20/2003 - Olot of Moonlight Wanderings
29th March 2004
Bonjour nos ami(e)s!
We set off in search of volcanoes at the end of the last Bulletin and found Olot. A lot of volcanoes, that is, located around Olot. As Dave says, not Olot of people know there's Olot of volcanoes near Olot - except they do now because we've just told you (and Olot of guide books mention it too) - okay, okay, we've done that one to death, let's move on, shall we?!
We did indeed move on from Vilanova, via a lovely scenic (but inevitably steep and winding) back route through the hills out onto the main roads for our passage northwards. We'd decided to treat ourselves to a bit more of rural Catalunya before we crossed into France. So we wound up the valley north west of Barcelona, looking over the river towards the immense and strange crags of the 1200 metre high Monserrat (did you know that actually means 'serrated mountain'? - and it is!), with the ancient Benedictine monastery nestled on the side. Apparently, cable-car is THE way to approach Montserrat for your visit for a truly dramatic view. This is the monastery which was founded in 1025 to commemorate a vision of the Virgin Mary on the mountain, and although it gets lots of tourists, it still attracts devout pilgrims who go to venerate 'La Moreneta', the Black Virgin. There are heaps of thank-you gifts to the Virgin in the courtyard of the Basilica, including plaster casts and wedding dresses, giving her credit for all kinds of joyous events.
It was a pleasingly scenic drive all the way to our destination, with a good peppering of attractive small towns and villages, many with their medieval origins very obvious. Catalunyan architecture is very different to the little white cubes of much Andalucian building which we'd got accustomed to during our stay around Orgiva. In Catalunya we'd noticed, the farmhouses are larger, simple stone built structures with pitched clay-tiled roofs and the distinguishing feature of a big covered balcony, veranda or terrace with semi-circular arches over the pillars, whatever the size of the house. They're more likely to be surrounded by flatter, or at least only gently undulating, farmland than in Andalucia where so many homes cling perilously to steep hillsides. (That's not to say that Catalunya doesn't have its mountains - it certainly does, after all parts of the Pyrenees are in the region, but the geography is different over large parts of the area.)
We passed by a small town, Ripoll, on our journey which, our guide book told us, was the heart of the original Pyrenean fiefdom of Guifre el Pilos - Wilfred the Hairy. An energetic 9th century figure with a rigorous agenda of dragon-slaying and damsel-saving, he also found time to lay the foundations of modern Catalunya. Dave speculated that he was probably, like himself, a bit busy to shave, hence the epithet.
Our Director of Information had identified a nice little Camping a few kilometres outside of Olot, in an area noted for its volcanoes. Extinct volcanoes of course - although one erupted as recently as 11,500 years ago, so no-one's being complacent. Our Camping was a bit of a treasure really. Where we pitched up we had uninterrupted views to nearby woods and thence out to the hills. The constant background muzac was only birdsong and the air felt incredibly fresh. We'd climbed quite high and although the hills and volcanoes in the area were mere molehills in comparison to the big mountains of the Pyrenees proper, we were definitely in that clear air zone which comes with the heights. The Camping was one where Spanish families turn up at weekends and holidays to stay in their fixed caravans, so it being Friday when we arrived, what seemed to be a caravan 'n' awning ghost town gradually livened up and by Saturday morning there were children everywhere!
We had been expecting it to be really cold, but were pleasantly surprised both when we arrived and on Saturday that the sun was very warm and the sky bright. So we decided to don our walking boots and take advantage of the good weather and go volcano-bagging. From the maps and a chat with the charming young Senor Camping, we discovered that one of the 32 volcanoes in the area was just a few kilometres away via some of the footpaths which criss-cross the countryside. We were in the heart of the Parc Natural de la Zona Volcanical de la Garrotxa, the most important volcanic area in Spain. Apparently there was even a whole group of artists in the 19th century who were inspired by this landscape and became known as the 'Olot school'. (Probably painted Olot of pictures of volcanoes - sorry!) So off we went.
It was a lovely walk through beech woods, bursting with spring flowers, and skirting round farmland. But it's always further than you think, isn't it? And, flagging somewhat as we neared our destination, we were a little distressed to see Catalunya's answer to the Dotto Train rattling across some rough farm roads towards our very volcano! For those of you living in, or familiar with, UK resorts on the South Coast (have they spread elsewhere yet?) you'll know the jaunty little white road train, trailing a few carriages of visitors along the prom. Well, this one as we say, was the Catalunyan version - a tractor with tin sides, basically, pulling a couple of converted cattle trucks with wooden benches for the passengers. Ideally suited to the farm tracks, it wouldn't do too well on Eastbourne seafront. Clearly the Dotto Train way it's possible to do a bigger sweep taking in several of the volcanoes. We did feel quite virtuous, though, staggering along the last stretch of footpath as half a dozen or so Dotto-istes piled out to walk the last few hundred metres to get a closer view of the weird Volca del Croscat, whose whole front had clearly exploded and gouged a deep triangular cleft in the front last time it erupted, exposing strange soils and layers of lava.
