An American woman just sparks up and speaks to me this morning at breakfast. Totally ignoring my, leave me the F alone vibe. In ten minutes I’ve had a potted history of her life. She’s fifty five, of Californian Italian Spanish mix and just finished her PHD, which as far as I can make out is in colouring in. She is in Cadaqués to buy a farm which she’ll turn into a retreat for artists and a nurturing centre for troubled children, who will be helped by giving them a line drawing and some crayons but – and this is the bit that got me – pastels only and never, ever, red or black. She may be right. Thankfully she left to meet her Realtor.
I’m leaving and the sun is trying to break through.Cadaqués. A lovely place with a lovely vibe. Just feels great.With the sun behind her, she almost looks real.My first V.M. shrine. I am astounded that there isn’t more.Feeling good after the first climb. A comfortable twelve degrees with an aromatic breeze coming down from the mountain.A seemingly inaccessible house near the top of a mountain. Not for me. By the way, a few mountains today and a slew of hills that wish now that they’d eaten their greens (three hundred odd metres makes it).When the sun is baking you pop into your stone hut for some shade.Down to that cove. But much too small to have somewhere to get le café to fortify me for the climb out.Cala Joncols. There turns out to be a small hotel hidden back from the beach. If you want a quiet time with nothing to do. Try here.Which you can see on this one as I get up the hill.Those mountains way down on the other side of Roses bay will need conquering as well. Once I get round it.I’ve followed Herman the German’s route and come down that bastard of a slippery, hairy slope.Just a million of these in and out with their upz and downz to go.That’s why. That terrifying route was denied. Should have been a sign at the other end, and I should have ended up by the left of that tree, not coming along the cliff on the right.Cala Calitjàs and some seats for the Old People.Which is empty as well. Seventeen degrees now and easily warm enough for us half Irish to swim.Just back from the beach is strangely, a well.Coming into Cala Montjoi and here you can get, as well as the normal emergency peeps, the Mosquito Squadron and some emergency Bombers.Doesn’t seem to be a need for any. Coming up is a cliff path that I’ve been dreading since reading about it on the trail Nazis site.Fucking lovely.On top of the rest now floods!The morning hills in the background.Not even the suburbs. just the hint of the R in Roses. Not sure what the fuss was about. That bit where I went wrong was scary, but this path. which I was dreading only had a couple of spots. Nothing in comparison.Platja de Canyelles Petites. They don’t seem to want to leave any of the hill unbuilt on.An hour to go but I’m stopping for café. Got chased from the spot I wanted across the road cos they’re closing but not really a prob. I haven’t had anything since breakfast. Him with the dog must be special.The real Roses, finally.They’re fond of giant origami competitions. This year’s winner.The pride is strong at le boules.Tonight’s gaff. Noisy as F. Not sure about the name or staying in Marys Ol.
I was feeling very strong today in the hills, but the last six miles of the in and outs on those little bays has knackered me in for some reason. Early bed and a new start for tomorrow on the bit the Hermans taxied round.
