Day 42. A-Z of Italy. Not!

Even the best laid plans go astray and  mine were not particularly well laid so it's perhaps not surprising that Wednesday night found me sitting on board the MV Marko Polo in Ancona bound for Split with an S, not Zadar with a Zed, thus completely ruining my carefully contrived arriverderci to Italy!

Staying in a youth hostel is good for one's morale. I left Rimini hostel in high spirits after the dolly bird receptionist had called me a 'ragazzi' in booking ahead at Ancona. She said I was much younger than she was since she couldn't possibly consider cycling that distance! This blatant flattery caused me to set off thoughtlessly following other cyclists in broadly the right direction...straight into a giant clothes market! I then pfaffed around on the outskirts of town trying to get on the right road, ie not the autostrada or SS, and finally found a sort of coast road as far as Catholica, where the map showed a nice wiggly green bit. 

Hell's teeth! I should have looked more carefully at the word 'monte' because the wiggly bit was 20k of severe coast hills! I ducked out after 5k and back on to the boring, straight SS road...for about 50k of the most dire, dirty and dismal riding I have yet encountered.  It got me to Ancona about 5.00ish to find the Zadar ferries have now stopped for the winter. It was Split or nothing. 

Fortunately Graham was kind enough to drive the considerable extra distance and gather me in safely to his bijou hideway in Starigrad Paklenica, squeezed between the strikingly dramatic hills of the national park and the strikingly empty Adriatic beaches.

I've cycled about 2000km. Quo vadis?

Day 38-41. Who says it has to be interesting?

Ok, I suppose it's just possible that Italy is a bit narrower than France but I still can't quite believe that I got across in four days. Mind you, I had a flying start since Cari & Mike gave me a lift round the Ligurian coast on their way to the second week of their holiday - it would have been a horrible ride!

Day 38

After being dropped off in Genoa at 12.00ish, I spent pretty much the whole day searching for and then climbing the SS45 up into the Appennine Hills. 

To judge from the number of shrines lining its many hairpin corners, the SS45 is a pretty dangerous road. Fortunately I was riding it on Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning when all the bikers come out to play. 

The other advantage of following an A route is that the Italians love to dive dramatically through hills in tunnels and cross the rivers on high bridges, so the up and down stuff has been much less that it would have been on a smaller road.

My legs eventually called time on day 1 at a small place called Rovegno which is about 750m above and 40k from Genoa. Rough camp night.

Day 39

Got to my original day 1 destination, Bobbio, by about 10.00 and it was pretty much level - and scenic - going down the valley for the rest of the way. 

In the end I decided to head up and join the main spinal road running NW to SE which really wasn't too busy, it being a Sunday afternoon. Managed well over 100k and also found the youth hostel in Parma: a vast and largely uninhabited place where I'll get a decent night's sleep and breakfast for €23. 

Day 40

Best forgotten. I still spent a lot of time perched on the edge of the road between Parma and Bologna as lorries and vans squeezed past. 

Day 41

The area between Bologna and Ravenna reminded me very much of the Fens: high quality fields being carefully prepared by the farmers, high-level roads that ran at right angles round the fields, drainage ditches and, of course, endless roadside fruit shops!

Ok, I suppose it's just possible that Italy is a bit narrower than France but I still can't quite believe that I got across in four days. Mind you, I had a flying start since Cari & Mike gave me a lift round the Ligurian coast on their way to the second week of their holiday - it would have been a horrible ride!

Day 34. Towns on hills

Whether it's the view from the hill or of the town on the hill, I've stayed in some cracking places over the past month: Rouge (near Mirepoix), Merens-les-Vals (near Andorra),  Les Crets (near Montpelier), Cipieres (Haute Province) and now Pietrabruna (near Sanremo). 

From Rouge towards Mirepoix

Cipieres

Pietrabruna

Day 30. Of light and air

Another lovely ride through Haute Province with some rather dramatic misty effects in the mountain valley and some highly scenic stone arches further down towards my goal: Cipieres. 

