Almost There

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Sorry about the long delay. Part 1 of 2, I think.

October 5: Deltebre
Who would have thought that the one night in two weeks we choose to camp out is the first time it rains in weeks in drought ridden Spain? It fortunately started right before bed, so we could try to prepare the tent as best we could, and largely it worked okay. The main problem, of course, is that with no tent floor, the little splashes in the sand off the tent edge fire sand crystals further than you'd think, and combined with Koby's tendency to migrate at night (while sleeping really soundly), some things got a little damp. Thankfully it only rained on and off at night, as we learned in the morning that many rivers could run through the campsites once it really started to pour. I, of course, had to pee and tried to wait and wait, but by 5 am, I had to get out of the tent, thereby waking Manya and Elaine and interrupting their sleep too. We all managed to fall bake asleep, and woke at 9 when the rain stopped, only to restart again with some vengeance as we ate breakfast and readied to go.
We eventually headed out into the rain, first navigating city streets that held countless puddles, then venturing onto the N340 where olive fields were overflowing with water that flooded the roads in water almost a foot deep in spots, thereby slowing traffic and, once our feet were soaked, adding some amusement to our riding while watching the brown sea part. Happily, the rain let up after an hour or so, and the clouds hanging in the mountains and darkening the sea livened up what would otherwise be a rather dull ride on a pretty major highway with a mercifully wide shoulder.
We are now at the cheapest hotel of the trip, in a town that has little of the tourist feel of anyplace we've been recently. We are on this large delta, the biggest in Spain, that is supposed to be a draw for tourists with its many birds and enormous rice fields. But mostly, this seems a typical working town spread out along a long main drag with little of the glitzy construction projects to appeal to visitors and little of the charm of older hill villages that might compensate for the lack of other infrastructure. Our 10 Euro per person pensione overlooks a lovely dirt lot and old metal dump, but it is a change for us to be in a neighborhood where kids play with remote control cars and make structures out of scrap wood. The local workers seem to be staying above us--ten guys who returned at 8 in a van loaded with groceries. This would all be a welcome connection to a working class town, if not for the 10 km or more we biked in town trying to find someplace to stay and then someplace to eat (while the local hot rodders zipped by and shouted at us in a small town kind of way). This made a relatively easy 70ish km day into almost 90, with the added frustration of being stuck at a restaurant in the midst of rice and fish country that didn't even serve rice or fish.
On the way here, we must have seen 100 gray herons, and hundreds of egrets hanging out in the flooded rice fields, but the roads are so flat that everyone complained of sore butts.
This is all a big contrast to the varied towns along the more touristed coast we have passed through the last few days. We left Girona after sending over 6 kg of extra stuff on to Granada at a bargain price of 5 euros. We already had less than any other tourers we have seen, and now our panniers, especially on Elaine's bike, were much lighter. Our idea of using the train to circumnavigate Barcelona worked superbly, once we ignored the security guard who said our bikes couldn't go on the express train. The bike car had spaces for maybe 20 bikes, and ours were the only ones there, so we could ignore the racks made for single bikes and just bungie ours to the wall. One very pleasant train took us to Barcelona in 90 minutes and then we switched to another leaving to Tarragona and got there by 3:00. Tarragona was a significant Roman center, actually a home to many immigrants in the Roman era looking for upward social mobility. Like many of these sites overrun by Roman ruins, there is a pleasant level of interaction and irreverence for antiquities in town. While there were plenty of museums and fenced sites with admission fees and fancy signage, there are also loads of arches and walls that are simply part of town where kids bike through or kick soccer balls or just accept as part of the landscape. We saw some pretty cool mosaics and glasswork at the archaeological museum, but the highlight of our visit was first seeing the decked out clubhouse and training center for a local Casteller club, and then actually seeing two different teams practicing as we headed to dinner.
Unfortunately, we didn't have the camera, but the basic idea, passed down for centuries, is to pile up people on shoulders as high as you can stack them. In practice, there are a few different techniques, the most common being to have about 8 or 10 guys at the bottom surrounded by a load of other guys who hold them in place and push on their backs. Then a layer of 6 or 8 more climb on their shoulders and interlock arms, then another tier of maybe 5, then a few more tiers until they over three stories high, and then some tiny kid, about 5 years old, climbs to the top and raises her or his hand to signal success. There is obviously a lot more to this than just piling people up, mostly to do with socializing and cross generational community. Usually the bottom rows are male and often older, with younger guys next, then younger women, then little kids. Practicing all this allows lots of time for chatter and kids to run around and everyone to catch up on news of the day.
