By Ben Ade An ancient and important trail from Villafranca to Barcelona, known as the 'Cami Ral'. We followed parts of this route along un-sealed tracks, eventually ending up in the city itself. There are areas where the deep ruts, made by carriages and carts, carrying Catalan kings or goods to trade, are still plainly visible. A final stop here, near the highest point of the trail, gave us the unusual opportunity of wild camping aside this buzzing metropolis. A relatively peaceful spot, although for an hour or so in the evening, then again in the morning, many Barcelonan residents run and cycle past on their daily exercise routines. We mutually look upon each other at these times, with gazes of curiosity, as if from a different species. Us, making ourselves at home in this suburban area which rarely sets eyes upon travellers these days, eating dinner or breakfast aside their regular path, with the world as our balcony. Them, rhythmically pacing past by foot and bike, vacuum sealed into the latest brands of shiny lycra bodysuits, neon Nike running trainers and electronic heart rate monitors beeping along with their i-pod playlists. The panoramic vistas of the city were a real pleasure to behold. We could watch the constant stream of trains arriving, traffic passing through and aeroplanes taking off as the next one comes in to land. Startled by a very loud noise in the trees beside us, further investigation was required. A wild boar came crashing through the undergrowth, like a miniature derailed freight train, complete with four piglet carriages in tow. The convoy barrelled off into the distance at high speed in the direction of a large housing estate. The following day would no doubt be hectic. We plan to drive Kaerus directly into Barcelona and then park, giving us the day to explore by foot. Suitably refreshed from a pleasant nights stay, camp is packed up. We follow the old track ahead, which drops down steeply now, descending us into the bustling streets below.
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By Melissa Shaw
Our trusty Land Rover rolls over the dry Spanish soil with such ease. We are destined for the famous cava county of Catalonia now. Vineyards stretch for kilometres across flat dusty plains, with the odd farmer inspecting his crop that is soon to be harvested. It is not long before we begin to see the difference of flags that proudly hang from balconies, shops and town masts. The fight for Catalonia to become independent is very must still on the cards, with demonstrations of "Si!" displayed in a variety of inventive ways. Even down to the branding of novelty stickers on all the motor cars. It appears that they have adjusted from the Spanish bull symbol to the Catalonian donkey. The native tongue is also different with locals combining a little French with a little Spanish. Many residents feel strongly that they are very much an independent country, neither Spanish nor French just simply Catalonian. We soon arrive into Salou, along the Costa Daurada coastline, on a June midsummers day. The sunshine is eager to show off her abilities making the air is stiflingly hot and 'sticky'. The seaside town, streets littered with inflatable animals, a rainbow of lilo arrangements and burrows of souvenirs that can tempt even the biggest of kids. Streams of tourists flock to the beach to enjoy and indulge in a good dose of vitamin D. Beach towels and parasols state their claim to their patch of sand as users lay to bake, followed by a cooling dip in the sea. Upon the promenade, children's eyes are fixed as they press their little faces against the glass, keen to sample the endless array of ice creams and sorbets on offer at one of many ice cream parlours. Their parents advise 'that they must help' with this eating process or the consequence of it melting and sadly plummeting to the floor with the heat will be devastating. Meanwhile away from the beach, there is a busy flurry as locals dart and scurry like ants maintaining a nest. The supermarket carparks are at full capacity, with trolley loads full to the brim, getting packed into car boots. Enormous and colourful cakes are loaded carefully into the back seats. Some roads have become a mad dash of road rage too, with horns beeping and each car trying to undercut another. Anyone would think it was Christmas in the Uk! The festivities of Saint John, are "quite a big deal to us Catalonian's" one local girl discussed with me. She continued to mention that "we really look forward to it, because it's a holiday and we all like to get together". I read also that this flurry of preparation is due to the shops and other conveniences closing the day before and the day after. This explains everyone stocking up for the worlds end then. We had planned to visit Salou on our rough route deliberately, to catch the festivities that Saint John had to offer. As we stroll along the beach promenade around 8.30pm, loud bangs and explosions continued repeatedly. As we drew closer to the main area we took a moment to observe what was going on. Surely it can't be fireworks, for it's still daylight? Shortly after, it was made clear with loud bang followed by a scream, that it was children of all ages ranging from five to thirty five setting off firecrackers and small fireworks. A walk across the beach was also a bit of a mine field, for fear that I stood on a firecracker and land on a Catalonian family picnic. Each year, many Catalonian's enjoy bonfire celebrations in memory of Saint Joan. The flame of Canigo is carried from the very top of the mountain and tours it's way throughout the villages before reaching