Early morning light on the D2 somewhere near Valderoure. 

I knew there was a reason why I brought my camera. 

You can see why they've apparently used this road in various Bond movies. 

I've come to catch up with Pam RR, a friend from university days. She has lived in these parts for over 20 years and I can see why. The area reminds me strongly of north Wales and quite a few north Waleans and expats are drawn to the area, many working in Sophia Antipolis, the local equivalent of Silicon Valley.  

Greolieres from the air

Apart from being a gorgeous little Roman hill town (opposite equally lovely Greolieres) Cipieres is within 30mins of a local skiing area, 40mins of Nice, has some lovely GR walking routes,  off-road biking and, thanks to Marcus, the chance to go paragliding! 

Day 29. Gorgeous gorges

Another highlight day! The pictures will tell the story of this extremely photogenic ride along the Canyon du Verdon, followed by a long climb to the top and descent to lunch in La Palud. 

I think this was Moustiers Ste Marie, the village at the start of the route up the Canyon. 

 

It's like the Gap of Rohan - abandon hope all ye who enter here!

Yes it is a beautiful, blue river but check out the road half way up the mountain on the right - that's where I've just  come from! Jaw-dropping stuff.

Only in France. Literally at the 1032m summit this guy was looking after his lavender.  Respect! 

Again, I would definitely not have managed the ascent without first some Mark Knopfler and then some 'epic' music that I had recorded for the gym. Think Lord of the Rings or Pirates of the Caribbean - it's manipulative, powerful and works on a very emotional level to invigorate, inspire me and inject energy into my limbs! Yes, I know that headphones cut one off from the environment in some ways but, at times, that's just what's needed!

[Later]

After lunch and a bit more cross country stuff, I ended up loitering at a Ferme d'hote, near La Roque Esclapon, scrumping their tomatoes and waiting for over an hour for someone to appear. They returned just as I was leaving but were not friendly and had no rooms. Lots of potential rough camping but I actually found the village campsite just down the hill, again with no signs of life except a little caff nearby with chef & waitress sitting outside. No other customers!  I asked if they did food and was offered steak and chips, which is just what I needed. Most accommodating & friendly. What a day!

Day 28. Lovely Luberon

The first part of today's ride was as nice as anything I've done, except perhaps the Canal du Midi, because I was following a nice off-road route from Cavailon to Apt in the vale of the Luberon Mountains. I passed through some lovely Italianate hill villages such as Lacoste (home to the Chateau of the Marquis de Sade), Menerbes and Bannieux - all of which were splendid in the golden light of the early morning. 

Apparently all sorts of celebs inhabit the Luberon but they were still dozing away as this smelly cyclist wobbled past their high security doors. 

It turned out to be another hot day though and I was grateful for another off-road cycle track that led out of Apt. I was equally grateful to Anthony Trollope since I spent nearly the whole day immersed in the complicated world of his Barchester Chronicles which saw me up a couple of particularly grinding hills around Manosque en route to Gréoux les Bains, where I camped up for a third night in a row. 

Too tired to go back into the town for a meal so downed a little bottle of something while charging the various electronic bits and pieces - a constant headache. However I seemed to have covered six folds out of ten on the way to Cipieres, which is enticingly just on the right-hand edge of the map!

Ahead lay what looked to be a hard day in terms of hills around the ominously named Canyon du Verdon, where we have 1000m or so to get up, depending on whether I take the A or the B road! Weather/knees/spirit still holding up for the moment. 

Day 26. Cross dressing in Montfrin

Left Montpelier at 8.00 and took circuitous route north of Nimes via Sommieres (very pretty) and Uzes (also lovely) in order to see the Roman aqueduct at  Pont du Gard. Put off by tourists and €20 fee so  tootled on south to marked  but actually closed campsite at Montfrin.  