At dinner in Tarragona, we were taught the Catalan version of bruschetta. Served a big plate of toasted bread, we were instructed to rub garlic on the bread, and then take a tomato cut in half and rub this on the bread to make pan amb tornquet. The tomatoes seem to a special variety, as they are not so juicy as to totally soak the bread into sogginess.
We also enjoyed a low season hotel deal, staying at this somewhat palatial 3 star hotel on the main rambla which was easily bargained down to 40 euro per room, then, with a wink, breakfast included.
Tarragona seemed, from the brochures at the tourist office, to be surrounded by vacation resort activities like water parks, boating, and the enormous amusement park of Port Adventura. Koby was particularly enamored by the idea of go karting (perhaps a product of watching car and motorcycle racing which dominates the sports channels filler time here). We thought these places might all be closed, as was the case in France, but lo and behold, it is still holiday time for some Swiss and Germans and Brits, so everything was still open until the middle of October. So after dragging the kids through enough Roman ruins and archaeological museums, we decided to find some silly activity to entertain us all. After a mere 12 km, we arrived at Aquopolis (not to be confused with the Greek temple) and its surrounding shops filled with knock-off soccer jerseys on end of season sale for less than 10 euros each. With a quick check at the tourist office to learn than go karting would cost an astounding 20 euros for 10 minutes, we all agreed to spend the day at Aquopolis water park, and sifted through our belongings for our assorted aquatic needs (basically warm clothes, since we use our bike shorts for bathing suits and only have one towel and the water is pretty cold at these places this time of year).
Being vacation season up north, there was a fair number of tourists in the town and the water park, so we were able to get a feel for the public energy of holiday, without the oppressive crowds that must be here in summer. So the slides had no lines, but you weren't in a ghost town, and we got to hear the cranky and loud commentary that seemed to be most typically served with an English accent.
Koby quickly spotted the biggest slide, also the closest, and we climbed up the stairs to the Boomerang-- essentially a water version of a halfpipe. Using inflatable rings, Koby launched off first, then Manya without hesitation. I followed willingly, only to be terrified by what felt like a 40 ft. vertical drop off, followed by a vertical rise that I thought would launch me over the edge and crashing onto the ground. Of course, I survived this and rocked back and forth towards the end of the pipe, almost dry, only to be unceremoniously flipped into the catch pool at the end and welcomed to the chilly water.
After this, we went to the next slide, which featured a vertical drop of about the same height in a tube, and then to the supposedly scary but much more becoming Black Hole where you rode a tube for two in the warm darkness. Then the long side by side flat slides, then the Kamikaze, the super long, super fast slide with a couple of small rises that launch you in the air and eventually leave you blinded by water for the last half of the ride. All this was great fun to Koby and Manya, and reasonable good fun for me until I began to get too cold. Then it was Elaine's turn to join the escapades, and this lasted until the dolphin show, which, to our surprise, was rather rapidly followed by closing time 15 minutes before the advertised 5:00. The Spanish may be relaxed about opening hours, but they get the tourists out of there right on the dot for closing.
Dodging the post waterslide, post beach vacation crowds, we left this end of town and rode through a series of similar beachfront resort areas with similar soccer jersey stores, seafood restaurants, fish and chip shops, pubs, and other assorted businesses specifically targeting Brits or Germans or Dutch tourists. We got as far as Cambrils, about 15 km down the coast, where we set up camp and were then greeted by the rain as we went off to sleep.

October 8: Peniscola
This is a winsome touristed area after a relatively hard day of cycling. After leisurely riding through the Delta on untraveled roads and more busy bike paths besides lagoons, we headed upwind along the coast, soon having to rejoin the N340 at km 1134, which means it goes on a ways to somewhere. Fortunately, the wide shoulder makes it quite safe, but with all the trucks and traffic, it is pretty hard to talk, and with a headwind (broken consistently by the pull of passing trucks), it was mostly a grind until we left the highway at Benicarlo. From here, there was 8 km of bike path along the beach, which features imported sand from the Sahara and more intense new development of high rise hotels and apartments all along the coast.
