Tag Archives: Running

France –  Valensole, Gordes & Abbaye de Sénanque

We tossed and turned throughout the night, uncomfortably hot in our tin box at the bottom of the hill in Moustier-Sainte-Marie.  We finally found some welcome sleep, until the Gendarme arrived and knocked on our door to confirm our ticket purchase, although it was clearly visible in our window.  It was time to move, and today we were heading into lavender country.  Our first miles took us west and it wasn’t long before we began seeing wide seas of purples replace the greens and yellows of alternative crops.   Our first stop was in the town of Valensole, seen as the heart of lavender production in this area.  We stopped at a small museum with displays explaining the history of growing and harvesting, alongside historic tools. In the attached shop the many uses were very much in evidence.

Valensole - Village profile

Valensole -Nicky in lavander

Back on the road, we soon stopped again in a dusty parking area to have a closer look at the lavender in-situ.  We walked through the rolling purple fields, up and down the neat rows, wilting in the hot, hazy air.  Several other cars had stopped in the same place for that important lavender selfie.  After a short walk we returned to find half the people huddling together in the shade of Benny’s tall side, the only respite from the harsh sun for miles around.  We drove off leaving them scurrying through the lavender rows and visited a farm shop, buying a few small gifts.  We later called into a larger lavender museum in Coustellet where, despite their huge range of products, we couldn’t harness any excitement. We lingered, feigning interest, but our concern lay in the quality of their air-conditioning.

Valensole - lavander rows

Coustellet - Museum of Lavander

We had planned on spending several days in this area, taking our time to explore many of the lavender-related curiosities and historic sites.  But it was just a little too crowded, a bit too samey, over-commercialised, and much too hot.  We were drooping badly, even from minor efforts.  We drove through Roussillon, planning to see the red ochre cliffs, but did not stop as we could not face the midday sun.  It was silly; we were in one of the most beautiful areas of France and had the means to explore it all, but all we could think of was getting to a campsite and getting underwater.  So we abandoned all sight-seeing and headed straight to Camping des Sources, set a little way north of the historic town of Gordes.  At last, we had shade, a decent swimming pool, and some downtime from the heat.

Camping les Sources - (pool at sunset)

Gordes - (central castle)

Unable to sleep, from both the heat and an unusually repetitive bird-call, we decided to rise early and go for a gentle walk/run into the village of Gordes. We left at 6.30am, in cool morning air with the first rays of light breaking through the trees.  A downhill stony path provided an easy trail into the village centre less than 2km away.  It felt good, our first run since our 10km in Aiguines, the breeze of our movement keeping us cool.  Early morning starts will now become an essential to our sight-seeing plans.  We paused to explore the central streets of Gordes, trying to spot where scenes in the movie ‘A Good Year’ were filmed.  We saw viewpoints overlooking the beautiful Provençal countryside, the rolling hills scattered with cypress and olive trees shimmering beautifully in the early morning light.

Gordes - (countryside view)

Gordes - (cafe in square)

We had exhausted the quiet streets of Gordes centre and it was not yet 7.15am, so we decided to visit another nearby landmark – the Abbaye de Sénanque, set in a valley around 4km north-west of Gordes.  We set off up the hill, rising steadily.  The sun was also rising and the air was heating quickly, our cool morning run already becoming hot and sticky, but not yet debilitating.  We walked some steeper portions of the route, not wanting a full-on workout.  Soon  we reached the highest point of the road and dropped quickly down into the shaded valley to our left, entering the gardens of the abbey.  Even without the sun the manicured rows of lavender bushes surrounding the abbey provided a bright splash of colour.  There were several other visitors already setting up photos in the early light.

Abbaye de Senanque - (view from above)

The sun had not yet penetrated the depth of the valley floor, but blocks of light were moving quickly down a side wall so it would soon arrive. The neat rows of purple-tipped lavender were covered in thick clouds of tiny white butterflies, landing and alighting in a blur.  They would tickle your skin as they flitted by, or gently land on your arms, legs and head as you walked through the flowering rows.  It was an engaging sight of such simple beauty, their soft frolicking ways brought instant smiles to our faces.  We met a cyclist amongst the lavender who had passed us on the road up.  We had known from the timbre of his passing ‘bonjour’ he was an English speaker, and turned out to be from Melbourne.  We had a chat about his travels and quizzed him on places around Melbourne as we have plans to visit his city next year.  As we talked the sun rose to breach the valley and light up the grey abbey facade, adding life and warmth.

