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Published: March 16th 2019
Tossa de mar was one of the next places on our hit list
To the southeast of Girona, reaching this coastal town could be done almost entirely with the dedicated path, that also runs all the way to Sant Feliu de Guixols. That place is the main starting point of a major Volta de Catalunya stage, and being more developed, we chose Tossa instead.
Typical morning temperatures are much more comfortable now, so setting off at 8/9am is closer to 6-8C. Spring is certainly in the air, as the blossoms and gardening allotments are all a flourishing shade of pink, white or green.
From Girona to Llagostera, we took the usual ‘going to shop at Decathlon’ route to leave town. Peeling off on the path we passed into Quart, then Llambilles, onwards to Cassà de la Selva, and with a little asking of an older gent out riding his electric mountain bike, got on route to Llagostera
The older gents bike guild dominated our journey on this route. Groups of 60 plus, possibly even 70 plus year olds, wished us buen día / de’o (which we’d come to retranslate
from a misunderstood “bike” to “hi/bye”) in both our and opposite directions. We could tell they bonded with hearty man chat in Catalán, so it seemed the local equivalent of golf, or the pub.
A brief stop in Llagostera was followed by a slightly worrying hill, the length that ever present 16, a 16km distance to Tossa. Several streams of cycling teams came down the hill towards us, fast and serious looking, but like the majority, they’re always acknowledging in some way. Especially the Spaniards / Catalán!
Tossa was a beautiful site to roll into. Up and down and all around, we squeezed tightly on our dodgy cantilever brakes, just as policemen plod stood by in the old town, addressing some local issue. Having met his Girona colleague, the cyclist warden, I confirmed we could safely and permissibly proceed. Si, no hay problema.
Parking up, we took in the fresh salty Mediterranean air, and made for the castle. From the late 12th century, what remains are fairly robust chunks of wall and structures showing its once great stance and purpose, perched atop the rocky headland. Touching base with the coast on
a sunny day was just lovely, and with much gratitude that we’d not chosen peak season to come here.
People were swimming though, if small children count?
The hill loomed, 10km of up or undulating terrain, and past experiences led us do it on an empty stomach. Easily we climbed, P2 on my tail for most of it on one of his better days, and just the one stop to record the sound of a woodpecker (to match one a few days before in Llora!)
On a dusty roadside amongst the scrub, trying to get a view before our descent, we ate the previous nights zucchini fritters, and at the early afternoon hour it was, headed towards Cassà for a planned coffee.
The station architecture in Cassà had a beautiful pale blue building aside it, but the nearby Casc/ Nucli Antic (Catalán old town) took more of our interest, with a large sundial and, like it is again and again here, a very old medieval church.
Back on the dirt trail again, we got back after 5pm to Girona, just as rush hour was picking
up.
That irritating noise and probably dusty creak from P2s bike was needing looking at and bike mechanic barbie went on task. Roadside assistance got underway immediately, under the railway bridge before it got too dark. I upended the bikes, one litre of ‘soy milk’ water and 500mL of bubbles in my detergent container in the other hand. Toothbrush, cloths and chain oil, I did my sudsy best to clean it all up only to have P2 critique my cleanup as unsuccessful. I admit, mind felt awful after, but in my eyes, it was clean.
It wasn’t the best fix. Such that P2 decided we needed to take it to Bike Breaks, being the plans we had for later that week, and in the more distant context of trying to arrange the selling of them after our stay.
Miquel is a grand hand at their Girona workshop, so he knows his onions when it comes to bikes.
He took one look, exclaiming aye aye aye in Catalán, and probably was chuckling heartily in my absence at my excessive chain oiling to desperately solve P2s squeaks. Bike mechanic barbie
was taken down a peg for all the effort but no substance.
Dry lube all the way I was told, not wet lube around here, as dusty trails affect all bikes.
But maybe Miguel would eat his words the next day. As it rained, heavily and steadily for first time in four weeks. The pot plants came out, carefully lined up on the wet cobbled streets, for a drink. Winter reappeared and it was chilly!
A non cycling day was probably a good idea for the body and off I went carefully riding the wet city paths to Santa Eugenia piscina 3km away, for a quieter than usual session with mostly older locals.
The grim weather called for what we’d banked up as rainy day activity.
