You’d go a long way to find
someone with a good word to say about Lance Armstrong. But in Catalonia, in
north-eastern Spain, Lance is still something of a hero. For some years he and
his Tour de France-winning team based themselves in Girona, training in the
tough Pyrenean foothills behind the Costa Brava, and pouring a lot of their
dubiously-gained wealth into the local economy.
That’s the last you’ll hear
from me about Lance, except to note that the resulting popularity of cycling is
a good thing for riders
here. Catalan drivers afford
cyclists amazing courtesy. It’s also
the last you’ll hear about tough hills. The three of us, myself, my wife Lynne,
and our old friend Chris, are in Catalonia for some decidedly more relaxed cycling.
 |
[Chris and Lynne at Palamos, Spain] |
The area is not only sunny
and beautiful, it also has a maze of off-road cycling trails. Rather than cycle
touring, we’re based for the week in a
townhouse in the old village of Calonge, a short ride inland of the resort town
of Palamos. From there we can explore a wide area, but return
each night to our comfortable base.
We’ve
exchanged Tasmania’s spring, a time of wild winds and riotous wattle blossom, for
the settled warmth and pale fields of a Spanish autumn. On an early ride we pause in a maize field. Its foliage has browned, and
the ripe husks rattle in
the breeze. A Catalan flag flaps lazily from a nearby tower, reminding us
we’re in Catalunya rather than Spain.
 |
[A drink break in a maize field] |
Our local host has encouraged us to
greet the locals with bon dia rather
than buenos dias. Given the brutality of the Spanish Civil War, and General
Franco’s vigorous attempts to
outlaw Catalan language and culture - right into the 1970s – this is no mere
nicety. It is strange to be riding through such beautiful tranquility knowing
that within my lifetime it’s also been the scene of heartless repression.
More familiar is my feeling of disorientation here in
the northern hemisphere. Whereas at home I have an intuitive knack for knowing
my way around, in this part of the world I’m easily lost. It probably comes
down to where the sun is in the sky. Here it leans in from the south; at home
from the north. Without thinking I use the sun to help me to know where I’m
going, so here I become Pedro Equivocado*.
I’m glad to have Chris and Lynne with me: Chris with his long experience of
this hemisphere (originally from Tasmania, he’s been working in England for
decades), and Lynne with her more logical take on navigation.
 |
[I leave the navigation to the experts] |
Our days, and our paths, are divided between coastal
rides and hinterland rides. We start with some easy coastal rides. Although Costa
Brava literally means “wild coast” or “rough coast”, it doesn’t take us long to
decide that nomenclature came from sailors rather than cyclists. The broad and
pleasant beachfront at Palamos has largely been concreted and tamed, its main
street crammed with hotels, shops and eateries. Although we’re not here in the
high tourist season, it’s still buzzing with people and bursting with boats. We
pause for a coffee and to enjoy the kind of vibe we’re unlikely to choose for the
long term.
 |
[Cycling along the beachfront at Palamos] |
Of course there’s more to Palamos than the beachfront.
It’s one of the few working ports in the region. Fishing boats take pride of place
at the eastern end of the bay, where there is also a fishing museum. Nearby the
“old town”, with its pleasantly higgledy-piggledy streets, is packed with
shops, some for tourists, some more for the benefit of the locals.
 |
[Part of Palamos' fishing fleet] |
We ride around the coast from here, and start to see
some of its more rugged aspects. The already contorted metamorphic rocks have
been further hammered by wave action, creating a deeply indented and rocky
coast interspersed with sandy bays and beaches.
We’ve been told that one, Platja del Castell (Castle
Beach), is particularly beautiful, and one of the few “untouched” beaches left
in the Mediterranean. We have to work a little to get there, as it’s somewhat
off the beaten track and the sun is beating down strongly. Once there we’re
happy to pause for a long drink and lunch.
 |
[Platja del Castell from the nearby headland] |
As we cool off, we have to agree that it really IS a lovely beach. But “untouched”? Backed
by a little forest, with just two buildings immediately adjacent, the beach certainly
retains a natural prettiness. But today there are hundreds of people, dozens of boats, a couple of demountable cafes, plus walkways and toilets. And yes, there are
quite a few cyclists
too. As we munch our calamari and sip our beer, I have to acknowledge afresh
how tamed the Mediterranean is.
 |
[Every little cove has visitors] |
With its ancient record of human settlement and
exploitation, and a surrounding population that approaches half a billion, I
shouldn’t be surprised. There is a constant human pressure and presence here. You
might consider the Mediterranean world a small scale experiment in what we’re
doing to the wider world. Forests and wildlife have retreated to remote
pockets, mostly at altitude. As for this small sea, its exploitation is a guide
to what may happen – has begun to happen – to the vast oceans we’d like to
think of as invulnerable.
That’s reinforced a few days later when we decide to
have our first swim in a little cove closer to Palamos. As we’re getting into
our swimming gear, we notice a group of older men scooping something out of the
water with little nets. There’s a language barrier, but it’s clear that they’re
removing stinging jellyfish from the water. After a while they signal, and tell
us – we think – that we might try a dip in one corner of the cove. We ease
ourselves into water that most Tasmanians would find acceptably warm. In other
words it’s cold. The sand is coarse and hard on our feet, and its littered with
waste. And in the water there’s plenty of plastic flotsam alongside the
occasional jellyfish. Soon after we take the plunge Chris winces, pretty
certain he’s just been stung. It’s not the perfect recipe for a long swim, and
we soon decide we’ve had our Mediterranean swim.
As we click through the gears on the ride home, I see
that for me as a Tasmanian, this trip is also about making mental shifts. I have to
stop expecting wild, and settle for pretty; to turn down the nature knob and
crank up the culture one. Because there’s no doubt the Costa Brava has both of
those, as we discover yet again at beautiful seaside villages like Calella and
Llafranc. And as we’ll find by the spadeful when we venture into the hills.
 |
[The pretty - and busy - beach at Llafranc] |
No comments:
Post a Comment