the main town destination of Salou, where the three bonfires along the coastline are ignited. The pyrotechnic parade accompanied the flame throughout the streets and displaying a spectacular show to the crowds. People dressed as witches and demons yielding Catherine wheels on large sticks high above. The group danced to the beat of the drums and bells providing an increase of excitement to the lighting of the bonfires. During the build up to the parade locals enjoyed a fascinating water fountain display of laser lights, water impulses and music. A live orchestra, "The Fania" enclosed the centre with folk dance that had people jiving and shuffling. The burning of the bonfire was very short lived, as it was built of flammable ceder branches. Although, the firework display was wonderful to watch accompanied by a young Spanish live band that kicked us off to the "Saint John beach party" that would continue late into the evening. As we stood on the beach, in bare feet (not winter hats and boots similar to our 5th November bonfire celebrations), we gazed happily at the explosions of colours and light that infused our midsummers night. By Ben Ade Stepping into a public convenience the other day I was greeted by this sight at my feet. The poor snake didnt know what to do, it had obviously just captured a rodent of some kind and was about to digest. Unfortunately Samuel L. Jackson (of 2006 Hollywood film 'Snakes on a Plane' fame) was no where in sight to lend a hand. I did a quick about turn, leaving the creature in peace.
By Ben Ade Passing through a lesser known national park, in Valencia province, we stumbled upon an interesting old place. Numerous imposing old buildings lay scattered around the woods and completely deserted. A good area with shade, beside a derelict motel and bar, became a camp for a few days. After some thorough exploring we figured the place out, it was a huge complex from decades passed, designed to house and treat the mentally insane or 'loco'. The reasoning for complete abandonment of the place is still a mystery though. Numerous hospital buildings lay completely open to the elements and surprisingly un-vandalised, perhaps because of the remote location here.
A huge 1950's era hospital invited us through the open front doors, turning out to be one of the eeriest places we have yet explored, and we have been in a lot of eerie locations! The silent corridors led to individual patient rooms. Frozen in time, the beds and furniture lay as if ready to use. Patient boards still remaining on some with faded, old fashioned print forms. The weathered wooden security shutters on windows left the building very dark inside, combining with the dank odour of urine and decay, it was no five star hotel. Next came the treatment rooms. 3 separate, old style, electro-convulsive therapy machines, each in a separate room, rusting from decades of electrocuting the fragile minded. The stretcher beds are of the type to combine with heavy tie-down straps. The next room was a corrective surgery area, same tie down stretchers only of a heavier duty build, also a viewing area with small glass windows, presumably for student doctors. Tiny cleaning sinks and precision tool racks lined a back wall, brain surgery equipment and tools were no longer there though. Another room with bookshelves of paperwork and theory notes, dating from the 60's and 70's, lay scattered on floors among thick layers of dust, including many type-writer produced patient documents. A thudding/scraping noise from within the deathly silent building sent us looking for the exit, with haste. Upon leaving we heard the noise again, lingering and coming from the upstairs section. Strangely this section was completely and utterly shut off, with no access from inside. The only access was a rickety staircase outside, of which the door was permanently sealed with huge steel bars and long grown over with ivy, all upper windows were also sealed. We hastily left the building, along with the mysterious noises and unpleasant atmosphere. Among the numerous other buildings were streets of sheltered housing, a cinema and auditorium plus another complete hospital. The manager/bosses luxury mansion was also now returning to nature, complete with his 2 swimming pools and sauna house, I guess life was good for the big wigs. Yet another large and imposing, hospital style building lay perfectly preserved among woodland at the top of the hill. The authorities had made sure of permanently sealing only this one for reasons unknown to us, with solid concrete over the door entrances and thick, rusted steel bars on every gap, I dread to think of what went on within the building. A possible reason for the overall abandonment of the complex could be contaminated water, fairly modern signs lay posted all around saying something about water being toxic. The whole place had a very depressing and negative air about it, although quite interesting to visit, we were glad when time came to move camp once more. By Ben Ade Having heard very little about the areas of central Spain, we really didnt know what to expect. A worry was that it may just be swathes of huge plantations and farmland, which tend to be very poor areas for the traveller or tourist. Although there is a considerable amount of the fore mentioned farming, the country has cordoned off much larger areas, at regular intervals, to house spectacular national parks. This prevents the money hungry farm empires from closing yet more areas off to the public, leaving their persistently grumpy faces and plentiful 'my land-keep off-go away' signage, well outside these parks.
