the world. Memories from today will stay with me forever, a time and experience I'll never forget.

It struck me while I was up amongst the pinnacles and the chilly air, that some people won't ever see this place. Some people don't even know of its existence. The worst of it is they probably don't even care.

There's a big world out there. Not all of it is smothered with tourists, at least not all the time, and there are occasions, like today for me, that the timing is right and the experience is a wonderful one. It pains me to think that less then 2 hours east from here there are the beach resort hot spots of Salou and the various other Costa Dourada resorts, yet how many of the visiting tourists drag themselves from the roller coasters and water parks and venture to see Montserrat or even Prades and some of the small Spanish towns only a short painless drive west in a hire car?

I remember chatting with the Chulilla gang about travel, and I've said in this blog not long ago about just doing it, when you can, when your young. Some of the places Gerd and Nic have been climbing already in their young lives are fantastic. Steve flew from the US to travel and climb, got robbed in Morocco and without much money and only a copy of his passport, has carried on, making friends along the way and enriching his life. One of the Czech's I met there, Anka (?), has packed so much into her life, been to so many places, had a lifetimes worth of experiences, learned to get by in several different languages and regularly hitches rides all over Europe, and yet she's still in 'her' decade, still in her 20's. They all are......  And I have the utmost respect and admiration for them all.

Jorris the loveliest Frenchman I've ever met, so warm and funny, instantly friendly and always welcoming in his little yellow Traffic. I found the van again in Margalef, but sadly not the jovial owner. Stephane too, the Swiss French...Dry funny and again, very friendly. Nicole, the German psychologist and one of the funniest climbing women I've met, in a crazy, friendly way.

Cioran, Al, myself...we were a little older and seemed to have 'reasons' for travelling now... Our own reasons, along with that desire to travel, to climb, to improve. For me, I've forced myself to be brave to do this. To face my fears and quest out into the unknown and fight the nerves. I remember on the boys trips 10 years ago I'd be the one in the back too nervous to drive or even navigate for the first couple of trips, and now I'm taking big deep breaths and hauling Sparky along narrow winding mountain roads to unknown destinations, sometimes busy with other vans and climbers, and sometimes facing lonely nights alone, another thing only a few short years ago I was rarely able to do, when the need for company was overpowering.

I can do it. I've learned that I can. I've realised that I've been looked after by someone, cared for, loved, all my life in one form or another. The family, Mom, The Forces, Marriage.... Never alone, never by myself. Until these past few years. Even then, I guess technically, I've only been physically actually 'alone' for short periods. I know the Glasgow gigs were partly about music, and partly about just being amongst people, even for a short while, it would be long enough to take the alone time. Only recently I've begun to appreciate the quiet more, to cope with the times of loneliness, those long evenings, wet weekends, mid week days off, and yes sometimes actively seeking it out, choosing it over other options. 

So with that in mind, from Montserrat I drove to an area of North Barcelona called Ripolett to check out a van storage place. I drove there, I risked it, and did it, on my own, with my fragile sat nav for guidance! I managed to agree a deal and agree to confirm with a phone call once I'd checked the other place out, all in very poor Spanish and no English, numbers drawn on a dusty van wind screen. We coped ok, and it seemed like a safe place for Sparky, if a little pricey for what will probably be close to a 2 month stay.

South now, around Barca and down the coast towards Tarragonna and El Vendrell. In amongst the Irish bars, the kiss me quick hats, the tat shops and MacDonalds..... Hell. 

I found the parking, basic but secure and sunny (for the solar), and the owners emails and phone calls were in passable English, far better than my poor attempts at his language I'm afraid, and mildly embarrassed to say. Again, we agreed a price and I left to think about the options and headed to the quietest spot so far. Mont Ral.

There was nothing here.... A long winding drive slowly up hill to the very top of everything, another rustic chapel, another old charming refugio, a very basic but open one, no wifi so I didn't stay. I parked near to a spot mentioned in the climbing guide, debating whether to stay, or drive down to Alcover and look for a camp site, even maybe another hours driving down and round, or across to Siurana again? All the time the sun is setting and its getting dark. The hassle of driving some more lost out to staying put, eating, and sleeping and I nervously got the van ready for bed while supper was cooking. I ventured out of the van a couple of times to listen to the strange noises and see the warmly lit chapel glowing under yet another fantastic clear starry night. This truly is an amazing country.

I woke up alive again :) and without much delay or dithering, Sparky and I were winding our way back down the hill, back to El Vendrell, packing bags and getting the van ready for his sunny resting stop while I flew to Kalymnos to spend some quality time with Themi, fix the elbow (I Hope) and do a little work perhaps.

Dragging a small suitcase and carrying my climbing sack on my back I felt worried about leaving Sparky behind (we've become very close), but otherwise relaxed and happy that I'd made the right decision, about the elbow and the van, and also about parking today instead of waiting till tomorrow morning and then rushing in a mad panic to get the 1120 flight to Athens on a Sunday morning. Now it was a stress free train experiment with time to spare. El Vendrell to Barca, change, then Barca to El Prat de Lobrigat, which as it turned out, was painless and easy with fast changes and helpful rail staff.

I was expecting.... actually I'm not sure what I was expecting from El Prat, but its an overspill town from Barca and a very short distance from the airport, but somehow still manages to be an ok sort of place, especially in the middle where the heart of the town was a wide central rambla with shops, cafes and bars along both sides There was a central reservation between the road lanes decked out with market stalls. The buildings were mostly 4 or 5 stories high, with green awnings to shield the windows, most had their washing hanging from the balconies... I wouldn't go as far as saying it was nice.... but not too bad.

As I walked toward the outskirts of town heading for the hostel, the Alborg Centre Esplai, things got a little more basic, but still nice enough. At first I thought the hostel was a sports centre but it turned out to be a modern and well run place to spend the night. 

I went out for a long walk later on, out amongst the quiet side streets and on to the allotments towards the Decathlon and the big shops. To top off my travel day I caught a bus back. Google maps and the hostel wifi had told me which bus to catch and sure enough it worked a treat. I got off in the centre of El Prat which was by now jumping with lively happy smiling people, couples out strolling, shopping and chatting as the sun set in an awesome display of pinks and reds. Sunshine. I love it.

Breakfast followed a sticky hot, mozzy avoiding night. I'd opened the balcony door to freshen the air and accidentally let one or two in, then a shared cab to the airport. Travelling again. I still don't mind this. Its still an adventure. Even getting my rucksack searched at security didn't phase me and I chatted away with the guy who was asking about the climbing gear and assorted electrical cables he kept pulling out of the bag. Again, no time pressure, no stress. 

Everything went fine today. Aegean are an ok airline, I had a meal surprisingly included in the price, and I sat next to a Greek/Danish couple of my sort of age that own Captain George's restaurant on Corfu (He was THE Captain George, she was Lisa and Danish). We had a good couple of hours chat. A very nice couple.

The wait at Athens was spent with 2 episodes of Breaking Bad (S2/E10+11) and the time flew by as I bit my nails watching Walter White slowly changing into Hisenburg and Jessie being his most idiotic so far. Great stuff.

More nice chat with a family from Kos on the flight to their island. In arrivals an American called Nathan came to say hello. A climber on his first visit to Kalymnos. We shared a cab to Mastihari and chatted as we waited on board the last ferry home. Themi was waiting at the harbour and it was lovely to see that happy smiling face again, good to be back.

We packed Nathan off in a taxi to Masouri and squeezed the case, the sack and the two of us on the red scooter and pootled our way through Pothia and up the hill to Argos.

Spitti mou, Spittaki mou.