Month: October 2022

Girona, Spain: Exploring the City

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7 July 2022

We decided to spend our first full day exploring the city after the fiasco we’d been through to get into Spain (read here). We left the room quite late, about 10.30am, and walked through the beautiful, quiet, cobbled streets of Old Town to the cathedral, which was barely 10 minutes from our apartment.

Cathedral

We wound through medieval stone streets, past a large round turret, under a huge arch and into a castle-like courtyard. Girona Cathedral loomed above us up a flight of about a hundred wide steps, a vast, majestic building with a clean-lined, simple shape but incredible intricacy in the stone details and carved figures that watch over the city. I could see why it was chosen as a set for Game of Thrones, with its perfectly preserved, timeless grandeur.

We climbed the stairs and paid for entry (€7 each), which included a free recorded audio tour – this turned out to be well worth doing. We entered the enormous, striking Gothic nave and learnt how it was the widest of its kind in the world: the architects had decided to forego the two columned aisles usually found on either side of a cathedral. An enormous wooden organ stood in the middle behind models of the cathedral’s development, and the edges were lined with 28 different chapels dedicated to saints. They all had unique stories and contained varying styles of carving, painting and sculpture, some dramatically ornate and some strikingly simple.

After about 45 minutes walking around the nave listening to the audio tour, we went through to the cloisters, the columned walk that encloses a grassy outdoor courtyard on all four sides. My favourite part was the several wide columns pointed out by the audio guide, each of which were engraved with 360 degree carvings telling biblical stories. We went up some stone stairs into a room featuring pieces of stained glass from different periods, then back down and out of the cloisters into the tapestried, chandeliered Chapel of Hope, where the lavish, gold-gilded “bed of the Assumption of Mary” sat under a high-ceilinged tower.

The last bit took us into the cathedral treasury museum, which contained various religious artefacts – sculptures, paintings, silverware, chests and manuscripts – and notably the fascinating 12th century Creation Tapestry, depicting the months and seasons. It was all so interesting that I almost wish I’d taken notes to remember it all. We left through a corridor back onto the façade overlooking the medieval square and the red-tiled city rooves, nearly two hours after we’d entered, and went off to find some lunch.

Lunch

We walked through the pretty, cool stone streets of Old Town, crossed the river and went to Placa de la Independencia, the large, restaurant-lined square we’d found the previous night. We sat down for lunch at Konig, a reasonably priced restaurant (we decided it was possibly the Wetherspoons of Girona, but no complaints), and I had a smoked salmon, avocado and ricotta bagel while Ryan had some kind of rice, pepper and calamari salad. A couple of glasses of sangria made me quite tipsy – I blame the heat – and we relaxed (to my initial agitation) there for a while before heading off to find the city wall walk.

Medieval Walls

We went back across the river, through the old streets and behind the cathedral, where incredibly tall, thin cypress trees stood over high stone walls, little public gardens and criss-crossing footpaths. On our way up some steps we bumped into a friendly local who told us his favourite spot in Girona to get a good view of the city, so we followed his directions down the hill and up some steep steps onto a high, narrow wall near the John Lennon gardens. We walked along this wall to the highest point, where we stopped to look over the city. The cathedral sat on a hill, the highest point in Girona, and dominated the foreground, along with the high stone tower of the San Felix Basilica. Tiled rooves sprawled between swathes of bright green trees, and the horizon was shaped by distant, hazy blue mountains. It was as stunning as the heat was stifling.

We backtracked along the wall and through the peaceful John Lennon gardens, then headed east along a path set between tall, lush trees towards the main medieval wall, pausing to look at a pair of striking green monk parakeets perched on a branch above us. We got to a large stone tower by the Jardins dels Alemanys and climbed the stairs inside to the top. We stood on the tower and stared across the terracotta rooves of Old Town, large modern blocks beyond the stone buildings, and layers of rolling mountains spanning the skyline, all interspersed with leafy vegetation.

The wall ran in a long, straight line with several towers spread along it, almost all of which we climbed. The views of the city were incredible, a mix of old and new, and somehow – despite the sprawling streets and mass of buildings – it seemed small set beneath the thickly forested hills. We bimbled along the length of the medieval walk, which took about half an hour with the tower stops, and climbed down the stairs at the other end, returning to the southern part of old town.

Old Town & Tapas

We took a rambling route back to the apartment through narrow, cobbled, litter-free streets, admiring the pretty, balconied, shuttered five-storey buildings of pastel orange, beige and bare stone that sat above a diverse array of little shops and restaurants. We got back about 5pm and went for a late siesta, exhausted by the heat. We headed back out around 8pm having realised the previous evening that the Spanish eat very late.