Too tired after 100k to search more and decided to try to rough it camping on the local football pitch. However, I had first to invest in my first ever 'bas collants' (knee-length stockings)  in order to  keep the flies at bay. Can't imagine why the local gendarmerie kept driving past me as I waited for dusk to fall on a local park bench, knocking back a can of Leffe, in my fetching stockings!

After a couple of hours of cat and mouse,  I dove down the lane behind the pitches and found a corner of a foreign field which is now forever England and which did very nicely...

I can now announce that, if for no other reason, my trip has been a success because I have been to the home of Harribo! Estelle's house is right behind the giant, sweet-smelling monster which is to be found - or avoided - in Pont des Charettes. 

Day 23. "Port on Land"

Whatever it's called on the sign, let's face it - this is a multi-storey boat park! 

Seen near Montpellier.

Day 21. The Canal du Midi

One of the most enjoyable day's cycling so far spent picking my way along a bumpy tow path through the dappled shade of seemingly endless avenues of plane trees along the Canal du Midi, near Carcassonne.

Because it was cool and flat, I somehow managed to cover nearly 100k and, when I emerged from the trees, I found the whole atmosphere had changed from  Midi-Pyrenées to Mediterranean. Tomorrow I will be able to dip my toes in the Med! 

Day 18. GR10 - the road to enlightenment

If you've been paying attention to earlier adventures in Snowdonia, you'll know that my forays up hills don't always work out exactly as planned. Today's was just such another but I'm far from unhappy at the outcome. 

When I woke, the clouds were still low over the mountains surrounding Merens Les Vals, rolling up the valley allowing little glimpses of the scenic hilltops all around, some with dashes of snow on them! The concierge said it had snowed down to 2000m. MLV is at about 1000m but the snowline didn't look that far away at all!

Undaunted, I stocked up on basics and headed up the hill in an attempt to do some sort of mini circuit that would lead me back to Ax Les Thermes tomorrow or the day after. Ideally I'd like to manage an overnight in a refuge or, at worst, 'le camping savage', for which I was fairly well equipped, complete with new rucksack and just enough rations for a couple of days. 

The walk itself was good and not impossibly difficult. About 1000-1500m (ie Snowdon from sea level) up a scenic valley and through the forest, following the path of a rain-swollen river up to its source. For once I knew exactly where I was. Not only did I have the right map and my Satmap gizmo but the GR10 is really well marked on trees and rocks at just the points where you need reassurance! I thanked each marked as I passed it! 

Reassuringly frequent red and white flashes to mark the way

About three hours later, when the sun had still not appeared to burn off the mist and warm everything up, I gradually started seeing little patches of snow that grew more frequent as I progressed, until I was pretty much walking up a snowfield.  Unfortunately the way to the refuge was a good 45minutes climbing over a col of about 2300m and, as bits of ice began to fill the space between my foot and my sandal, I began to feel it was '…pas une bonne idée' to plough on, in the wrong footwear, on my own, with no certainty that the refuge would be where it should be. So, I did the sensible thing and turned back - the second time I have gone into reverse gear on a mountain this year. It was the right thing to do (my feet are still partially numb two days' later!). 

"...pas une bonne idee"

Even so I'm still glad that I gave it a go because my experience in Spain had led me to think of the Pyrenées as daunting, unfriendly, hot and dangerous. Whereas in fact a closer acquaintance suggests that they are eminently accessible, really attractive and covered with well marked and walkable routes - especially if you've got the right footwear on. (I have now discovered one can get waterproof socks!)

At last a bit of culture that even I could not miss - a Xth century Romanesque church in the Spanish Style, natch.

Day 17. Back to the mountains

Can you have too much pampering? Fearful of sinking into gastronomic gluttony, I spashed out on a rucksack and have come back up into the mountains for a spot of walking. A bus from Mirepoix to Pamiers and a train to Ax les Thermes brought me through some lovely scenery that might just justify the description 'the last remaining wilderness in Europe'. 