Here at the southern end of the beach, we are directly below the hilltop castle used by exiled Pope Clement VII in the 1400's. This serves as a scenic backdrop for this pleasant beach and the wealth of restaurants lining the shoreroad. We are enjoying a third floor balcony that looks right across the beach to the castle, so have decided to rest a day here for time for the kids to play in the sand while we take advantage of off season hotel prices and not having to search again for a place to stay.
It is intriguing to be reminded that Spain was a very poor country up almost to the 1970's. In many ways, it seems the most modern of Southern Europe now, with few vestiges of the poorer past, at least along the coast, except for the relatively less well appointed hotels and vacation apartments. For the most part, everything is either new or renovated, and the pace of construction seems to have no limits.
At the same time, riding the N430 reminds us of the radical idea that is the European Union. Uniting Italy and France and Spain seems understandable, albeit a challenge. In many ways these countries have enough similarities in terms of economics, history, experience with democracy, and even language. But to include Eastern Europe, with such radically different recent history and economics, and such brief experience with democracy, is really a leap of faith. To see trucks from Poland and Hungary crossing borders without checkpoints, to trade on an equal basis in Spain, is remarkable. In an era when many in the US are suggesting more limits and divisions, this effort to create more openness and common ends seems an eye opening alternative vision.

October 10 Playa Nules
We seem to have discovered the one spot along the Spanish coast where there aren't high rise hotels and restaurants lining the beachfront. This is a boon to camping, as we have an ideal spot on the beach, but not so great for finding dinner. This all capped a long and fairly eventful day, which started with an effort for an early start (before 10) to avoid the winds that seem to kick up in the afternoon.
Well, it all started well for about 2 km, when Elaine noticed a wobble in our rear tire. This turned out to be a worn out sidewall. Fortunately, we have been carrying a spare tire (something I've done for years with never a need to use). After a quick change, with a small bit of worry about the narrow 1 in. tire on the back of the tandem, we were off again towards a promised bike route through this national park along the coast that would avoid climbing the N340 and we thought would be a short cut. I could have sworn the brochure said this was paved in all but two short stretches, but maybe it meant it was a rocky mess in all but two short stretches where they had to pave it to avoid it washing away totally. I figured this was a fine test for the new tire for the first km or two, but then when this went on for almost two hours of dodging rocks and trying to pick a route that wouldn't destroy the tires or half our spokes, it became a bit tedious and trying. When we finally hit a stretch of mere hard packed, dusty dirt, we felt like we were flying. This then turned to pavement and we were in heaven for a few km until a much needed break for ice cream snack.
From here, we had to get back on the N340, which Elaine seems to despise despite its huge shoulder and smooth pavement. But we were again able to fly along this, ticking off the Ks and passing some roadside restaurants that were packed with Sunday tourers and truck drivers, the supposedly best arbiters of fine food in Europe.
Before we knew it, it was 2:00 and we were only about 13 km from our intended destination of the big beach resort of Benicassim, and the idea of eating lunch along the highway in the hot sun didn't seem so appealing, so off we went on what turned out to be a hot sweaty climb, followed by a screaming downhill (almost 80 km/hr) to the beach and lunch.
This turned into a couple hours of drip sandcastle building, soccer practice, napping, swimming, and reading before we decided to ride down the beach a ways to find another spot for the night so we were closer to Valencia today.
We leisurely rode the beach bike path (these are incredibly common here) and stopped to pound down the 2 liter Fanta Limon (as attractive for the cold as the sugar and liquid). We kept on to get past the city, port, and oil refineries of Castleanno, and then we were in orange grove country as the sun started to get low in the sky. We were aiming for the beaches south of the city, where we figured we could find a restaurant open on a Sunday, and pressed on just a few more km to reach the beach. Seeing nothing obvious for food, we proceeded down the beach road another km, then 2 and 3 and 4 until we finally found a bar and restaurant that was open to ask about dinner. They said they only were open for drinks, and all the patrons discussed the options for us, concluding the closest food would be back 4 or 5 km. Not willing to backtrack, we resigned ourselves to a dinner of our leftover crackers and nutella, and decided to ride just a bit further on the now dark, deserted road to where there was supposed to be a campground at least, if not food.
