• 

• 

• 

The plan for this leg of the journey was to drive through Figures, hopefully find a place to park, and see the Dalí museum.  The building is famous architecturally in addition to being the final resting place of much of Dalí’s art and the man himself.  I had researched Figures online and determined it would be easy enough to park near the museum and possibly stretch our legs for a bit.  However, we soon discovered that Figures is a mass of tiny, one-way streets that twist, turn and, often, unexpectedly dead-end.  As I mentioned previously, the GPS is not able to keep up with your car when you are maneuvering through these tiny city streets so our phone maps were next to useless.  At one point, my mother, who is frustrated by Google Maps on a good day, threw up her hands in exasperation and cried “Even this stupid phone doesn’t know how to get there!”  To make matters worse, there is very little signage in Figures, so we were not able to rely on a blue or brown marker to point the way.  Finally, with all of us working diligently to translate and navigate, we somehow arrived at the museum!  We recognized the eggs on the roof immediately. The very same roof-top eggs we saw at Dalí’s home in Port Llegat (see Quirky Cadaqués).

Because of the pandemic, the museum was closed when we arrived so we decided to do a slow drive-by instead.   All of the photos I have of the museum were taken by Allita who hung out the rear passenger window, snapping shots like mad and shouting directions at me – “Pull over!, Stop a minute!, Go forward just a little!, Wait! Go back!”  I felt like I was driving through a photoshoot with Annie Leibovitz in the backseat. 

• 

• 

• 

By now, we had gotten our fill of navigating downtown Figures, so we took the quickest exit towards Esponellà.  Actually, we took the quickest exit and hoped we were headed the right way.  It wasn’t for another hour that we decided all was well with our navigation.  Ha!

We made our way through the tiny towns of Navata, Pompià and Crespià on a winding country road that took us past fields of farms and ranches, ruins of structures (churches? castles?) from long-ago days, and over a multitude of creeks and streams at the base of the Pyrenees.  Finally, we crossed the river, El Fluvià, on a tiny one-lane bridge controlled by traffic light (thankfully) and arrived at Camping Esponellà, our destination for the next two nights. 

• 

• 

• 

Camping Esponellà is another resort-style campground with a variety of fantastic activities including mini-golf, foosball, swimming pools, table tennis, a bar and a restaurant all situated right along the banks of the river.  Unfortunately, their proximity to the river also means mosquitos.  Many mosquitos.  However, they were a good deal less aggressive, persistent and annoying than their cousins in Arizona.  The Spanish have polite mosquitoes – why does this discovery not surprise me?  Still, we were able to set up our tent and get the car unpacked before the rain started.  This was quite a fortuitous accomplishment because when the rain came, it came in with a grand entrance.  In fact, it made quite the statement most of the night.  

We had planned for rain.  Well, ok, not exactly.  We saw only sunny skies for our trip when we left Barcelona, but Mom, who is our resident weather expert, reported in Platja d’Aro that there was a chance of rain for the next two days!  So, I drove us to a store on the way out of town and we procured a plastic drop cloth to fashion into a rain fly for the tent/canopy.  We actually bought two because the puny things were about 2mm thick and we did not expect one to last through a storm.  Needless-to-say, we were pleasantly surprised and delighted to discover that our 4m x 5m thin plastic sheet was quite suitable and did a fantastic job of keeping the tent and all occupants dry from any rain that tried to penetrate the roof. 

Thus, on our first night in Esponellà, I was able to sleep inside the tent, with all our belongings piled all around me on every possible plastic item we had (inflatable rafts, the shower curtain floor, one inflatable air mattress, etc.) so that all would remain as dry as possible.  Mom and Allita slept on a single inflatable twin mattress inside the back of the van.  See?  Renting a van WAS a good idea after all.  And yes, I did preen for a bit the next morning.  