I have done quite a bit of walking already but, alas, most of it has been up the N20, the busy main road up to Andorra since my starting point, Merens les Vals, is about 10k up this road. And, as I arrived there, it started to rain! To be honest, it was forecast so I can't really complain but, with no clear refuge identified for the night, it wasn't sensible to launch off into the mist and rain and risk getting cold as well as lost. Hey! I must be learning at last. 

Seen at the entrance to Merens Les Vals. Are they objecting to the bears, to the hunters or something else completely?

Have booked into a campsite which is distinguished by two things: a €70 fee for the minimum - a two bedroom, all-in chalet - and the longest wifi password yet encountered (c25 characters!).  

My little refuge featured on a poster in the bus stop...

It's pretty much deserted in this weather so I'm in their lounge, like the rain, pouring over assorted maps trying to see if there's a way I can do a circular route over a couple of days that will bring me back to a road near the bus or train line.  

Day 9. Grumpy at St Gaudens

Not quite sure how I've managed to cover quite so much ground today because it was hot. However I started nice and early. The only thing I really remember about today's ride is that I wanted to get up from the campsite back on to the main road so I headed north. And climbed. And climbed. And climbed! I think it was about 1000m. 

And not for any obvious reason I could see, ie a band of hills or a rocky outcrop. Just a bloody great hill that I decided to cycle up and which left me in a really bad mood because it sapped all my energy. Fortunately it wasn't followed by a giant downhill but a fairly gentle top of the ridge ride towards St Gaudens. 

Other than that, had a simply fab picnic lunch in the middle of nowhere in which every mouthful was pure pleasure. Too much sun overall though: I'm very tired this evening and I've got about 80k to reach June's tomorrow...

Free wifi, a clean loo and a mango McFlurry - all for two euros!

Day 8. A week in...

Not quite sure what happened to day 7. My notes say that I went from Salies de Béarn to Lac de Badrieux but, frankly, it's a bit of a blur! I do remember that the Lac de B had a lake with a semi automated waterski drag lift. And that I cadged a cup of tea then had supper with two Brits. Slept badly due to cold (!! sleeping bag) and left early after major trauma when I thought that I'd lost my satnav. 

Covered less ground today due to the sun (had a long stop at lunchtime) but somehow found myself  at a nice placed called Maison de Baronnies where, thank heavens, I've got a proper bed in a dorm, so all the kit can be charged properly and tent etc can be dried out. I reckon I'm good for about 3-4 days camping on the go before I need to civilise up a bit. 

The road is broadly following the foothills of the Pyrenées with occasional forays into the hills, such as at Lourdes today.

Day 5. The pictures are better on radio

Personally I blame Jim Broadbent. He's always worth listening to and even though this wasn't the first time I'd heard The Late Mr Shakespeare, the play was doing a grand job of distracting me as I toiled across yet another arid plain, with little to divert me except a series of unpronounceable Scrabble challenges. 

It's got to be worth a few scrabble points...

After several days' exploring the area by bike, I was pretty much ready for a change of direction and, prompted by a dodgy hamstring, had  taken a bit of a turn north, towards Roncesvalles, one of the crossing points of the pilgrim route. It was a bit of a cop out from my original plan of the High Sierra and all that but kneeds must and all that...

Cue spooky music. I don't think it happened in the tunnels. There were a couple of short, cool ones that weren't actually marked on my map and in which  I took some shade for a few minutes while choosing the optimal aural accompaniment to the next punishing climb.

Wherever it happened, by the time the Great Fire of London had reached the brothel in which Broadbent spent his latter years, I suddenly realised that I was cycling up a leafy valley with a stream running down it.  This was a bit more like it! 

But how annoying to spend five days hammering across the parched and generally unsympatico plains of Northern Spain, not to mention some of the most ghastly urban landscape I have ever encountered,  only to miss the moment when you left it behind!