We crossed the carp-filled river and returned to the Konig bar on Placa de la Independencia for tapas. We shared potatoes with truffle cheese sauce, squid and scallop croquettes, beef strips with peppers, prawns in coconut, ginger and lime sauce, iberian ham croquettes, grilled octopus and a little bread basket, which seemed to come free with meals as standard. I wouldn’t normally order as much meat but I was desperate to try the local dishes. It was all very nice for only €40, including half a litre of Sangria and two pints of San Miguel. We ate, drank and people watched, charmed by the social, relaxed atmosphere – people of all ages were out until late and there was a nice, quiet buzz around the square.

We crossed back to Old Town over the bridge by the Basilica and walked through castle-like streets to see the cathedral at night. A bright, warm light accentuated its geometrical edges, detailed carvings and hundred steps, making it look even more striking than in daylight. It was lovely walking through the narrow stone back roads – although the bars and restaurants were bustling, particularly in the evening, there were plenty of quiet, timeless, totally empty little alleys and streets that we could dive down, where it felt as if we had the city to ourselves.

We shared a delicious vegan ice cream (one scoop each of passionfruit, snickers and caramel) on our way back to the apartment and found ourselves in a little square listening to a Catalonian three-man band, who sang and played guitar in that distinctive twangy, lively Spanish style. The music was lovely and we sat on a little wall behind the tables that spilled across the square, where people sat, sang and waved napkins to some well-known song. I was amusedly watching a chocolate labrador hoover the floor and be retrieved by its owner for the third or fourth time when a lady suddenly appeared in front of us offering a tray of small disposable cups, so we took one each and thanked her. It was some kind of hot, thin, strong, coffee flavoured alcohol, and after one sip I donated it to Ryan.

We went back to the apartment as the band packed up, amazed by the friendliness of people – the local who stopped to tell us his favourite spot in the city, an English-speaking man we befriended in the ice cream queue who recommended the Indian restaurant where we had our last meal of the trip and the lady who’d given us a free drink, despite us obviously only stopping in the square to listen to the music. I was quite taken with Girona.

Girona, Spain: First impressions

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5 – 6 July 2022

Poor planning

I had an extremely stressful evening on Tuesday 5 July. We went indoor climbing as normal and on the way back I decided it’d be a good idea to check the covid requirements for our flight to Spain at 12:25 the following day. It turned out that although we were double vaccinated, we could only enter Spain if our second vaccine had been received within 270 days of the flight, we’d had the booster (which takes up to 5 days to register on covid records), or we had a negative test result. Negative (by about 25 days), negative, and negative, respectively.

After hours of googling, despair at realising most test centres (including the one at Bournemouth airport) had 24-hour turnaround times, and a small degree of extremely sceptical relief at having found a centre in Southampton offering £22.50 lateral flows with 2-hour results and an 8am appointment slot, we packed at 1am, hoping that we weren’t tempting fate. We went to bed at 2am and were up by 6.

Ryan’s dad rushed us into Southampton for 7.30, we had our lateral flows at the test centre – surprisingly busy for 8am – and we went to a nearby walk-in vaccination centre to get our boosters at 9am, just in case the covid app updated on time. Miraculously our negative test results were emailed through as we were queuing, to our immense relief, but we were still slightly anxious that they wouldn’t be accepted at the airport.

On the way to Bournemouth airport I filled out our Spanish government issue entry forms, uploaded our test result documents to our boarding passes, and breathed for the first time in 12 hours. We went through security, had a drink in the bar, bought a phrase book from the shop and boarded our busy flight without any hassle.

Arrival in Girona

We stepped off the plane to that intense, slightly stifling wave of heat that marks the beginning of a hot summer holiday. We left the airport, slightly incredulous that Spain had let us in without batting an eyelid, and waited half an hour for a bus in the searing heat. I was delighted to find a vending machine at the bus stop selling impossibly processed ham and cheese sandwiches and paprika crisps, which kept us going until the bus came.

The 30-minute trip to Girona bus station took us past dry, golden fields, dusty buildings and the industrial southern end of the city, which seemed to be full of car and motorbike dealerships. We left the large, air conditioned station building and were once again hit by the heat of a Spanish summer as we walked out onto a large, open, very clean plaza. We headed east through intermittent, warm rain towards our airbnb past slightly tired-looking offices and flats, then along a long, straight, smooth-cobbled street flanked by tall, six-storeyed buildings with a variety of narrow shops underneath.

