A brightish and rather later than I’d like start, but this stage was a short one to ease me back in after a two-month lay off. So, after a brief taxi ride with a woman who seemed on first name terms with every man we passed in both towns – you go girl – I arrived in Portbou. I know that this is a sign, like forgetting the magnificent Daniel Radcliffe’s name, but let’s just put it down to rushing. I forgot to buy sunglasses at either Dublin or Barcelona airport and also, more importantly perhaps, forgot my sun block. Forty mins later then, I’ve found a shop that is open and has some. Let us begin.
Portbou bay. And its a very pleasant 14 degrees.Straight into the climbs then. Someday I’m not going to manage the first hill. What a bummer. Portbou below and I think I’m halfway up the first one.A nice bit of road, Gromett, but we are taking the straight up route somewhere over to the right of that bend.Llançà in the distance and rising up behind it, tomorrow’s mountain. I need to reach that tallest summit by 1 o’clock.An electric fence bars the route. Not much of a thing but I don’t want a shock out here. Can’t go over it, Can’t go under it. Can’t go around it – easily. Aha! That black bit is rubber and covers the wire by that hook like thing, meaning it can be un-hooked. You’ve got to wonder if other folk don’t figure it out and head back down the valley to get past. But. WTF are they keeping in or out? The white and red flashes on the rock are the guide marks for the path.Colera down below for café maybe, once I’ve gone round this hill.Some bits are very well maintained. Like here, where they have levelled the slope with a small retaining wall. Dix points.Do you like my arty sun rays?Ahh! Poor dead hiker. Let’s not join him. I may not approach, cross of denial exists.Obs. had fire problems in summer, loads of burnt bits around. Climbs are just hard work. Descents need max concentration ‘cos of the uneven surface.Coming in to Colera. I saw this in Portugal and Malta as well. The UK’s major, undying contribution to the EU – Stop signs in English.Dem Smurfs has loss dem’s hats. So far all the towns are ghost towns. All the buildings – summer rents – are closed up.I’ve climbed out of Colera and I’m now heading up the mountain on this quite wide track to the giant sausage. It’s gone off a bit, now an unhealthy grey.That peak again, with the thing on top for tomorrow. Haysus! It looks like hard work.Levelled off a bit down this nice pine edged road. It’s a managed plantation but a whole lot nicer than those lifeless conifer woods we get on our hills. Now don’t laugh, but I’ve gone wrong and climbed a fucking mountain I didn’t have to. One and a half miles back down to the right path. Fuckity. Fuck.The right route now and I’m seeing a lot of these bushes with their bits of Police, “Do not enter,” incident tape twisted on. Maybe they’ve scratched a passing American with malicious intent – and who can blame them.Back down to the sea and a nice empty bay, Platja de Garvet.This one a bit further on has soft sand and no possible way for cars to get to it. I wish I’d brought the swimmage gear. Platja del Borro.Quite correct. Well done for hanging that sign. I certainly won’t be using the forest as my latrine (lies). I do remember that my paper is not biodegradable, thank you (might be, but don’t usually have any anyway). I love the bit in red which I think is the name of the group that put this up. Best I can make out it is, “Path Goats.”Llançà across the bay. The “further than it looks,” principle now comes into play.A step made for old people to get down to the beach. If they tumble on any segment they only have to fall a couple of metres before hitting a wall and not the whole way down. I only stumbled twice but no falls.On a managed path for the final bit. God! How different the beach must be in summer. I’ve come round a few of these bays and each has their own, closed up, small hotel at its head.Lovely Llançà. I hope there is food somewhere.
It is wonderful being surrounded by foreign voices again, no hint of any barbarous English tones anywhere – long may it continue. The French and Spanish and of course the Catalans who drift into both and their own at will during a conversion. Perhaps some phrase or pithy remark just sounds better in French. They certainly prefer “Ah Bien” and “Merci” instead of the Spanish equivalents. I have a hideous choice to make tomorrow. If I’m not at least half way by 1 o’clock then I’ll need to turn back. Sunset is 5.30 local, though I could stretch it to 6 if I thought the last mile was not on a cliff top or a rock strewn descent. We shall see.