Abbaye de Senanque - (us and butterflies)

Abbaye de Senanque - (the sun arrivves)

Camping les Sources - (relaxing in pool)

We found a different path back out of the valley.  A white-stoned path, narrow and overhung by foliage, led up the face in the direction of Gordes.  We arrived back at Benny by 8.30am, feeling good for the exploration and for having avoided the worst of the heat.  But it was coming.  The days have held so sticky and close that sometimes the best part of the day is when a breeze blows through and cleanses your skin.  But that is rare; the air, static and burning, offers little respite. It’s been many years since we experienced such high temperatures.  We couldn’t face any activity and had forgotten just how debilitating it was, how draining.  We showered and headed straight to the pool.  We dipped often as the sun quickly cranked up the air temperature to the mid 40°s, the peak showing  of the heatwave.

A&N x

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France –Sillans-la-Cascade & around Lac de Sainte-Croix

We debated whether to spend another water-focused day at the delightful Camping les Pêcheurs but, lovely as it was, the idea of exploration won out.  As joyous and flowing with colour as our pitch was, draped with pink flowers and overhanging trees, we struggled for ten minutes to get out without destroying the foliage, reversing around low-hanging trees and through a narrow hedge opening that snagged mirrors and tickled Benny’s sides.  We headed north, to Parc naturel régional du Verdon.  Our route naturally took us to Sillans-la-Cascade, an area of cascading waterfalls and milky-green forest pools.  In a small car-park (43.566907, 6.182703), we found a Benny sized spot and paid €4 for 2.5 hours (half-hour free, €0.50/15 minutes).  We decided an exploratory run would be best to find some suitable swim spots.

Sillans-la-Cascade - (main pool)

We began our run in the direction everyone else was walking, following the easy rocky trail mostly downhill.  We arrived at a belvédère of the main pool and waterfall; an impressive and arresting sight that made us want to jump in immediately.  But due to a rockfall a few years ago we found out that access to the water here was now interdit, scuppering our plans.  Undeterred, we ran around several other promising nearby paths before realising that none of the river upstream of the falls was accessible.  We returned back through the car-park and beyond, crossing a bridge into Sillans-la-Cascade village and followed other footpaths on the south bank of the river.  This is where it became interesting, as we soon reached long stretches of beautiful, luminous green pools wrapped in gnarled tree roots.

Sillans-la-Cascade - (downstream pools)

Sillans-la-Cascade - (nicky swims)

Huge grins broke out on our faces as we took in each pool in turn, any one being worthy of a debut swim.  The cool water trickled down from one to the next, like the Fairy Pools on Skye.  There were deep plunge holes, natural weirs and shallow pools, and all shone as if lit from underneath.  We kept our focus and continued to the end of the path, and were duly rewarded by our arrival at another waterfall pool.  Not quite as large a pool or tall a waterfall as the main cascade seen from the belvedere, but this one was accessible for swimming and there were no overlooking crowds.  We found a place where we could access the water and quickly changed.  The clear green water was biting cold, much more so than any so far on this trip.  But this made it all the more refreshing after our sticky-hot run.

Aiguines - (town rooftop view)

Aiguines - (street view)

We swam near to the waterfall, feeling the chill spray on our faces.  Occasionally we climbed up and stood onto near-surface rocks to let the sun return some heat to our chilled limbs, but were soon back in the water again, floating happily in the deep milky blue-green water.  Tangles of tree root and branches semi-blocked channels within the pool, but we could swim under and around them as we explored.  When we felt our limbs become numb we reluctantly climbed out of the water and sunned ourselves on the rocks, our warmth soon returning.  We ate snacks and sucked in every aspect we could of the wonderful pool, before tracking back the same path.  We stopped again at several other pools and dipped again to delay our leaving.  Our final run back to Benny left us hot and sticky again.

Lac de Sainte-Croix - (walk to beach)

Lac de Sainte-Croix - (lake beach)

Lac de Sainte-Croix - (swim time)

Our swim-lust satisfied, at least for now, we moved on to the free aire (43.777123, 6.214216) near to Les Salles-sur-Verdon on the banks of Lac de Sainte-Croix.  It was spacious, with 12 vans already parked but space for the same again.  We walked to the nearest beach on the banks of the lake and were unable to resist another swim.  We spent  the rest of the day sedentary on the beach, sapped of energy but in a satisfying way.  We were in this area for a hilly 10km trail run and were glad to take it easy for the few days before.  We passed a second day here, with a leisurely walk into Les Salles-sur-Verdon via the lake shore, then finding a shady place on the beach to relax.  It was a windier day, the sea choppier and we watched many kayakers and Suppers struggle valiantly to return upwind on the lake.

