Not
much time to write this morning but here are some scribbled points…
Leaving
Barbastro to the NE bring you to quite different countryside – a
charming, semi-green undulating landscape, which sets up a good mood.
We were heading for the sierra and it surprised me how much I was
pleased to see the hills getting higher. Why should that be? No doubt
it would have been different if I was walking or biking but the car
did all the work. What it culminated in was a sort of silent but
powerful announcement by the rocks which said … ‘ You think you
know about mountains? Well, just get this! What you saw before was
nothing. I! I! am a mountain!!’ because as we headed towards the
French border, at the end of each successive distant gorge we could
see something even higher, and higher, and higher…..
Two
years ago we made our crossing from Spain to France having stayed in
Ainsa, and then taken the Bielsa tunnel which straddles the border,
so you go in in Spain and come out in France and it was quite a
striking change – road-signage, tone, culture. This time, the main
tunnel is fully inside Spain and the border will be on the road.
Vielha is our stopping point and we knew nothing of it, except that
our hotel claimed to be giving us a cabin on a boat which seemed
extremely unlikely – reminiscent of Mount Ararat and Senor Noah.
As
you get up into the mountains – certainly at this time of year –
you start to get far more colours – the blues of the sky, the
brushes of gold and bronze on the trees, the rocks themselves which
are crazy mad for colour – greys and whites, blacks, reds, oranges,
greens, in streaks and swirls. Sometimes the strata in the rocks are
unsullied, still horizontal. Sometimes everything’s been squished
into folds and bends. Some areas look as they are completely composed
of pebbly detritus. And there are lakes up here, some apparently
natural, left over from the ice age, and some are reservoirs. We
stopped to look at one of these and found a sweet old Spanish couple
poring over a mass of maps spread out on the bonnet of their car (the
maps, not the people). They were almost in tears, spoke no English,
but wanted to know how to get to Ainsa… We showed them the way,
using our own maps and they noted everything down and followed us for
a while….They were heading for the Parador up in that valley and
assuming they made it, they will have had a beautiful drive.
We
stopped at Graus (even the name looks Austrian) for coffee – again,
a small river which must once have been the life-life of the pueblo
now runs along the backs of the newer houses. A side-street goes to
the school and traffic is barred because it’s a road for scholars.
The bridge is high up over the water – we see rocks, swirls,
eddies, some landscaping along the banks to create a patch of slower
water. The loo in the cafe (like all we have seen in Spain) is a
work of art. You get there by way of gleaming marble steps down in
the basement, with ankle-level lighting, and that comes on without
you having to touch a switch. You get into the ladies, and as the
door swings open, once again the lights come on. In my cubicle, the
lavatory flushed (with joy?) the moment I stepped inside. However it
was more reluctant to perform when I wanted it to….. The funny
thing is that the top of the stairwell, in the cafe itself, is
guarded by thick dado-height marble walls, and these start very very
close to the main wall of the room so you have to sidle, twiddle
quite sideways to actually get onto the stairs. If you were disabled
in any way, or had a child or used a stick, it would be awkward and
quite impossible if you were in a wheelchair. You have to go and pee
by the river I suppose.
The
entry to Veilha is through a spectacular gorge (name to be supplied
when I see the map again), absolutely thrilling stuff… Not unlike
the journey we made on foot in the Roman goldmine a week or so ago
but this time on a colossal scale – between parallel cliffs of dark
and looming rock, with a rushing river on one side and barely room
for the traffic on the heroic road engineered beneath the towering
sides of the valley. It’s really dark down there, because it’s so
deep.
Vielha
is a shock – totally different from anything else we’ve seen –
slate roofs, tall apartment blocks with wide eaves, really very
Alpine in appearance. It has several rivers in the town, very little
signage about which hotels are where, and some of the streets in
different parts of town have the same name which is a bit confusing.
We did spend a long time trying to find Calle Major, which is in any
case spelled differently on the various satnav map databases… The
Tourist Information is also in a pedestrian area of the town so not
visible from the road, and it’s all very silly. The room in our
hotel (booking.com) had been on a special offer but that did not
explain the consequence – the view from the window was of the
arse-end of next door, a shed mounted on a wall, filled with old junk
and plastic cleaning stuff. Horrible and not ok for our last night….
‘We didn’t come all this way…...’ etc. The girl on
reception was very kind and took pity on us, gave us a more expensive
room for the same price, with a balcony. The whole hotel (Riu Nere)
is modernised with amazing wooden cladding and huge numbers, but
doesn’t have a boat or a cabin as the website promised.
The
town has a good and complicated history, centred in the Val de Aran,
which has over the centuries belonged to (or paid tax to) Spain,
France, Aragon, and is now Catalonian. The languages are unbelievably
complicated – Basque, Spanish, Catalan, Aranese, Aragonese,
Occitan….. One useful starting point is that ‘eth’ means ‘the’.
And ‘aran’ means ‘valley’ in Basque. But it’s very hard
to understand anything which is said. There was no direct road to
Spain till 1924, and the first tunnel wasn’t made till 1948. They
had to use mule trains for most their history – carting stuff out
and bringing food back – they never grew enough to feed themselves
and the population has been small and vulnerable till the last 30 or
so years when skiing has been promoted and then less seasonal
activities – walking, gourmet visits, nature, hiking, biking, etc.
It is now pretty well a pure tourist-trap. It is popular with Israelis, who perhaps remember that the locals here did them good service rescuing Jewish families during the Holocaust.
The church is gorgeous – lavishly restored – with a 12th century nave and 16th century domes – very small and sweet. The army had its ski-training base here – the site of the barracks is now a huge carpark. It was embarrassing when the generals tried to take over the government – the locals had to tell the army they weren’t wanted…… The rivers head off in various directions – two to the Med, but the Garona goes north, into France where it becomes the Garonne, and we will follow it today to my sister’s house north of Toulouse.
The church is gorgeous – lavishly restored – with a 12th century nave and 16th century domes – very small and sweet. The army had its ski-training base here – the site of the barracks is now a huge carpark. It was embarrassing when the generals tried to take over the government – the locals had to tell the army they weren’t wanted…… The rivers head off in various directions – two to the Med, but the Garona goes north, into France where it becomes the Garonne, and we will follow it today to my sister’s house north of Toulouse.
Last
night (boo hoo) we met a cheerful group of English people – he and
she have been coming here for 35 years. He is in television…. They
love skiing. Her sister and bro-in-law were here for their first
visit in 16 years, and they were on the town’s pub crawl which is
called Pintxo Pote, organised by the civic authorities.
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