Of course the journey is yet barely begun and further trials await. But to find myself at over 1000m, after what seemed like a gentle climb up the Wye Valley - a climb which was sufficiently gentle for me to cycle all the way without walking once - seems just a little bit magical...like the autumn croci that were popping up right by the  patch of lush grass on which I pitched my tent with a mixture of gratitude and just a bit of disbelief.  I'm not sure how you did it but thanks Radio 4!

Day 4. Pamplona

VG in the morning light

I was perhaps a bit tired and emotional last night. A third visit to VG this morning - in very cold morning air - took me to the historic centre which was immaculately clean and shining in the early morning sun, giving cause for hope. Especially since I had just managed to purchase a rail ticket for Pamplona for a measily €5. I thought he had said €50 which I would have paid without demur since it moves me east by about two days cycling and gives my knee a bit more rest. 

I then found a room in Pamp via airbnb with an english-speaking host, Johio (as in the American state but with a silent J) so we're back on track! My main worry is whether they'll throw a wobbly when they see the bike at the train station...

[Later]

Rubbish night's sleep since the campsite was about 100m from a major autoroute and there was a party nearby. Also fireworks, possibly in the town, at an absurdly late hour! Tossed and turned in tiny tent til  late but had a nice dream about Fi using a special conservation-grade hi-tech bit of kit to boil her jewellry and keep it clean, as you would! 

Assorted messages from home, including updates from Shirl about Grace and TJ about the hidden cultural life of VG.

[Later still: in Pampers next day]

Last night Johio took me to a lovely tapas bar in the old town, and showed me where Hemingway used to hang out. But I wasn't in the mood - too anxious about what lay ahead, about how to get back on my own to her flat (*miles across a park) and how to pack up my stuff to send to June today. In the event it was fairly painless. I bought some boxes from the post office, found a local square (wire-haired dackle alert!) and packed, taped up, and labelled it all in the street! €80 to you senor. 

Day 3. VG: very ghastly

Bit of a crunch day because I needed to find somewhere to rest for a couple of days - and I failed! Managed to get to Vitoria-Gasteiz: it was only 40k from Amurrio and I walked up the big hills. However the hamstring is quite painful and obviously needs a rest. VG, despite Pablo's econium, is a dump. At least the outskirts are:  mile after mile of modern six-storey soul-less concrete blocks that do nothing for the needy soul. TJ tells me that there's a medieval centre but it's hard to imagine! 

And, after a long search, the hostel proved to be closed. Completely inoperative. Fortunately the wonderful spanish people in a local bar rallied round and, after a lot of hand signals, phone searching and general brouhaha  identified a possible camp site only a mile away, right on the edge of town. It's a bit ropey and the ground is like rock and there's no-where to store your stuff - but, hey!, the manager is a nice old geezer and the beer is good.

Needs must. 

Alas tomorrow is Sunday so I suspect everywhere will be closed. I might leave the kit in the tent and head into town to find the medieveal bit and the train station, just in case there's a link to Pamploma. 

So it's tough. I find myself several times a day at a kind of 'what the shit do I do now?' moment. I feel that I'm heading deeper into the heart of darkness or, alternatively, up shit creek but, in reality, it's just my hamstring (and the excess weight) that's the problem. Not madly enjoying most of it but this is pretty much the boring prelim before the main course, so perhaps that's normale.

The camera never lies...but it does reflect how one sees things.

Day 2 Onwards and upwards

Well, it seems that Valle Verde did not disappear as I thought - it was just another 10k or so over the hill which I started up but turned round. Good job I did. the 'hill' turned out to be the biggest so far: 450m of gentle, if relentless, climbing. You could tell it was serious because groups of spanish road riders started appearing! Fortunately I had stocked up on essentials and stopped for breakfast about an hour ago and now coffee beside a pretty river with washing hanging our of all the backs of the houses. (see panorama pic) Generally slower progress today because of the hills and the weight - which I must do something about. Onwards for lunch!