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

The next day, Allita and I decided to make a trip to the Haribo factory in Banyoles.  How often does one have a chance to visit the place where Gummi Bears are made?  We left Mom at the campground, reading a book in a sliver of sunshine and talking to the mosquitos, and drove down another fabulous, winding country road through downtown Esponellà and Melianta until we reached the autoroute just outside Banyoles.  We missed our exit the first time, so we had the opportunity to do a Spanish u-turn, drive through four traffic circles, and then finally arrive.  The factory has considerable security restrictions, not all of them due to Covid-19.  Sadly, we were unable to take any photographs.  We were, however, able to make full use of the company store, where we applied our 20% discount coupon from the campground and made off with giant bags of candy like thieves in the night.  It was fabulous!  Further, we ate as much of our bounty as we dared in the car on the way back to Esponellà and nearly ended up making ourselves sick in the process. 

To ease off the sugar rush, we parked in the tiny medieval town and wandered around, exploring passageways and narrow paths that, on more than one occasion, took us into someone’s backyard!  Two resident chickens pointed out the folly of our ways and directed us toward the route back to the van.  Finally, we returned to the nearby campground, confessed our sins to GG, and eventually embarked on an afternoon foosball and mini-golf tournament.  Before the end of the evening, we swam in the not-heated-very-much-if-actually-at-all pool and enjoyed a lovely meal at the poolside restaurant.  All-in-all, it was an excellent venturesome day!  

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

We left Esponellà the following morning and slowly made our way back to Barcelona via Manresa.  The first leg of our return trip took us through Parc Natural de la Zona Volcànica de la Garrotxa.  Volcanic cones, lava flows, nature reserves, medieval castles, acres of farmland and the lovely Pyrennes filled our view for miles.  Also, we crossed the river, El Fluvià, so many times, it became a joke.  Every time we saw a bridge ahead, someone would shout “It’s El Fluvià” and we would all laugh ourselves silly. 

About mid-way, we passed through Vic, a mysteriously backwards town that I have long wanted to visit.  In the winter, Vic is almost continuously covered by fog.  Due to the geography of the area, the little town sits smack in the middle of a thermal inversion.  How cool is that?  Puns aside, Vic is interesting because it is one of the few, rare regions in Spain where the climate is not wholly Mediterranean.  Actually, I’m sure it’s interesting for many other reasons – probably some Roman, some religious, and some cultural or economic – but for me, it’s the creepy, persistent fog that makes Vic fascinating.  Regrettably, the fog is a winter treat only, so we didn’t spend any real time in Vic other than to pass through on our way to Manresa.  

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

We entered Manresa with very little idea where we were going and what we would do there.  I had researched the small town but had not decided on any particular place as our destination.  In fact, our plan was more shoot-from-the-hip than normal so we wandered a bit here and there before we finally discovered a parking spot suitable for the van.  Serendipitously, the spot we found was just at the base of the famous Collegiate Basilica of Santa Maria, or La Seu, which is also the principle monument of Manresa.  

The church sits on top of the tallest hill in the city and from the yard, you can easily see the famous Roman bridge, Pont Vell, with its peaked shape (one long arch in the center and several other arches in symmetry on either side), and the nearby medieval walls that once surrounded the city but now remain only in well-preserved sections.   It was breath-taking – both the hike up the never-ending staircase to the church base and the well-earned view from the grounds overlooking the old city. 

• 

• 

• 

Next, we decided to embark on a walking tour of old town Manresa.  The city was celebrating their Festa Major so the streets were decorated with banners, flags, bows, streamers and a variety of other traditional ornaments.  In one small square, we discovered the perfect outdoor restaurant for a late lunch.  Finally, and with very little aplomb, we departed Manresa, completed the return trip to Barcelona and brought an end to our first 2020 summer adventure.  It wasn’t nearly as rough as I had feared and we all enjoyed a lovely week exploring the Spanish northeast.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Cadaqués is a typical Mediterranean post-card town with a multitude of white-walled buildings stacked precariously in uneven rows along a ragged coastline. A smattering of which sweep upwards into the hillsides filled with olive groves of all ages.  To get there, you either need a small yacht or a dependable vehicle unafraid to traverse the winding road painstakingly built along the rocky, steep terrain. There is only one main highway, GI-614, allowed to go into and out of Cadaqués.  There are other routes, but they don’t qualify as roads – more like lanes that often converge into single status in order to cross a bridge or round a sharp corner, of which there are many.  This is the nature of the Costa Brava – the wild coast.  The land appears to have pushed it’s way from the very center of the earth before it finally, gradually allowed life to grow upon its surface.  It is the epitome of wild.  It is random and rough and, at times, scary.  For this reason, the tiny city of Cadaqués is a hidden little gem that miraculously appears out of nowhere when you creep around the last corner and find your way suddenly in the main traffic circle.  It surprises you like that last little Russian doll nesting in the set.  Ta-da!  