Then we reached the river Onyar and realised what Girona was all about. We stopped on the wide stone Pedra bridge to admire the river, which consisted of a barely flowing channel of clear water between two lush green strips of grasses, reeds and wetland plants, set about 15 feet below street level. It was incredibly clean, and large carp swam lazily around the weeds directly below us, to Ryan’s delight. The river was lined on both sides by pretty, flat-fronted buildings two to six storeys high, painted in a striking array of oranges, yellows, reds and creams, and the elegant grey towers of the cathedral and basilica soared above the flat rooves on the right bank. This was the view that came up when we’d google imaged Girona, but it was even more beautiful.

We crossed the bridge and wandered down the cobbled, tree-lined Rambla de la Libertat, which was bustling with pretty shops and little restaurants with tables spilling across one side of the street. We turned right at the end onto a narrower street squeezed between attractive, five storey high buildings, some painted pastel oranges and some bare-stoned, all with pretty balconies and shutters or blinds to keep out the heat. The streets brimmed with all kinds of little shops and restaurants and it was remarkably clean and tidy – not a speck of litter. Old town had delighted us already.

Accommodation

Our airbnb was in a third floor apartment right in the middle of old town, down a narrow alley on the Placa dels Raims, the smallest square in Europe. It took a little bit of finding but we were delighted with it. Our host – despite barely speaking a word of English – was extremely welcoming and our room was along a corridor in a separate part of the apartment to the main bit where she lived with her family. It was high-ceilinged and timeless, with whitewashed walls and a lovely stone feature wall, shelves full of books, towels and trinkets, a tall shuttered window opening out onto a narrow gap between the tall buildings, and our own large, clean private bathroom. It was lovely to be spending the trip in a Catalonian home, rather than a common-or-garden hotel room.

Paella & Chill

We took some time to settle and relax in the room following the stress of our poor-planning-related near miss, then got changed and went to explore a little. We had a little walk around the picture-postcard narrow, cobbled streets, enjoying that distinctive summer smell of warm, fat raindrops (none of that nasty British drizzle) hitting the stone floor. My flip flops were slippery on the smooth slabs so I walked around barefoot with my silky trousers rolled up. We went back to the tree-lined Rambla de la Libertat for dinner and found a reasonably priced (we later found out that most restaurants were reasonable) Catalonian restaurant with street seating under large stone arches and grappled – probably quite poorly – with ordering our dinner in Spanish.

We shared a lovely seafood paella and “fideua”, a similar dish but with noodles and a different sauce. I enjoyed my first ever (!) sangria and we sat people watching, drinking in the unfamiliar and refreshing lack of English-ness. The rain subsided and we went for an evening walk. We crossed back over the Onya, which was equally beautiful under a fading, grey-pink sky, and wandered around the clean, more modern, slightly wider streets on the west side of the river, intrigued by the randomly situated but bustling small eat-and-drinkeries. We found the large, buzzing Placa de la Independencia square, lined on all four sides by long, tall, balconied apartment buildings above a multitude of bars and restaurants, and decided to return for lunch the following day.

We crossed back over a bridge further down the river and returned to our little flat in the middle of old town. We were extremely pleasantly surprised by Girona’s charm and atmosphere and planned to spend the next day exploring the city more thoroughly. My biggest qualm was my aching left arm from the booster jab that morning and the warm temperature, which made getting to sleep difficult, particularly as I was concerned about jab side effects. After some tossing and turning I drifted off, probably thanks to the air con unit in the room and the thin sheet instead of a duvet, excited for the rest of the holiday.

Scotland, Feb ’22: The Cobbler

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Monday 14 February

We woke in Glencoe, happy to be in my favourite place but painfully conscious that we only had one day left in Scotland. The last thing on our to do list was hike up the Cobbler, an iconic small mountain in the Trossachs range near Loch Lomond. We had poached eggs on toast and drove out of dramatic Glencoe one last time – I’ve probably over-described it in previous posts so I’ll spare the gushing detail of how beautiful it is. We headed south across marshy Rannoch Moor, where the vast, sprawling wilderness was accentuated by the rugged, rolling mountains all around.

The drive down to Loch Lomond was very scenic and I saw my much-anticipated red squirrel, although sadly it was flat as a pancake in the middle of the road. We drove along the long, winding edge of the loch and turned off towards Arrochar, a village which sits at the head of unimaginatively but accurately named Loch Long. We parked in the lochside car park and booted up, leaving the van about 12.30pm.