Lac de Sainte-Croix - (frisbee action)

Aiguines - (race tents at finish)

Our pre-organised 10km race was on Sunday in nearby Aiguines.  It was a hilly jaunt with 680m of ascent over the distance.  There were others running various distances, the longest a 60km race beginning at 4am that had over 4km of ascent. That sounded like a very refined, exquisite kind of self-torture, and we were glad to have only entered the shorter event.  We arrived at our campsite, Camping de l’Aigle, only nine miles from our free aire.  Set on top of an expansive hill, with a gorgeous terrace overlooking Lac de Sainte-Croix, this was a fantastic place to be situated for a few days.  We knew we should be resting our legs, but we climbed steeply up through the campsite to a table d’orientation to take in a cloudy red sunset above the deep blue waters of the lake.  It was worth the extra walk.

Aiguines - (nicky running)

Aiguines - (arriving at finish)

Our race was the following morning, where we had an easy 10am start.  It was very hot, and we worried about how we’d manage in the heat.  The race proved to be more ‘falling down steep stony slopes’ and ‘walking up steep earthy slopes’, with only short stretches of running in between.  Our legs and lungs burned and our faces dripped hot, blinding sweat as we pushed on, the stubborn kilometres slow to disappear.  It was a tough course, yet we found the legs to sprint the final downhill kilometre into town, feeling fresher than at most other parts of the race.  We still only just broke 1hr 30mins, which beforehand would have seemed laughably slow for a 10k race.  But we were at the front of the field, with Nicky picking up a prize for second lady home.  I finished alongside her, as 18th male finisher.

Aiguines - (podium moment)

Aiguines - (well earned jacuzzi)

Aiguines - (wild boar visit)

We sat around, recovering and eating back all the burned calories, and more.  We were informed prize-giving would be at 3pm, so we retreated to our campsite for lunch and showers, and returned around 2.30pm for the awards.  In the time we were away, due to the late finishers in several other race distances, the 10km presentations had been rearranged.  It had already passed, and with it Nicky’s opportunity to stand on the podium – disappointing.  A later solo presentation was of little compensation.  After a few hours back at camp, we walked back into town for celebratory pizza.  It was 7pm and there were some runners still finishing the brutal 60k race, 14 hours later. As we ate our pizza we were visited by a thirsty, curious boar and a beautiful smudged red-sunset. Later we slipped into a satisfied sleep.

A&N x

France – The calanques & beaches of Cassis and Sanary-sur-Mer

We awoke in our corner in Marly Parc to a cacophony of singing birds and revving motorcycles.  We paid up and headed south, away from Marseille towards the south coast.  Our first stop was in the tourist town of Cassis.  We managed to carefully squeeze into a space in the only motorhome-allowed area in town, tight to a weed-strewn rock on one side.  The last space, steep and weedy, was very difficult to access due to lazy car drivers using the aire to go play tennis, rather than walk the 50m from the ample and empty car-parking further down the hill.  From here we walked, stifled in the hot dry air, into town.  We passed several lovely beaches, a thriving market and a busy marina, the centre buzzing with holiday-makers.  We continued on around the coast, the crowds thinning as we left town.

Cassis - market streets

Cassis - marina

We were heading to a more special beach, the third of three celebrated coves.  The first calanque was utilised as a long marina, lined on both sides with large sailboats.  We followed a wide stony pathway thinking it would make a great aire, up and down following the rocky contours of the land.  We reached the second calanque, Port Pin, a white pebbled beach with shining clear, inviting water that was close to seducing us to stop.  Instead, we pushed on, 30 more minutes of sweaty walking through sparse woodland and up steep, dusty screes.  Birds of prey soared and circled overhead. We dropped into what looked like a dead-end canyon, a fully enclosed cauldron surrounded by high cliffs.  We thought it couldn’t access the sea.  But our eyes were deceived; there was a narrow souk on the right side, invisible from above, and this direction change led us between the cliff faces to reach the final calanqueD’En Vau.

