Have Allen Key will travel; week two in Girona

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Settling into Girona life we had to apply some ‘Amazing spaces’ adjustments to The Nest to make the small space work better.



A simple setup, the wobbly orange fold out couch got the first fix with the Allen key, then table to the window, then the bikes with their funny cantilever brakes. Driven by the difficulties of cartage up and down 3 narrow flights of old town stairs with the said bikes, we’d then converted our space to that which we’d visioned. Me, sat by the window, gazing at life on the third floor metres away in the old quarter, thoughts of lingering work obligations diminishing, and a decent ride done, or planned.



The time slipped by. And with the weekend comes an influx of visitors to Girona.



A quiet season to visit we’re told, midday and Saturday seems to be the time we’re generally swamped, usually when stepping out of our small door, and straight into the old cobbled streetscape.



Girona has a University town hum, and that probably accounts for some sunset castle-canoodling or general early morning antics. Heard through the double glazed windows, echoes of the train as well, the line 250 metres away, pass down the narrow one way street as though its just next door.



Come our usual wake up time, everything however is silent. Those wooden shutters are incredibly effective and lengthening sleep!



Likewise, the siesta enforced shop closures early afternoon mid-week sends tourists to the few free yet amazing sites that are still ‘open’. I’d call the castle walls first rate, followed by the cathedral precinct, and all the while, golden light is dancing around, being the lay of the old town land. Unfortunately the Game of Thrones trivia was completely lost on me; it’s a movie set around here and I didn’t know it.



The riding deserves a paragraph or more here at least. Of the cool clear mornings, I’ve set off on my own in 2-4C, neck buff and head sock in place, €10 cycle longs on, and being invigorated moving through some spectacular scenic routes. It’s gone from a hectic Girona roundabout to country G-road in anything from 5 to 15 minutes. Making mistakes has been the process of finding riding gold - as on the N road, that’s linking to C road, but then becoming a truck carriageway for a few kilometres to the north of town. Wait a minuto, I’m back in New Zealand? Look further though, and G roads rule, as do cycle paths.



Within reach has been Llorà, Pla de Sant Joan, Valle Llémena, Serres, Bonmati (all towards north west, with Pyrenees in sight). To the east, part of the Volta de Catalunya route, which is a curvy climb through forest from

Cassà de la Selva to the village of Madremanya, then returns back to Girona on the north side vía El Pedro, again distant snowy mountains of France in sight.



Sadly, Pedro chose to bow out of that ride 6km in, with broken prescription sunglasses, but reliably informed me on my return I’d just done part of the Catalunya Volta. 1000m plus was climbed at such an achievable grade, and coming across around 40 elite looking riders (with no cars on that one hilly stretch), the joke was made - should I enter? My €200 ex rental Cannondale paled in comparison.



The benefit of all this riding is appetite for 99% Lindt chocolate from Carrefour, and typical to cyclists, coffee. We may have switched to decaf for P2s good health, but that combination is a winner every time afterwards, and the culture of imbibing is pretty intense here. Where else, when there’s a massive Nescafé factory in Taialà just out of town.



As well as the scent of coffee beans roasting, hints of tobacco linger virtually everywhere. The irony however of seeing a head phoned power walker out, with cigarette in mouth, sticks.



But you’ll spot those sporty folks if you hang out in the right places.



Decathlon, the local discount sports goods and clothing outlet, has proven its worth. Like kids in a lolly shop over one weekend, we burned a hole in my credit card for several hours, for several bargains, pouring over snow shoes, cheap cycle gear and outdoor accessories, all for a good cause. The future. And plans.



Which full circle on this blog, it’s also of the past. We’re in an old town precinct with buildings 800/900 years old. The mind goes crazy imagining life past. And the smokey, foggy night air from our balcony begs to have Romeo call out to Juliet, who could be hanging out her underclothes and trying desperately to dry double sheets on a rack. Times are hard with one hour of direct sunlight per day, and we need that rooftop space more than ever



Once P2 got a cheap replacement arm to his glasses, the persuasion to join me on that climb worked.



Stoked with breakfast, we did the usual bike haul downstairs to get off around 10am, on route to Cassà de la Selva. 16km of dirt path later and we hit the top of that town, turning into the G road, to will those thighs into getting us up the hill. I like the slow steady ones, and it turns out P2 likes the short sharp ones, on one condition - the bike fits the rider! A good workman never blames his tools, right?



Coasting down to Sant Sadurní de L’huera, it was a muscular surprise to climb up another short sharp one. But once in Madremanya, all exertion was forgiven, for we’d found a silent thirteenth century village, and I had sweet treats.



We made it home in non record time, with the camaraderie of many others (and their acknowledgement welcoming), whatever your wheels were. It felt so inclusive, until a training group hurls past!



By now, a week of riding took its toll on the bikes, with a few squeaks, clicks and heavy dust collections. Bike mechanic barbie to the rescue, I decided on our arrival home there was one space near our front door suitable to do a short tune up, a little alcove next to a castle wall ruin several doors down. Unfortunately it was Saturday afternoon when shops mostly stayed open, town heaving a little more, that I received more than just passing glances



Option B of a front door or rooftop service location wouldn’t be easy, with constant foot traffic and those skinny stairs, but in the end, P2 came back with his panadería purchases, and those sparkling bikes took their place again under the TV shelf, 3 floors up.



Later on we went in search of the recycling bins, the other side of the River Onyar, returning via the cathedral. Asked to take a photo by Jon, a Cataluña resident, I met my first Hondurans, Irma and Lorena, staying at his Airbnb. Emphatically, he told me he liked New Zealanders. We were from ‘below Australia’ and ‘gente muy simpático! Of course, we chatted about our only Central American experience, Costa Rica, and as much as as we’d love to return there to visit Honduras, passing the USA borders again is a deterrent.



The raucousness of Saturday eve and calm of Sunday morning are such polar opposites here. So, another sacred sunny day dawns, the temperature rising as we are headed into spring, and that planning routes when we can get cracking much earlier than 10am are possible.



Banyoles, Cadaqués, Figueres (home to Salvador Dali), the Olot volcanic area, and maybe dragging P2 up the slow grind of the part Volta Cataluña route from Cassà de la Selva for some photographic joy for him, are all in store in the weeks ahead

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