Lo and behold, despite the reports of the locals of nothing open, we found this hip cafe with great food and a welcome beer. Thrilled with this repast, we then rode towards the campground, which looked open with all the lights on, but the locked gate was a deterrent to using their hard plots, and instead, we ventured out to this beach for a comfortable and scenic night after over 90 km of riding on all sorts of terrain, in all sorts of light.

Oct. 11 Valencia

Violating the basic bike rule of making unrealistic, or at least overly optimistic, expectations, our "easy" ride to Valencia turned out to be a frustration. Especially when I had ridiculously believed the estimate of only 50 km of riding, then translated that with our best possible speed to get us, in my mind, to Valencia by noon. Well by time we got to the city at 3:30, having yet to eat lunch, we had enough of riding for the time being.
Our campsite of the previous night turned out great, and we headed off along the coast following a road on the map that looked simple enough. Between the endless new construction and the odd, yet to be developed terrain and the very odd preserved park, there were breaks onto roads of broken pavement, and then a trip away from the coast for a few km, then back to the coast on a road that was half pavement and half gravel, which led to a rumble of baseball sized rocks or desperately deep sand that lasted for 1 or 2 km that felt like 10. Then we made it back to pavement, but then hit another rock section, which looked mercifully shorter, but nonetheless slow enough. Eventually we headed away from this coast to more major roads, but this meant heading about 5 km directly parallel to our destination, before turning towards Valencia again for the final 10-12 km that was basically a lousy city road but at least paved.
Finally we crossed the extinct River Turia and passed beneath the massively impressive Torres Serrano, the last remains of what must have been imposing city walls, and into the old city center. We appeased the kids need for food with a quick piece of pizza, then went to tourist info and hotel searching. It is always a surprise to us to be back in a town where hotels are not empty, like on the coast. Our idea of splurging for a fancy place was thwarted by uncertainty about its availability and a location that meant another 5 min of riding that would put us outside the central locations in town. So instead we began checking the other end of the spectrum--these nifty Home Hostels that we learned were voted among the Top 10 Hostels in the World." (Who does this voting is beyond me).
By the time we had visited all 3 hostel sites, we had met the manager of them all, as well as a lot of very friendly staff at each, who told us of their very welcoming model with kitchens, internet, DVD movies, rooftop terrace, etc. Although the cost is more a deal for individuals than families (18 euros per person, so 72 for us all, which may be matched in a real hotel), the kids are more enamored with the concept of staying somewhere different than they are with a place that is fancy. We have a room with 4 beds, bathrooms down the hall that entertain the kids, rooftop garden, internet, a cool entry door with video surveillance, and lots of other intriguing features that we haven't seen in hotels that may be more comfortable but less interesting.
Once we had settled in, we were able to begin eating our way across the city. Once you get in the swing of this, it is a blast to go from place to place eating a bit here and a bit there. The best site for this is the 100 Montadito Cerviccherria, where every little one of the 100 little sandwich options is 1 euro. So we stopped in there for 4 sandwiches one time, and another couple later after some beers and tapas at another. We drank Horchata, the local specialty drink made from Tiger Nuts (whatever that is) which tastes like a sort of sugarfree vanilla milk shake usually eaten with Fartons (to Koby's amusement). We opted for churros instead, as well as some bocadillos with ham or omelets, and then more little treats as we wandered. Eating from about 5 'til about 9 seemed to make up for missing lunch, and so we returned "Home" for the night, while most of our fellow hostelers were heading out for a night on the town.
Today, we split up after breakfast, and Koby and I explored the 1000 stall Mercado Central, the UNESCO heritage site of the gothic Silk Exchange, the many baroque buildings around the Plaza Ayumiento, the 17,000 seat bull ring (across from McDonalds), and then we hiked across the old city to the Museum of Fine Art, where we enjoyed the very fine retablos (old church backdrops) and then marveled at the amazing modernism in the two works by Ribero and El Greco, who were about 300 years ahead of their time.
Back at "home," Koby had noodles for lunch (the dried ingredients which we purchased from the vending machine here), and then I spent an hour fussing with the wifi hookup here before learning is it encrypted. I wish I could tell this easier, before hours of frustration, but maybe this time I will
learn my lesson.