[Later]

It's now about 8.30pm and I'm trying desperately not to fall into bed, having just eaten an overlarge supper with wine. Walked up a lot of hills today, due partly to a nagging  pain in my hamstrings which are complaining about the weight. Managed about 60k but completely shattered. Pablo - a kind host - has suggested that Vitoria is a nice place to hang out so I'll try to get there tomorrow (about 45k) and have a rest day. Alas there's no train service to Pamploma from there otherwise I would have cheated a bit.

Pablo - my generous airbnb host in Amurrio

I am eating vast amounts but suspect that my body just can't cope with the demands I'm placing on it! And the dogs are barking outside....

Day 1. Food glorious food

Wow! Just grossed out on three enormous sardines, salad a gogo, half a bottle of vino tinto and god know what else. Listening to your body is what they call it! Have found myself in Santona, about half way between Santander and Bilbao along the coast, ie a complete change of plan occasioned by this morning's  advice from Maria that the hills towards Ramales de Victoria were big and the weather wasn't great. 

Maria - my airbnb host in Santander

Undistinguished exit from Santander: got lost several times, in the sense of knowing where I was but not how to get to where I wanted to go! Took most of the morning to circumnavigate the estuary, ie move about a mile to the east from where I stayed! I persevered, got some essential glucose into the blood and finally found a route out, round the coast towards the north and Bilbao. This was the cautious/sensible option, ie still within range of civilisation but moving in the right direction: east. 

Santona is a busy little market town on the coast and I have just seen that it'sdirectly north of Ramales de Victoria, so have decided that I'll head south after all. Amazingly, when I stopped, my satnav showed 49.9km, so the old stomach clock never lies!

The road out of Santona led across a series of lakes with a backdrop of dramatic hills, up which I then had to climb. Surprise, surprise the navigation didn't go brilliantly in that I saw a sign to Villa Vente (?), my next billet, just before Ramales - adding another 20k to my total. That place disappeared but a tourist office directed me to an alternative - yet another few k's up the road. Went up the hill and was feeling very tired indeed, especially when I found it was the wrong road. Back down and on to the right place, only to find that the hostel was another killing 3k up a very steep hill, up which I crawled with the very last of my energy and a rather commendable courage. Thankfully www.agroturismo-gurenaia.com turned out to be real and I fell into a shower/bed  vowing..what? It's not as though I go astray on purpose. Too tired for supper (and there's no cafes up here anyway) but hot sweet tea and salted peanuts are going down rather well. 

Tomorrow really should be a shorter leg (to Amurrio) and hopefully I won't get another puncture! 

The Spanish people are all terribly helpful and speak more english than I do spanish. I ask the way about five times a day.

All abroad!

On board the MV Pont-Aven en route to Santander across a completely un-tossed Bay of Biscay  is,  surprisingly,  a welcome pause to quell the less-than-tranquil traveller's mind before the off. It's a rather smart, comfortingly french ship avec mod cons including cinema, piscine and cabaret. 

The large majority of my shipmates are english couples in their 60s, many avidly involved in puzzles, tabloid newspapers and, even, dominos. It is quite unreasonably snobbish of me to suggest that, on disembarkation, most will drive to their second homes where they will do puzzles, eat english food and watch sky tv. And why not?  To be honest, my own extended preparation has yielded little more than a list of key words on the back of an envelope, so who am I to sniff? 

Fortunately there is also a smattering of younger people, sporting maps, babies and guide books who have helped bolster my hopes that there is some point to this active travelling lark. If nothing else turns up I can, at least, report that I saw a dolphin surfing the ship's bow wave this morning! Also woke to a heartening message from Jack about the high number of  FB 'likes' of my departure pic and the prospect of quite a long day's cruising before we get to Santander.  

Quote of the day from Douglas Coupland's rather weird, 'Player One': The more one races on to one' s blog to assert one's uniqueness, the more generic one becomes.