• 

• 

• 

To get to Cadaqués, we drove around the large, bustling yet beautiful city of Roses.  We actually spent plenty of time driving around Roses as we passed it on the way into Cadaqués and again, on the way out!  If you do decide to explore the Costa Brava from the oceanic perspective and are therefore in need of a respectable craft, Roses is the place for you!  Never have I seen such an outstanding collection of procurable sea-faring vessels all snuggled together in one place.  Some for sale, some for rent, some for trade, etc.  I imagine the options are as limitless as the supply.  In fact, the one single scenic overlook on the GI-614 headed towards Cadaqués provides an excellent view of the vast marina that is Roses.  Also, every now and then, you might see some actual roses growing in the orchards and vineyards along the way.  I presume, however, they are present to encourage bees more than sailors.  

Allita was able to successfully navigate us around the town of Cadaqués and to the Camping Cadaqués campground I had previously identified as a possible overnight location for us.  Sadly, this particular campground closed in March due to the pandemic and has not since re-opened.  Given the strict requirements for reopening such a business, it seems reasonable, if disappointing, that some might not afford a positive cost-benefit analysis.  So, we drove back into town and decided to explore our options.  

• 

• 

• 

At this point, I will remind you that I had rented a van for this trip.  We were supposed to be camping and we needed the extra space in the event we had to sleep inside the vehicle, for whatever reason.  So we had a rather large minivan (which sounds like an oxymoron).  A van is not a typical Spanish vehicle.  One does not see many SUVs, minivans, trucks, or large, 4-door sedans driving around the Spanish countryside.  In these little towns, even the delivery vehicles appear to be skinnier designs that can barely carry two passengers and have magical, Mary-Poppins-esque cargo areas capable of transporting more goods that seem physically possible.  These are people who drive small, thin cars because they drive on small, narrow streets.  In some cases, they aren’t actually streets, they are more like paths that have been worn over time and are now part of the regular thoroughfare.  Many of them are paved, some are cobblestone or rock, and a few are just dirt.  Almost none of them have street signs that provide any sort of identification and you can forget using your GPS.  

• 

• 

• 

So, here I was driving this robust van through the tiny, winding rastells of Cadaqués so we could “get a feel” for the place and “look around a little” (I’m quoting my mother, by the way) before we finally settled down for the night.  The van came equipped with a navigational assistance feature that I could not figure out how to disable.  This feature is accompanied by an in-dash camera system that displays the outside peripheral view and also has a digital outline of the vehicle that lights up using a color-coded scheme to warn you when you are approaching something the sensors can detect.  It could be a bush or a building.  It could be on any side of the vehicle as the system covers the entire perimeter!  The car can be in drive or in reverse.  As long as the vehicle is in gear, the system is functioning.  Also, the system will emit a loud “beep” to remind you of impending doom in case you missed the flashing, color-coded lights and the camera image.   The beeping becomes more insistent the closer you get to the object the sensor detects.  I confirmed this through repeated testing.  In fact, driving this van through downtown Cadaqués was a little like playing a video game inside the car.  There were frequently flashing lights and lots of beeping, and I was cursing while Mom and Allita laughed and pointed at things nearby.   Fortunately, there were no lost lives, but I surprised a number of people, including one waiter who popped out in front of me while I was trying to squeeze the van between his restaurant and the outdoor tables.  Honestly, I was on the road.  I swear it.  