Oct 14 Piles Beach
After 4 nights and 3 full days in Valencia, it is nice to get back riding and out of the city. Valencia was very pleasant--lots of things to do but also a small town feel. It was very promising for Granada, as everyone, the kids especially, liked knowing where things were and getting into a little routine. Koby would jump out of bed in the morning to join me in getting food at the many stalls in Mercado Central, followed by the requisite fresh orange juice at our favorite juice stand. Manya liked returning to Plaza Reina, to visit the 1 euro montadito store or our favorite heladeria. We began to develop a more discerning taste for horcheta, and learned to find which plaza to stroll in at peak times.
We also discovered hidden surprises, such as the giant Gulliver statue in the ex river park. This ingenious sculpture serves as a kids (and adults) playground, with countless slides down his arms or legs or off his hair, and nifty ways to climb back up on ropes or ramps or stairs.
And the Oceanographique proved once again the skill of European museums, this time using tunnels under and through the fish tanks to engage you in a view you wouldn't see elsewhere.
One other noteworthy story from Valencia was seeing Spanish inefficiency in action at Folder, the proclaimed "lider in paperteria" (leader in office supplies). The store looked like a mini Staples and the catalog looked like a real Staples, and the three girls behind the counter had nice orange golf shirts of any modern business. So, the guy ahead of me is trying to buy one pen and the woman working has to look it up, by hand, in the catalog, just like her compatriots are doing with their customers. As she can't find the item, she has to ask the other girls, who can't find it either, so she has to call HQ for the item number and price. When the number is finally located, she writes it down on a normal sheet of paper with other numbers from past purchases and eventually concludes the transaction with payment and change from the drawer. Now it is my turn to purchase my packet of paper. The ritual of searching the catalog is mercifully shorter, but the chore of making change from a 50 euro note for a 72 cent purchase takes waiting for the calculator being used by colleague number one, and then sifting through the drawer for change. Thankfully, no one was buying multiple items or we could have been there all day.
Our 80 k of biking today was remarkably flat, but thankfully on easy to follow, uncrowded roads near the beach. The excitement of the day came in the form of a wicked rainstorm that we just barely avoided by ducking into what turned out to be the town gardeners' quarters, where all the workers were similarly seeking shelter from the storm. We got under cover just as the skies let loose in a thundering torrent, and waited it out for a pretty short 20 minutes until the sun reappeared and we returned to the road. Although it sprinkled a bit more along the way, most of the rest of the day was under blue skies with again a gentle tailwind. We lunched at the restaurant awarded best paella in Spain 1961-1965, and with about 200 tables in three rooms, it seems to probably rank still pretty good today. They bring you enough for about 4 people when you order for 2, so we were pretty stuffed by the time we got back on the road.
I had little energy and was grateful for the flat road. After foolishly remarking in the blog a while back that I feel healthiest when biking, I have gotten some kind of illness that just saps my energy. I wake up tired and then even napping later in the day just barely keeps me going.
Despite my fatigue, and since the weather wasn't so great for the beach, we decided to go on past our goal of Gandia and aim for the youth hostel 5 km that the guidebook describes as "extraordinarily cheerful." There was a bit of concern it might be closed, and when we got to Piles and the town seemed dead for winter, there was more cause for concern. But the hostel was open and much as the book described. Exceptionally clean and with room for hordes in the summer, right on the beach, a solarium upstairs, countless couches, tables and chairs, and space to luxuriate in, and about 4 other people besides us to share this all with. With the price being 34 euros (or 37 with breakfast), this was the bargain of the trip.
It is hard to pass up such a great deal, and my energy wasn't inspiring us to push on, so we have stayed here another day. This has been a chance for me to nap and lie around, while the kids play on the beach. I did get enough gumption to play soccer with Koby and Manya and a local 8 year old boy. This was the first chance the kids have freally played with other kids so this was nice, although now I am ready to nap again.
I keep hoping I am well soon. Part of this is a chest cold I caught from Manya a couple weeks ago, but then as this subsided, I must have caught something else. I keep thinking it has run its course, and hopefully tomorrow, I will awake with more energy as we plan to get a fair way further down the coast.

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