Freewheel down South, pt.2

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We couldn’t, and shouldn’t have stretched it any longer, if we wanted to get to Spain at all. Eventually, after ten days that passed like one, we left for Carcassonne to spend the easiest two days on the road along Canal du Midi. Sooner than expected, since we found the shortcut that again was not on the map, we arrived in Villegailhenc, where until now Amandine’s aunt Sophie and her husband Patrice live. Well, Pat, who as the time passed, happened to be nicknamed Poune, deserves a special story, and I wouldn’t be the one to write it all. As he himself says, his job in Carcassonne is to test the sun tanning lotions, and his golden brown skin proves his success, meanwhile in the house, as the only man, along with the choice of movies and wines, he is responsible for gallettes – the buckwheat crêpes, and, if makes them, he does it exceptionally himself.

Dry Bordeaux, this is always, and why would I say no. It’ll help me squeeze out the drops of my French and sustain the conversation.

- En velo? By bikes?

- By bikes.

- To Africa?

- Well, obviously not all the way, just to Andalucía.

- By bikes? From Nantes it’s 2000 km or so.

- Yes, and about 40 days, but people do a lot more, and it’s not that big of a dеal. Moreover, we never tried to travel this way.

- But why by bikes? – Sophie stubbed a cigarette in a seashell turned to an ashtray quite a while ago.

- Because we’ve never tried…- I couldn’t think of a more original answer.

- …and those, who have, said it had been an outstanding experience in many ways and try to face new challenge. To be surprised after all, I think, – Amandine added.

- Anyway, why is it Africa that you’ve chosen to travel to?

Really, why in Africa?

From the start it was Amandine’s project, the brainchild that she was disposing herself to. As for me, it has taken some time to grow from an idea on a year plan to a special occasion I would anticipate. Had I been alone, I’m sure Africa would have hardly turned into an object of my infatuation in the visible future. It happened, and as we met Amandine gradually made me look at a different side. Different from all those I had been comfortably adjusted to observe. Want it or not, there is the other side, noticing which we usually take a look away, possibly because we also feel helpless and any involvement even if limited to a mere observation, in this case, causes a feeling of pity and discomfort. Speaking of myself, it happened. Might same have happened to anyone else, I can’t be sure. To some, I presume. The point is that for us – and it is normal – the memory of what we’d seen soon would vanish, unlike for those others whose misery and struggle remain an everyday reality. In the place of those-others can occur to be anyone, anytime in any place. And, then we think, something like ‘well, yes, so it’s arranged, unfair, and injustice is a low thing’. But do we really want to look down, if so?

What did we know about West Africa? That it’s generally poor, that it’s hot and not a luxurious resort we are going to. What’s the common perception of it? That it’s dangerous, that you can be robbed in the middle of the day, and/or kidnapped/murdered? We’ve heard that – from others, or from the rare evening news which usually transmit into an image of a place for one who hasn’t seen it. Then it makes up a prejudice. As it is, we’ve also heard of a different insight that is not only the curse of poverty, danger and doomed squalor that characterize the continent. Numerous people we had met told us and convinced that the time spent on the Black Continent, had it been East or West, North or South of it, was unforgettable, incomparable and delightful and that, if anything else, inspired us most. For everyone though delight revealed in a specific way. We were eager to find out what was ours.

We didn’t know how to shape or express this interest, as we didn’t know what to expect. Obviously, we shouldn’t have.

- Well, if so, here - take another one! – Pat proposed another piece of his specialty.

- No, thanks. I’ve already had three!

- Is that it? Three gallettes, all you need to knock out the Russian? You got the Pyrenees to pedal over. Ok , hold on a minute, I’ve got something else. Vanished to the kitchen, and returned with the bottle reading Zubrovska at its front. Should be familiar. Very well, but not quite the same.

- They make mint sweet vodka now?

Poune shook his head and proudly stated.

- Made in Pat! Original, huh?!

- Quite, but how is that?

- Easy, but don’t tell anyone! You take the bottle like this one, right, 2/3 full, and… you’ve seen those hard candies with mint syrop on the kitchen table? Put two fistfuls of those in. Close it up and put away a week or two, then shake it up well, and put away for a week or, two again, and then…

And so we went on…

After two days in Villegailhenc well fed, well rested we lift off again.

13.10.

Days in Carcassonne and Narbonne strengthen the impression that we’ve gone out of France that I’ve known. As we keep riding east along the Pyrenees the air feels different – warm, but fresh and dry with no smell of the ocean anymore; tinges of Spanish in the language; landscape – the mountain chain, the valleys along, and vineyards bathing in the sun, unlike Poune, without the sunscreen. That’s about it.

And then it was Spain.