[rastell: a street with a steep slope which is formed with pieces of slate stone placed in a vertical position] 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Finally, when I had experienced all the driving fun I possibly could, we adventitiously arrived back at our origin and I created a parking spot in front of a lovely-looking hotel.  We remain disappointed that we were unable to camp in Cadaqués because we now can not proclaim this a “camping trip”.  Still, in retrospect, I have to admit it was nice to spend one evening in a complete room with a semi-solid mattress and a tub in the bathroom (see Roughing It – Platja d’Aro for related details).  Not to mention the air conditioning.  The hotel manager was even kind enough to store our small cooler bag in her kitchen refrigerator overnight so that we didn’t immediately need ice.  Finally, the location of our hotel was also excellent and it included a private and secure parking lot.   In the end, I was delighted to walk a short way to the marina, locate a lovely restaurant right on the waterfront and enjoy some tapas and Tinto at the end of a very long day.   

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Early the next morning, after a light breakfast, we walked through Cadaqués to the neighboring village of Port Lligat where Salvador Dalí had a beach home that is now a museum.  This was actually one of our main reasons for being in Cadaqués.  Yes, the Casa Blava is pretty and blue.  Yes, the Church of Saint Mary is large and lovely.  Yes, the marina is quite picturesque.  And, certainly, Dalí isn’t the only notable visitor to Cadaqués.  Pablo Picasso, Joan Miró and Walt Disney were also here – to name a few.  In fact, this little city is so quirky and unique, so like Dalí himself, that it seems appropriate it be linked to him in our minds.  One store we passed sold only pots – no seeds, plants, books on gardening, watering containers – nope, only pots. A local restaurant had repurposed old tractor parts as tables and chairs. They even have a statue of Dalí standing with his back to the marina and beach, looking up at the little town and smiling his strange smile.  It was a fantastic walk, up steep slopes, down rocky trails and through narrow alleys overlooking houses and yards.  We were able to see so much of Cadaqués that our walking tour felt almost personal – like we were sneaking through someone’s backyard – and, in a way, we were.  Every house was built up the hill so that each ended just as another started and they were stacked, literally, one on top of the other.  The best view of the city was found standing in the middle of an olive grove just as we popped over the top of the last hill. 

• 

The first time we left Cadaqués was to travel to the point of Cap de Creus which is the eastern-most point of the Iberian peninsula.  Another good reason to be in this area.  This drive was not unlike the drive into Cadaqués although the road was more narrow, which is a feat I did not previously think possible.  Just as we came around one particularly perilous corner overhanging a shear drop-off, we met a massive RV!  To this day, I have no idea how we survived that moment.  Furthermore, I have no idea how either vehicle got through unscathed and continued forward as though nothing of any great significance had occurred.  Thankfully I returned to my corporal state quickly enough to resume management of the vehicle and pretend all was right with the world.  The inside of the van was eerily quiet until Mom announced “Well, we’re officially on vacation now!”.  She was making reference to a nearly identical experience we had on a trip we made many years ago to Portofino, Italy with my uncles, Larry and Jim.   Portofino, Italy is like Cadaqués in that it is also built on the side of a steep mountain that ends abruptly in the sea and possesses only one narrow road into and out of the town.  I met a city bus in a hairpin turn and we were in the inside lane with the mountain on one side and the bus on the other.  Just like the last time, I didn’t even slow down when I saw the RV – I just said a little prayer and hoped for the best.  Another once-in-a-lifetime experience that I have repeated.  Go figure.  

• 

• 

• 

We enjoyed our visit to Cap de Creus.  Mom didn’t leave the car, but Allita and I got out and walked around the lighthouse, saw the official “eastern-most point” marker, took some photos and left.  We ate lunch and then hit the road to Figures.  This would be the last time we would leave Cadaqués and drive around Roses.  It would also be our last view of the Costa Brava as we made our way in-land to the official home of the Dalí museum (where the man himself is buried) and eventually through the Volcanic National Park to Esponella.  Thankfully, the roads evolved into highways with multiple, wide lanes and no cliffs. What a relief.  