First Calanque - marina

Second calanque - Port Pin

calanque D'En Vau - beach view

 

We had arrived at an utterly stunning stony beach, framed by tall cliffs, blue waters and thronged with people.  Given the number of supine sun-worshipping bodies, the beach was very quiet – no children, no music playing, no loud chatting.  Everyone here was of one mind – to relax in serene nature.  We plopped down in a rare space on the white stones and spent the rest of the day sunbathing, swimming and people-watching.  Some visitors had a more sedate arrival by kayak or canoe around the headland from Cassis, swelling the ranks on the beach.  Others climbed the imposing  cliffs and chose precarious perches on flatter rocks on which to rest, or jump into the calanque.  The waters glowed with turquoise luminosity in the bright sunlight, inviting us often into their soft, majestic coolness.

calanque D'En Vau - N on beach

calanque D'En Vau -from water

Having cooked ourselves sufficiently, we made the difficult decision to tear ourselves away from this little slice of paradise. We made our way slowly back, following the same route, passing the other calanques that no longer impressed us the same after seeing ours.  Once we returned to Cassis we spent some time around the marina and in the quiet town streets, browsing in colourful stores.  When we returned up the hill to where Benny awaited we found most of the cars had gone, enabling us to move to a more suitable and flatter parking space to overnight. The street was quiet, a no-through road, and only two other vans joined us.  We enjoyed  an exploratory walk around the tennis club site and buildings after dinner as the sun was setting, a simple restful stroll in the cool night air.

A on path to calanques

Cassis - second town beach

After a quiet night’s sleep we headed off again, following the coast road east.  We made a point of avoiding the tiny streets of Cassis.  Our plan was to follow the Route des Crêtes, a twisting, climbing coast road hugging the edge of the azure Mediterranean far below.  There were lots of spacious pull-off spots where a short walk led to a grand vista over the sea, and we took advantage of many as we snaked along.  The road cut back inland when nearing the next town, La Ciotat. We tried to stop for a look but could find nowhere amenable to motorhomes, so had to keep moving.  We drove the sea front of Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer, the most obvious resort town we passed, then along the busy roads and full beaches of Bandol to reach our destination, an ASCI campsite on the outskirts of Sanary-sur-Mer.

Route des Cretes- coastal view

Route des Cretes- sea view

 

As we flopped onto our pitch, the heat of the day, now reaching low 30s, sucked away our desire to move or explore.  After a competitive game of table tennis under a shady tent (not too competitive, Nicky trounced me), we lounged by their lovely pool, reading, dipping and dozing.  This was more like it.  The next morning was a different beast – a strong, wild wind blasted across the site.  It was blustery, demented at times, shaking every tree and blowing up dust clouds from the dry dirt; not a day for resting by the pool.  Instead, we chose a bracing exploratory coastal walk, back through Sanary-sur-Mer and on to a pointed headland called Pointe de la Cride.  There was a fort marked on maps, but it had the secretive feel of a government installation so we didn’t linger.  That evening we locked down the hatches, snuggled into Benny and watched TV, hoping a tree wouldn’t fall on our heads.

Sanary-sur-Mer - markets

Sanary-sur-Mer marian

Sanary-sur-Mer nicky at marina

The morning brought calmness and sun, a long way from the aberration of the previous day.  We ran an easy 2km downhill to the Plage de Portissol in the morning, relaxing and swimming often to cool off in the sticky heat.  Huge banks of seagrass were stacked up on one side of the beach, but clearly not enough, as we still had to wade through five soupy metres of it to get to clear open water.  We took turns having longer swims out to the extent of the buoys in the bay, it feeling good to use our arms rather than legs. After an afternoon back at camp we returned to the marina early evening.  There were market stalls, talented painters selling canvases, a harnessed rigging climb for kids, and some competitive water-based jousting.  The weather was too good for a restaurant, so we ate takeaway pizza and watched the various spectacles, enjoying a slice per bench as we moved around the crowded marina.

A&N x

France – Sausset-les-Pins and the calanques of Marseille

We left Remoulins late morning, and after an hour and a half of easy dual carriageway we arrived in Sausset-les-Pins, the location of our first organised 10km (well, 11.2km) race of this trip.  Here we got our first true glimpse of the Mediterranean.  We wanted to arrive early to ensure a space in the free aire (43.338412, 5.108487) , but found only two others in a spacious car-park that easily could accommodate twenty.  We settled in, ate lunch then cycled the two kilometres down to the beach and picked out a space to flop into.  We had occasional dips in the shallow bay, clambering over rocks carpeted with soft algae to reach the clear, cool water.  But mostly we lay still, slowly roasting under the heat of the afternoon sun.  We turned ourselves like burgers on a grill to ensure an even cooking, dripping hot sweat like fat on the white stones.