The wide National highway took us all the way down from the rift valley town Pertus straight to Figueres. Here, I couldn’t help to think that I’ve already had this feeling once when I crossed the border, that the change is swift and unexpected, that it can slightly shock you if you let it. Once in the past it was when I first went from California to Tijuana. Tijuana does not, of course, characterize Mexico in any way, but the change was there. Here it was as well, and just fine. The street sellers, the no-longer-existing-currency exchange offices, the blast from the past, and the blast from the present – señoritas offering love for sale along the road. We figured the reason – countless truck drivers demanding love for rent. And the only way to bike is down the highway, alongside those guys’ trucks and vehicles of any kind, with a little chance to find a decent camping. That must have been the cause that our intentions to ride to Barcelona waned, and this is where – 20 kilometers to Gerona – we took the decision to hitch a ride.

About 50 minutes of waiting, I think, it’s more than lucky when you got two bikes and plenty of sacks, gave us a chance to meet Jaime who was greatly helpful to drive us to and around Gerona. We never had an intention of staying, but so it happened. It took us a minute or two to realize that our own Velo-voyage suddenly came to its end in Cataluña. We would have likely taken the train straight to Barcelona the same evening, but I’d been yet to let Richard know about our early arrival, so we decided to stay in town for a night. And Richard is the old mate back from my Alaskan adventure, who’s been living in Barcelona for quite a few years, and ever since was inviting to visit him, so we couldn’t miss the chance.

But who knows what’s going to happen to you in Spain, eh? Excited, we decided to give a tempting present to ourselves – that is a night in the hotel with any kind, but tent, room and a shower. Well, after checking with a few we chose the one nearby the train station – well, not to say they are pretty much all nearby the train station, but anyway; we parked our bike-heroes in the storage room, and agreed with the administrator to pay in the morning. Good deal and the rest of our cash were spent for the late dinner and internet. This way it was only the following morning that we figured out that all our bank cards have been blocked, and technically, I don’t know, why but with the French bank serving our account, we couldn’t have unblocked it anyhow else but being personally present in one of their offices, clearly none of which was in Gerona – you have to order a new card and wait. So, the hotel administrator was not so delighted to hear our story, and was waiting for proposal.

- Well, by chance, we have American dollars. You accept dollars? – I have no idea how on Earth we happened to have some forty dollars in our wallets but that was our proposal.

- The price for the room is in Euros and we accept nothing but Euros, - with his black gel hair and self-confident grin he was really kind.- But there’s a bank just across the street.

- Yeah, but not open till tomorrow.

- Or you can try at one of the shopping malls.

So we did, but they wouldn’t exchange for an amount equal to less than 30 Euros. Our forty dollars could make 28 at most. Try with the banks tomorrow. And we had to tell the hotel guy that we’ll try with the banks tomorrow. Until then we leave our bikes in his storage and go find a place to sleep for the following night. Neither did we have money for food which was settled simple though – you take your bicycle food baskets, the gas stove and go to one of the city squares to prepare lunch and play some music. And have some company from the nearby school kids who were surprised to meet some vagabonds cooking lentils soup at their favorite hang-out spot.

Later in the evening, this time at another hostel, we were settling the deal for a room and free breakfast. You accept dollars? No? Well, we have only dollars, but we can exchange tomorrow morning and pay at the check out. That works? It does, and so we have place to stay. Anyway it’s not as much fun to be in debt to one hotel as to two of them.

The next day Rich was ready to drive all the way to Girona to pick us up and rescue from all the hotel affaires, but timely the emergency Western Union transfer was there for the taking. Apparently, not the most exciting end of the hotel story, but does it matter if already at about 6 pm we were in Barcelona? We have stayed for three relaxing days in Richard’s welcoming home-established Hotel Burgos, getting acquainted with the sights of Barcelona, impressing masterpieces of Gandhi’s inspiration, and dined, in our common favor, at the best vegetarian restaurants.

The 21^st of October our bikes in huge flat carton boxes, otherwise we couldn’t bring it on the bus, and took an easy night ride to the town of Guadix.

29.10

In fact, all our stay, all our trip through Spain, feels like an extended transit, thus leaving an impression the country’s best. Hopefully, one day we’ll come back for that, and for now Africa is getting very close…

Hundreds of swallows are above the roof of one the numerous Guadix churches. And singing, and dancing, and shitting, they must be having a beautiful view up there. Keep it ongoing until the Sun laughing goes down. And possibly longer, although that, through the dark, I wouldn’t see.

The Year of Silence, and two cups of coffee.

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Photos

The kids we met at the square
...while cooking the lentil soup.

...and already in Malaga !
we stayed in 'Picasso's corner' Hostel