Girona cathedral surprisingly was deserted when we headed in after midday. To see the interior in all the size, grandeur and detail of its time was a total feast for the eyes. As we moved into the inner courtyard area, grand pillars and engraved ground tiles filled the the area. They told a very old story, including a piece
of tapestry (in the adjoining clothing museum section) from the 1200s.
Our triple attraction tickets included the basilica and Art Museum, and we stored up the latter for the next day (being a 48 hour ticket). After some much needed hot soup, we returned to the basilica. Fascinated with the coloured lamps, the afternoon sun began pouring through the flower shaped windows, and again, we caught it at a quiet time. Light finally made its appearance and the growers would surely be happy.
The Girona Art museum was part three of the ticket, and it filled the following afternoon. A good few hours were spent seeing some very old fabric, ceramic, wooden and glass artefacts from around the region. We had it virtually to ourselves also.
The sun came out again.
That meant a big day out to Torroella de Montgri, identified by P2 as one of historic interest, and with what would be our first proper hike up a hill!
Unfortunately we woke to the news of an atrocious event in Christchurch, NZ, and to shield oneself from media and information isn’t easy. But
to get ourselves offline for the day was probably the best treatment. Joy was all around, in nature. Done under our own pedal steam, and with my usual packed lunch stored in the handlebar bag to keep us going, we saw a lot.
If only P2s sinuses weren’t playing up, the energy levels might have been higher
Setting off to Torroella by 10am, we traveled north over the River Ter to Cervia de Ter, Sant Jordi, Colomers, Jafre, Verges, and finally climbing up a hill passing a mass of school children, excitably let out for the afternoon.
We found our perfect parking spot to lock the bikes - under a grove of olive trees on a dusty path, that led to another dusty collection of switchbacks. Eventually, that took us to the towering summit, a steady 45 mins of hiking uphill later.
From Playa Estartit to Begur, all the way to Palamos in the south, north to Cadaqués and Llanca, north west to the Pyrenees, and everything west towards Girona could be seen. We were on top of the world. And beneath the sole tree, we sat with
the carrot sticks, crackers, dip and scroggin, in between capturing some magic photos, and just watched the view.
On returning, we then weaved a path from Gualta, Llabia, and Ullastret (where ancient ruins are), to get to our crossroads at Parlavà. It was a little parlava getting up a final hill through La Sala to Foixa, both of which we swore we’d come back to when P2 had recovered his energy.
But coasting down to Sant Llorenc, into Flaca, flat mileage ahead, I sensed all was forgiven.
The car rally urged our prompt return to Girona. Luckily, the road closures didn’t affect us, and channeling the inner motorhead, we just had to take advantage of seeing another event in this part of the world.
The Rally Costa Brava is a popular meet for all those old motor favourites. Around 10.30pm on a Friday night, we wandered down to Park Ferme, as Ford Escorts, Subaru, Porsche, Volvo, and BMWs filled the car park and began enduring the scrutiny of officials. It was a funny arrangement of normal vehicles coming in on the same road with racers, after they’d just
hoofed it 16km on a steep windy road from La Creueta to Madremanya.
And that’s why the road was closed to bikes!
It was time to put any preconceived ideas of rally drivers and passengers aside; the majority stepping out had grey hair.
And somewhere in that rally there had to be a Peugeot owner struggling to make their air con work. R.I.P the paddle car.
The rally continued the next day so any biking had to be away from the west or southern areas of Girona. It was another sunny stunner, and another eastern loop to Cruiiles completed, whilst P2 recuperated.
Coffee, chocolate, lunch, four days of clothes washing banked up, old town wandering, then repeat.
And restock, with juicy oranges from a local tienda L’Estuca, whilst getting my language corrected by the owner. ‘Cincuenta y seis’ in Spanish, less the ‘y’ in Catalán. Ok. Plus, we got the low down on her friend and our Airbnb host. “He’s a good boy”! It’s a close community.
We know, and are in very kind Catalán hands. Many times we hear the
accordion played from below very skillfully, and the heavy patter of dog paws above from the attic flat, as these massive cuddly canines are being taken for a walk down three flights of steps.
It’s a nest-sized apartment, but 100%, you get to know your neighbours!
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