We have also found lochs, of all shapes and sizes, to be good areas to stop. One such watery haven, in Murcia province, became home for a few days. A small sign led us down a few kilometres of seldom used tracks, eventually breaking through the gnarled cedar forests and into a clearing. A very special place now lay ahead. Shimmering blue water, perfectly still and serene, surrounded by deserted mountainsides and forest. Camp was set on a sheltered shore, within a stones throw of the water. Whilst here the kayak was used extensively, exploring the hidden coves and just relaxing on the water. This loch, along with most others in Spain, has been dammed to increase the water storing capacity. The old ruins of various farms are clearly visible, abandoned after the dam creation as they now flood in rainy seasons. The water here was clean, cool and very pleasant swimming. It also seemed a hot spot for sizeable brown trout, we could see them cruising past occasionally and jumping for flies, the splashes were huge! Along with the trout were various other carp type fish, one of which we caught, providing a large tasty meal for two, thank you fish. Another lakeside stop, further North, started with exploring what looked to be an industrialised Machu Picchu perched on a hill. It turned out to be a gargantuan cement factory, presumably to aid with the dam building and long left derelict. Moving around towards shore to camp, it seemed this lake was more 'discovered' by tourists and locals alike, with boats for rent, cafe bar's, litter strewn, broken glass bottles abundant and daytrippers in every direction. Valencia province now lay ahead, among the sights and sounds here we explored some impressive castles. One was a forgotten relic, high upon an impenetrable rock, off the tourists trails. A steep climb up gave not only amazing views, but a glimpse into the life of these well defended people. The turf does not build up over years, like it would in Scotland, so the remains of human activity were quite visible. Atop the rock there were ancient almond trees, branches straining to the ground from centuries of fruit bearing. Remains of numerous houses and communal areas surrounded the castle, which would have been quite a labyrinthine network when still standing. Scattered around the dusty, rocky grounds were thousands of pieces of broken earthenware vessels and roofing slabs, thick with lichen. Digging through these, the fingerprints and shaping lines were still quite visible where the pieces had been lying in the ground. There was something quite captivating about running your fingers along the exact hand marks made by skilled potters, hundreds of years past. We also visited huge castles which have been upkept to this day, within magnificent walled towns. As recently as the Spanish civil wars these castles were used by the government to defend from rebellion, still equipped with early 20th century artillery. One of these castles had been maintained for many decades by Franciscan monks, who were also entrusted with the areas accounts and book keeping. These monks seemed quite focused on the ideas of death, doom and also gloom. Ancient wall murals within provided all sorts of scary warnings for living your life. This was of course a very different time, death was all around with battles, disease and short lives. More of an accepted part of daily existence I suppose, than for most of us today, with our higher than ever life expectancy, disease prevention and freedoms like never before. The hundreds of miles of unsealed roads, spanning around the woodlands of Aragon county were next up. A 4x4 is recommended, but a motorbike, pushbike or good ol' feet would also suffice. This lush area had a perfect combination of good sun, medium temperatures and enough rain to please the plants. We found it quite easy to get lost, repeatedly, on this ancient network of dis-used tracks, at times having to saw down felled trees in the road to enable Kaerus's safe passage. Discoveries included overgrown recreation areas, complete with benches, barbeque huts and running water. These made things very easy indeed, although placed remarkably far from general public reach, meaning they were barely used, they were well located for our explorations however. Leaving these forests, we saw structures in a field which looked way too unusual for a standard farm. Numerous large metal machines, dismantled and re-arranged in sculpture form. There were dinosaurs, 15 foot turkeys, strange beasts, gigantic plants, along with many I could not recognise. A real display of human creativity, the artist didnt seem to live on his land here, signage indicated a friendly vibe and for passers by to have a look. Quite refreshing when surrounded by repetitive rows of uniform farmed fields, punctuated by paranoid warning signs. The only worry to me was that I noted all the components used within the sculptures, it did not appear to be useless junk at all. A complete tracked digger had been sacrificed, along with many complete tractor attachments, dumpers, cement mixers and other handy tools. The sculptures are great, but my inner engineer wants to take them apart and rebuild/restore the machines! Our travels through central Spain have shown that, despite common belief, this country still holds onto some wild and traditional areas, steeped in history, culture and nature. Whilst writing this in another idyllic camp, I watch numerous airline jets zoom overhead and miss out on the joys of surface travel. We feel very fortunate to be of the overlanding persuasion. By Ben Ade A night time walk, high in the Sierra Nevada mountains. A lonely observatory perches atop a peak. Long abandoned and replaced by a much newer building, elswhere in the mountain range. Although quite a cloudy night, the moon was full, making the dome visible on the skyline.