You may remember from the last Bulletin that the motto of Rollingfruitbat Tours Inc. is (allegedly!) 'Coffee stop, anyone?!' and this is question is posed (and answered in the affirmative) at regular intervals during the rigours of travel. Well, no chance of that on this expedition, but you'll be reassured to know that we did have a Fruit-Fest on the way back through the woods. Oh yes, we did take emergency rations of oranges and bananas, as well as the water bottle, for the much-needed sit-on-the-log-and-listen-to-the-birdsong stop. Happiness is a fruit-fest for a Fruitbat (especially in the warm sun in beautiful Espana). Oh, okay, there were a couple of choccie biccies in the rucksack too, how did you guess?!
Back at Basecamp VeeJay later, we had a quiet evening, enjoying the sunset and reading, and at one point heard a slight thud on the Lorry. We'd seen some children playing badminton nearby, so thought nothing of the light clunk. Both of us were in and out of the van a few times and noticed two or three of the children sitting on the grass nearby, looking in our direction. We assumed either they were admiring VeeJay or Dave's beard (or both). Then a couple of the Dads appeared, and asked if we spoke Spanish. 'Pequenito' (a tiny bit), said Jeni, pinching thumb and forefinger together illustratively, thinking 'Un poco' (a little) might be an overstatement for this occasion. Anyway what she initially understood from 'Nuestro volante es en la baca' was something along the lines of 'Our flying is in the roof-rack' - hmm, quite possibly. Then the penny (or should that be euro-cent?) dropped - they'd whacked their shuttlethingie onto the roof of the van, by the top box. Hence the thud. (Ed's note: we say 'shuttlethingie' for the badminton projectile in case putting the correct name will lead to a mass of returned emails where system censors decide 'Content Unsuitable' - ! It has happened!)
Much smiling, a little more of Jeni's broken Spanish and a trip up the ladder onto the roof for Dave, and all was well. And the children carried on playing badminton at a slightly safer distance from the Lorry!
After another, less vigorous, day at Camping La Fageda, we sallied forth once again on this our last day in Spain on this trip. It was only when we were leaving the area that Jeni discovered in one of the books the presence of the Castellfollit de la Roca, a medieval castle which boasts the only museum in the world devoted to sausages. Well, perhaps the description of it being 'perched on a sheer cliff overhanging the river Fluvia' suggests that its approaches might not have been very VeeJay friendly! Jeni was a bit worried, too, when Dave started pondering whether they might have a vacancy for curator and if the museum had been updated to chart the emergence of the veggie sausage!
We did however, briefly take in Besalu, an exquisitely preserved medieval village with an 11th century bridge, complete with fortified gatehouse, and wibbly-wobbly cobbled streets emerging onto picturesque squares. Beautiful!
A final supermercado stop had to be effected for some items we knew we couldn't get over the borders (or that were ludicrously cheap in Spain compared to anywhere else - we could still get a 2-kilo box of strawberries for just over 3Euros!). We're all now so used to being able to get food from any part of the globe that the food-shopping experience when 'abroad' no longer feels like visiting another strange and exotic galaxy (some of us remember those days don't we?!). But somehow the fare in Spanish shops seems much more different to the UK even than that in France. So a quick canter round with the shopping cart, and it was onto the autopista and over the (open) border into La Belle France.
Just before we take our leave for now, Jeni is going to sneak in a couple of entirely gratuitous domestic notes which reveal the absurdity of life in the Fruitbat(ty) household (should that be Lorryhold? Vanhold?). Dave strongly suggests that anyone of a delicate or nervous disposition should not read on beyond this point. You have been warned.
You've heard of people behaving oddly at full moon, haven't you? Usually the occasional howl or hairy palm or somesuch minor peculiarity. Well, get this! On the night of the last full moon, Jeni woke to discover that Dave was not in bed beside her and that the Lorry was shuddering in a rather peculiar way. Peering down from the bed in the West Wing, she could see the moonlight streaming in through the roof window in a golden glow, illuminating the naked Dave, who was, arms bent and flapping, apparently impersonating a severely constipated chicken learning to belly dance.
A worrying development even for Dave. Jeni regretted the lack of Emergency Exit at the bed end, and the fact that she's put on too much weight to escape through the bedroom roof hatch. However, it turned out that Dave merely had a bad case of indigestion, with wind trapped painfully under his sternum, and the elbows-akimbo gyrations were designed to provide some relief. A few pummels on the back, a slurp of fizzy water and a couple of big burps later and all was well - and we got a chance to admire the moonlight and stars!
And finally ... One day Dave suddenly made a totally out-of-the-blue remark: 'If Uranus was a whole constellation and there was a planet called Enema, sometimes you'd be able to say "Enema's in Uranus", wouldn't you?!'. Silence. Jeni (who can't see Dave from where she's sitting) asks 'Are you still alive?'. Dave (puzzled tone): 'Ye-es'. Jeni: 'Thank goodness for that. Imagine if you'd dropped dead right then. When people asked the grieving widow "What were his last words to you dear, did he tell you how much he loved you?", I'd have had to tell them what you've just said' !! It would beat "B*g**r Bognor" any day!
Someone once told us that we deserved each other - we think they were probably right! On that note, as we head north we'll love you and leave you. Is France ready for us?
Groses bisous (or an appropriate equivalent if you feel that's too familiar!)
Jeni et Dave
xx