• 

• 

On Monday, 29 June 2020, after I taxied down to the train station, retrieved the rental van and disinfected the entire interior of said van with Sanitol (a.k.a. Lysol) wipes, we loaded up all our bags and camping equipment with the help of our friendly concierge, Antonio, and began our journey up the Costa Brava.  I had printed some navigational instructions for Allita so she could assist me in the journey without getting “bored” (since iPads are verboten while traveling via car, bus or train).  She was working in harmony with Mom who was manning the map notebook – the kind of map that is ring-bound and has numbers on all four sides of the page so you know where to turn to next depending on which direction you’re going.  The plan was fairly simple: Go north. Follow the coast highway. See the Costa Brava.  Find a place to camp for the night.  Done!

• 

• 

We spent many hours driving up the coast.  The views were amazing.  We traveled through small beach towns with fantastic homes and businesses lined up right along the side of the highway which also traveled in parallel with the train tracks (Vilassar de Mar).  The road is on the west side of the train track and the beach is on the east side.  So in order to reach the beach, you have to find a parking spot (this is a big challenge) and then a passenger tunnel or bridge (boardwalk) in order to cross over the rails.  More often than not, the paths were tunnels marked with a little blue sign of a person descending a staircase.  That was an interesting discovery since it was not identified once during the hours of study of Spanish road signs I had previously undertaken.

I had actually done a tremendous amount of research prior to our trip.  I’m sure this comes as no real surprise to anyone reading this who also knows me well.  I like to gather as many details and facts as I can before I make a decision about any action I’m about to take.  I have not always been this fastidious.  However, prior life experiences have shown me that “Oh man! I can do better than that! Here, hold my beer!” is definitely not the best approach and something a bit more organized and deliberate generally has a better outcome.  All that said, I already had some ideas about where we might spend our first few nights.  Also, at this point, I would like to mention that navigating in Europe is much easier if you know the name of the town where you are headed.  Or, better yet, the names of various towns along your route.  This way, you can simply point your car toward the path marked by the sign with a town name you recognize and not worry about pesky details such as road numbers or global direction.  In the end, the signs will lead you to the place where you want to be.    

• 

• 

• 

We finally stopped for lunch in Sant Pol de Mar.  We took the first exit into town.  The sign indicated the beach was nearby.  We drove through the little town a ways and Mom pointed out a parking lot sign.  I could not see how to drive the van into that particular lot until after we zipped past the entrance.  Dang!  I assured everyone that I would find another parking lot somewhere up ahead and we would make it to the beach easy as pie.  Yeah.  Famous last words.  I ended up navigating this huge mini-van down the narrow winding streets of this tiny little burg, swearing at the stupid “navigational assistance” system every time it beeped at me to warn that I was “too close” to something and was likely in danger of hitting it (by-the-way, this includes plants and humans as well as structures like cars or buildings).  The stupid thing was beeping like a video game.  Meanwhile, I felt like I was trying to drag a massive carry-on bag down the isle of the coach section of a 747 without hitting any of the seats on either side.  It was nearly impossible.  If ever I needed a glass of Tinto, it was certainly the moment when we popped out of downtown Sant Pol and eased into an actual parking spot.  I felt everyone in the car exhale.  Like we had been holding in our collective breath to “suck in” the sides of the car and squeeze through town.  Ha!  Unfortunately, by the time we finally found an actual parking spot, we had climbed the hill to the top of the town and the beach was a VERY long trek down a VERY steep hill, which wasn’t nearly as worrisome as the return trip.  After some mental calculations, we decided to pass on that particular location. However, you will be delighted to know, that within less than a mile, I found another suitable parking spot with an easy and only slightly downhill walk to the sandy coastline.  Yeah, that’s Costa Brava.  One minute you are at sea level and the next minute you are looking through the clouds to see Mother Earth.  No kidding.