The first section took us on a long, steady hike up a switchback path that climbs above Loch Long and through thick birch and evergreen forest, then pops out onto open, undulating moorland covered in golden grass, brown heather and the large, grey, randomly strewn Narnain boulders. The distinctive form of the Cobbler appeared as we emerged from the trees, its dark, gnarled rocks distorting the horizon and standing in stark contrast against the pale, cloudy sky and patchy white snow.

The Cobbler, otherwise known as Ben Arthur, is so called because of the distinctive, tall, dark lump of rock that sits on the central summit of the hilly mass, which is supposed to look like a cobbler bending over at work when viewed from the east – the way we were approaching. Personally I’m not sure I see it, but it certainly is a peculiar shape.

With that iconic figure straight ahead of us, the steady hike up the hillside moor was stunning, with far-reaching views across the rolling, golden peaks of the Arrochar Alps rising all around us. We passed vast boulders and followed the gently flowing Coire a Bhalachain river for about a mile to the base of the imposing, obscure obtrusion, where snow started to appear on the ground in patches. Here we took a right fork to approach the summit from the obvious path to the north. The alternative option was a shorter but steeper route that looks on a map like it goes west up a wide gully, which looked snowy – we hadn’t taken ice axes so didn’t fancy climbing, nor ending up in an avalanche.

The path continued gradually up and northwest along the river for another kilometre to the small Lochan a Chlaidheimh, which sits in the col between the Cobbler and neighbouring Beinn Narnain. Suddenly exposed to the westerly wind, able to see the deep, rolling valleys over the back of the mountain, and stood just below a thick grey curtain of clag, the place took on a whole new character – wilder, more ominous and more exciting.

We took a left fork at the col and began the steeper climb up stone “steps”, now heading south up the mountain’s north face. The snow thickened and spread as we climbed up, and the icy rocks became quite awkward to move across; luckily sensible Ryan had brought his hiking poles. Once we’d gained some height the path levelled into a narrow, slippery traverse below the lumpy North Peak, which was a little sketchy but afforded good views over the undulating brown valley below (the summits of Beinn Luibhean and Beinn Ime had been absorbed by cloud) and the Cobbler’s snow-covered northwest side, which rolled down in a vast white mass that was quite different to the iconic grey cliffs on the sheer eastern face.

We reached this white mass and made our way up, which was difficult given the steep gradient and slipperiness of the compacted snow and the unpredictable sizes, shapes and locations of the rocks hidden underneath. The snowy summit (884m) was about a kilometre on from the Lochan where we’d branched left, and we were relieved to gain it after the awkward climb. Once up there I was keen to “thread the needle”, a famous move which involves climbing through a hole in the highest pinnacle onto an exposed ledge on the sheer east face, then scrambling up to stand on the narrow rocky peak. I went partly through the hole but the conditions were way too windy and icy, so I decided against it – Ryan had already had kittens.

Pleased to have reached the top but slightly amused and exasperated to once again achieve a summit with extensive views of the inside of a cloud, we took a few photos and headed back down the way we came. It was just as awkward as the way up, if not more so, and we were relieved when we returned to the Lochan and the easier path back across the golden moor.

The walk back from there was lovely, with excellent views over the rugged hills all around. For some bizarre, probably food-related reason, Ryan, who hates running, decided to start jogging back, which we did for a few hundred metres before I became concerned about a potential shin splint (an old injury) and becoming unnecessarily sweaty. We crossed the boulder-strewn moor, looking back wistfully at the wild hills, entered the forest and took the switchback path back down to the car park.

We got back to the van about 16:30, de-kitted and drove south along the bank of stunning Loch Lomond to the town of Balloch, where we treated ourselves to a mayo chicken from McDonalds and looked for a half-decent overnight spot. Having not found anywhere, I used the Park4nite app and spotted a perfect little pull-in between Dumbarton and Helensburgh on the bank of the wide, tidal River Clyde, a 20 minute drive west. It was on a very quiet road by a sandy beach, which was a lovely, bird-rich nature reserve, and as the day faded it overlooked the twinkling lights of Greenock on the far side of the river.

I cooked vegan mince stew for dinner with bulgur wheat and veg, and to mark Valentine’s Day we lit a candle – a bit extravagant, I know. We spent a long time watching the lights of Greenock dance on the water, looking up at a clear, starry, unusually bright sky, listening to the strange wading birds, and reflecting on our lovely trip. We went to bed reluctantly, not wanting our time in Scotland to end and half-considering just living wild.

And just like that, it was over. To conclude the trip, the drive home the next day was long and uneventful – we left about 9.30am and got back to the New Forest about 6pm. As usual, I think I left my heart in Scotland. Must go back soon.