By Ben Ade The sweltering heat of Andalucia drove us towards the mountains and cooler altitudes for a breather. Climbing the mighty Sierra Nevada range, above Granada, was quite a trek. We parked up at a pleasant viewpoint with breath-taking panoramic views, sitting at over 2500 metres above sea level. The temperatures dropped by around 10 degrees between here and the low lands, perfect. The next day we just had to go and inspect the distant snow capped peaks, for the novelty of seeing snow if nothing else! They were much further than we thought, but a few hours hiking brought us up the second highest peak, at 3400 metres. The afternoon sun allowed T-shirts to be worn even though the ground still held onto huge snow drifts all around. Playing in the snow commenced, in June, in the hottest county of Spain.
The novelty of the snow soon wore off, where next then? Various marked ski slopes could be seen in the distance, we followed one named 'Pista Del Mar'. Ahead loomed all manner of enormous sea creatures and ocean paraphernalia, scattered along the course. A 15 foot octopus lay to the left, whilst a pair of worn old pirates guarded the next stage in front. Walking through a giant shark tunnel, then past a lighthouse, brought us near the base of the run, but not before passing an enormous fibreglass starfish and an inflatable Nemo. The next slope lay ahead, fans of German automobiles will love it. This Audi themed course is a 'vorspung durch technic' overload, the cable car is even a replica Audi A2! Further down the mountains we plod, bringing us to the main ski resort now. This is a town the size of Castle Douglas, in Scotland, but it only opens for 3 months a year during deep winter. The rest of the time it sits looking rather depressing, awaiting the ski crowds return. There is everything here; bars, cinema, hotels, town square, estate agents, supermarkets, barbers, pharmacy, etc., etc. All closed. We walked the silent streets for a while, then stop for lunch and a siesta in the huge, but empty, town centre. Back at the viewpoint, where we had setup camp, a friendly English couple named Julie and Jason invited us for tea. They were parked across the way and seemed to be nearly permanent road dwellers, throughout Europe and Morocco, making our months away seem like a quick holiday in comparison. The huge Hymer motorhome was their casa on wheels, complete with all the luxuries of a UK home, even a friendly pet dog! The next day we watched very strange commotion involving numerous cars, disguised in covers and vinyl, being unloaded from lorries to drive the mountain roads. The people were not keen on spilling the beans, I attempted to strike up a conversation with one young bloke; having seen the French plates on the trucks I asked if he was from France, he responded with hesitation and a strong French accent, "no, I am from all around the world.", then he rudely instructed me not to take photographs and mumbled something about paparazzi. I think he quite enjoyed feeling like a secretive super spy on a top secret mission. The dull truth was that these blokes seemed to be doing 'real world' road tests on various unreleased car models, involving driving up and down the main mountain pass repeatedly, recording all data on laptops. Some bright spark had decided the cars should all be wrapped in ridiculous vinyl covers as a 'disguise', this drew huge amounts of attention to them solely due to the vinyl. The main contenders seemed to be new models of Citroen, Volvo and Dacia as far as I could see, among others. More hiking was on the cards today, bringing such sights as a herd of apparently wild, and pregnant, horses. Also many odd little mountain based creatures that seem to be a cross between a deer and a goat. The next day we met a cheerful German family, the guy was very excited to see the Land Rover. He and his wife have been touring the Sahara since the 1970's, starting with a citroen 2CV (amazingly) and moving on to an early Land Cruiser with roof tent. These days he has a huge motorhome as his family expanded, but still keeps the roof tent in the garage just incase! He remembers standing at this mountain location 30 years ago with his wife, on their way to the Sahara desert, seeing our roof top tent and Land Rover with its Saharan tales to tell brought back good memories for them. It now seemed time to leave the mountains, suitably refreshed and cooled. We dropped a couple of kilometres in altitude and rolled off towards the sun-baked plains of North Eastern Andalucia. By Melissa Shaw Today Kaerus seems to have made herself a mutual friend whilst rambling throughout the desert of Morocco. Although not far away, her owners seem to be very preoccupied, gallivanting around taking photos of the rest of the family of camels. Leaving Kaerus with a moment of peace to a well deserved short break, awaiting their return. One camel youngster glances over to Kaerus and decides that perhaps this big, white, defender, creature could be lonely and would welcome some company. Striding over to the Land Rover, the camel made