• 

• 

• 

After a leisurely lunch and some time in the sand, we packed up again and headed north to Tossa de Mar (the blue paradise).  At this point, the road had metamorphosised from a sunny, leisurely coastal highway to a winding mountainous trail with hairpin turns, narrow lanes and hair-raising cliffs.  It was fantastic!   I, of course, was not driving fast enough for my mother who learned to drive a Ford Mustang on roads identical to these in western North Carolina.  However, I was driving waaaaaay to quickly for Allita who was hanging her head out the window trying not to lose her lunch every time we made a corner.  Poor kid.  She’s from Arlington, Texas remember?  She prefers flat, fast highways.  I enjoyed the drive, regardless of the grousing from the audience, and made a point of stopping at every scenic overlook (marked by a sign with an image of an old-fashioned camera).  Driver’s privilege!  So I have lots of great pics taken from the scenic green route on Mom’s map notebook.  Thank God I used my phone so the GPS knows where we actually were.

• 

• 

• 

We arrived in Platja d’Aro and thanks to Allita’s keen navigating, we found the campground and were able to secure a spot for two nights.  Camping Reimbau is a lovely resort campground in Platja d’Aro.  It’s near enough to the beach that we can easily walk and yet far enough away that we aren’t only focused on “beach”.  There are lots of ancillary activities including several pools, playground, table tennis, mini golf, exercise classes including an entire room dedicated to spinning (on bicycles, unfortunately), tennis courts, basketball courts, a bar and a restaurant.  There is also a shopping market, a store full of interesting African-influenced native creations, a laundry mat, and the requisite bath houses/showers hidden among the many camping sites.  The campground is hidden in a field very near a wild animal adventure park (?!) and what appears to be the ruins of an old castle.  That’s actually more common than you would believe here in Europe.  Pretty much every town has some old ruins somewhere.  

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

Camping in Spain is a thing.  By that, I mean, it is a very popular activity!  Many families camp and they have serious camping equipment that they set up and leave in their campsite for, what appears to be, long time periods.  Perhaps even the entire summer?!  Campsites are rented by the night, week, month and season.  Furthermore, there are campgrounds all over the place – on the coast, in the mountains, near cities. Wow!  When we arrived at Camping Reimbau in our overstuffed rental van and started to make camp using a bottom-less tent (a.k.a. canopy) with a plastic shower curtain for a floor, I’m sure the regulars were thinking “There goes the neighborhood!”.  Ha!  Still, we had not one single problem sleeping on inflatable mattresses in our little tent.  The store supplied us with ice and we were able to keep our coolers plenty cold.  We enjoyed a couple meals at the restaurant but for the most part, we made do with what we packed.  Eating our meals at the campsite and roughing it in the “resort” atmosphere, we made the Girl Scouts proud. 

• 

• 

We spent two days at the lovely Camping Reimbau.  We walked 2 km to the beach and discovered it nearly abandoned.  A large group of yoga moms and kiddos were just leaving as we arrived.  Except for a few small families spread many meters apart all down the beach, we were alone.  No worry about social distancing here!  (Later, Mom discovered that the beach didn’t officially open until the following day, thus explaining the lack of goers. Oh well!) The beach had more pebbles than actual sand and Allita discovered that it was impossible to build any kind of sustainable structure – other than a massive hole, into which she almost fell later, as we were leaving.  (Grace is not her middle name!)  All told, we stayed at the beach for about an hour.  Mom and I watched two men and a backhoe position signs all down the beach indicating where the First Aid and WC were and reminding people no cameras or dogs are allowed.  Cameras are not generally allowed on Spanish beaches because many of them are topless and some are nude.  I suppose they don’t really want to be seen on social media or in someone’s “travel blog”.  Another observation to make: most Europeans are comfortable with nudity.  In fact, one lady at the campground swimming pool was topless all day long.  That was a bit surprising to me but nobody else seemed to notice.  Even at the family beaches, it’s quite common to see people strip all the way down while they shower off the sand at the completely exposed beach shower.  They eventually redress in something simple and usually dry, but if you’re not prepared for it, you can absolutely get an eye full.  Incidentally, Allita finds this horrifying.  

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

We enjoyed nearly every single amenity that Camping Reimbau had to offer before we rolled out around noon on Wednesday, 1 July, wandered our way through the downtown streets of Platja d’Aro and did a little shopping before we hit the road again.  This time, we were headed to Cadaqués and Cap de Creus – the eastern-most point of the Iberian peninsula and nearby the summer home of Salvador Dalí (Port Lligat).   Onward – ho!