Tossa de Mar to Playa Santa Cristina – 18th November
Last day and the sun came out to warm things to a nice eighteen at LLoret de Mar. The Catalans actually say Y for LL so it would be Yoret de Mar. However, I’m three miles further down the road, treating myself to what I thought would be a better hotel. Last night the young people above me came in at 2AM and kept busy to 4.30AM, didn’t hear me shouting at them to shut up, or just ignored me. I remember going away for weekends and getting drunk in hotels etc. So now the shoe is definitively on the other foot.
Leaving Tossa de Mar. I liked the old town inside the walls, shame nothing was open.My last cliff path for this trip.A better view of the whole town.A rugby pitch. Mucho Surpriseo.It’s soon to be my hot tin roof so keep walking buddy.This shit is bugging me. The walkers wear the surface down creating a path for the water – when it rains – and the water just erodes everything so fast. I blame those bloody pointed sticks that I see a lot off. All these people in their lycra and walking poles sticking them into ground breaking it up and loosening it for the above.Well now, very sensible. Ban the parasols. The brits must have been breaking bottles over German heads at being forced into the shade on their supposedly sunny hols.Yeah! Stop throwing those firecrackers – boys. Must be a problem.Canyelles coming up, or down, as it where. Built right up the hills like loads of these coastal towns.The platja. Just had coffee and there was loads of Russians in.My last piece of pine forest?There is often a small collection of houses on the hillside and the postie comes on his yellow scooter to these delivery points. Then, you have to come down the hill and get your stuff.My destination is behind that headland.Going up and down endlessly again. But at least there are steps on this bit. Actually, I’d rather have a hard mud slope.The stairs led to one of those managed path sections with low walls to keep you from toppling into the sea. If you zoom in you can see the walking group that I came upon. It took me a good twenty minutes to get past them all as they were spread out in drips and drabs on the slopes. For twenty minutes I had to listen to their yammer and it wasn’t even in French. Only about a dozen or so coves to go.Aha! Lloret de Mar appearing through a tunnel. Like the art work?The whole sorry business.The gothic church of Sant Roma in two photos ‘cos I can’t fit it in one.The basilica. Funky. Leaving LLoret. Also full of Russians. This time promenading and smoking. Last lap.Oh! the shame. What have I done?Where’s that bloody boy with his finger. That hole is getting bigger by the minute. I bet he’s away sticking that finger where he shouldn’t.Saint Joan’s castle – can’t be the same one.All wonderful sound advice but I’m at the end. However, the GR92 goes on and we follow that for a bit.Last beach and time for lunch. Playa de Fenals.Bye bye. Someone is going to get chopped for throwing away the giant’s sausage rolls.Definitely the last hill and forest. The roots are helping me climb.The Playa Santa Christina and the hotel’s pool below. Just have to get down to it.That shortcut didn’t work. Now I have to climb back up the hill.Well, I’d to go back up the hill – in the background – down the road a bit and then an extra K of windy driveway to the hotel.Just done the Cami de Ronda and extras, love, face.
Loved most of my last yomp. Surprised by the Russians and how far the hotel was from Lloret de Mar. I should really know to check by now. A long old shower and a snooze – if I can manage it – before a leisurely dinner, a well earned sleep, and early rise to pack for home. I wonder if my last waiter, like every single one before, will express disbelief that I want dos cervesa sense alcohol. “Dos!” they’ll say back to me, shaking their head at the madness of it all. Adéu filles.