herself/himself acquainted with the mechanical overlanding camel. "Oh hello there! I'm so pleased to meet you! It's ever so nice to meet a friend amongst the desert. I hope you have packed lots of water, it's a long stretch to the next well. I see that you have squishy feet like mine. Don't you find it really does help us trek across this tricky terrain all full of sand and rocks, most unpleasant for others. Although, no offence but your feet are a bit odd, all round and black and no toes! Also, I have long legs, but you have none? Anyway, feet aside, I see that you carry a large hump on your back. Snap, me too! It's awful nice that we can have this chat face to face. I like your beady round eyes, they are very similar to mine. However my friend, it appears you wear a large pair of thick black glasses that covers most of your happy face. Should have gone to Specsavers and picked up some modern specs, or even contact lenses? Very strange creature you are but perhaps we will meet again, toodleoo!" By Ben Ade We are now back in Spain. A slight cultural adjustment may be required. The supermarket was high on the priority list now, to sample such forbidden delicacies as pork chops, beer and gin 'n' tonic. Followed by a couple of nights on the refreshingly breezy beaches of Tarifa, the Southern most point in Europe. The N340 was the next mission, this road runs the length of the Costa del Sol and is said to be one of the most dangerous roads in Europe, averaging over 100 fatalities per year. You can bypass it nowadays using the enormous toll road nearby, but toll motorways are ever so boring. Anyway the N340 turned out to be pretty relaxed to drive, or maybe all roads will seem that way after African motoring! The route took us through all the infamous haunts of North European sun seekers. One of our many stops along this route was busy Marbella. Kaerus was navigated into a large area of overgrown and forgotten land, the result of a long abandoned development project. This land lay surrounded by luxury villas, two minutes walk to the beach in one direction, two minutes walk to the town centre the other direction. Good camp for a few days we thought. Despite its central location, the only people who passed by on occasion were villa owners, walking their poodles and Chihuahuas . They were mostly English speaking and friendly, although seemed quite surprised at our chosen camp. One very large, Northern English bloke in a Manchester United top found it hilarious, apparently we were the topic of gossip within the villas, he advised us to stay there as long as we want and thought it was a great idea! In popular holiday areas within Western Europe, it is often these areas of waste land within towns, which become more isolated or 'wild' than the remaining country side. During the stay we did plenty of your textbook beach holiday stuff; lazing on the beach, topping up tans, walking the promenades and swimming in the sea. A horrible realisation occurred after a swim in the sea which we assumed was fairly clean. There was a line of flotsam floating with the tide which we assumed was just seaweed etc., however, I soon noticed small fragments of toilet paper followed by a sanitary towel floating past. We frantically splashed for dry land and used the complimentary beach showers numerous times. It is a notion that now seems so obvious and I shall hence forth only ever swim in wild sea sides, away from excessive habitation. In all seaside resorts and towns there are of course many septic tanks. These obviously are positioned downstream and have their overflows straight into the sea. Now if these tanks dont get emptied regularly, which they rarely will, or experience too high a usage at any time, they will flow sewage straight into the swimming areas. If you stay in a beach side hotel, then you could even flush the toilet and run down to the beach for a swim beside whatever you just flushed. All the other swimmers seemed unknowing of this information and happily splashed about in the tidal toilet contents. This was by no means an isolated event, we noticed the same signs of overflow in all the beach side towns we visited, complete with oblivious and grubby holiday makers. If you are one of these swimmers, please remember to use the beachside showers thoroughly, and then maybe again for good measure! Our week in the 'Costas' was pleasantly warm and sunny. We are now very keen to explore the real lands of Spain though, so North is the direction. Lets see what the country has in store! By Ben Ade
A lonely electricity sub station, circa 1960's. The giant coiling's and components have long been robbed, leaving only a hollow shell which was once so important. Distributing electricity throughout a now derelict, remote Moroccan district. The odour of warm, high voltage electrical components still lingers throughout the structure. The thick, green glass, anti-conductive routings glow from white lighting, placed within, for this night time photograph. Red lighting was used on the outer walls, along with help from the glowing gibbous moon. |