Sausset-les-pins - (beach front cycle)

Sausset-les-pins - (beach spot)

We had to rest up – we had plans for the next morning.  A 7am alarm, a quick breakfast and an easy cycle back to the seafront.  Before we left home we had signed up for an 11.2 km local run, and today was that day.  We locked up the bikes and warmed up, readying ourselves for the off. Over 1000 runners were taking part, a larger event than we anticipated, but there was a welcome, friendly buzz.  The morning was hot muggy grey, with flashes of distant lightning and growls of thunder and we had two short downpours to dodge.  Each left the air cooler, but thicker and sticky; difficult running conditions.  We set off exactly at 9am, following the coastline before cutting inland up a few dusty hills.  Our tops were instantly soaked through with sweat, the humidity making a sodden mess of us. Fifty-eight hot minutes of crowded countryside trails later we arrived back at the start, drained and gasping in the heavy air.

Sausset-les-pins - (a on race day)

Sausset-les-pins - (raceday selfie)

We helped ourselves to drinks, fruit and cake, picked up our finishing gift (a neat rucksack rather than a T-shirt) and our free beer and retired to the beach for a cooling-off swim.  There are few pleasures better than the joyful relaxing after a hard run, and we revelled in the restful simplicity of our sweat-removing dips.  Revitalised and fresh, we left the beachfront in Sausset-les-Pins and, after navigating our way through the markets, returned to Benny to eat lunch and pack up.  We were moving on, down through the centre of Marseille to reach Marly Parc, a paid aire south of the city and, from an overnighting perspective, the only game in town. Our drive took us through the central streets of the city and the thriving heart of the Old Port, and even from within our van we could feel the historic grandeur.

Sausset-les-pins - (passing the marina)

Sausset-les-pins - (nicky with rose)

We arrived in Marly Parc (43.338412, 5.108487), via a series of long straight avenues, and slotted into our designated corner plot which looked very tight but was surprisingly spacious once we were in.  This was to be our base to explore the rugged coastlines within the Parc National des Calanques. A quiet night of gentle planning led to preparing our bikes and we packing enough snacks and water to see us through a lazy afternoon.  We set off, under hot, clear skies, thinking the 6km ride to the beach would be a simple, casual affair, an easy jaunt.  But we had vastly underestimated the terrain we had to cross over to reach it, and joined others heading our way in pushing our bikes up most of the extremely steep 4km long hill.  Once over the top we swooped down the last 2km on the opposite side to the sea, all the time aware that we would have to repeat the effort back up.  We rolled into the Calanque de Sormiou, locked our bikes to a tree and walked to the water, joining hundreds of others who shared our plans today.

Calanque cycle - initial view

calanque cycle - (at the calanque)

The popularity of the main beach fuelled our decision to skirt around the back of the bay and explore wider.  A dusty path led to a couple of small beautiful-looking beaches in hidden coves.  Descending to the first and removing our shoes meant we could paddle and scramble over a rocky outcrop to reach the less accessible second beach.  At this time of day it was in partial shade, so had only attracted a few others.  Reclining on our towels we marvelled at the beautiful clear blue waters lapping a few short steps from us.  We had refreshing dips in the calm waters as small boats and larger yachts edged into the calanque, providing us with a murmur of friendly noise and pleasant people-watching opportunities.  An afternoon of intermittent swimming, sunscreen application, lunch nibbling, book reading, careful hydration and general relaxing kept us fully occupied for several slow and pleasant hours.

calanque cycle - (costal path)

calanque cycle - (main beach view)

Marly Parc - relaxing with beers

The return journey saw us slowly grinding the gears and pedalling away from the coast.  In contrast to our fast downhill approach, our speed on the return was slow enough to truly take in the beautifully craggy limestone valley that had been our host for the day.  With a few brief breathers on picturesque corners  and one bout of pushing our bikes, their handlebars higher than our heads, we soon made the summit of the pass.  From there, a quick provision stop at a nearby supermarket and a couple of simple kilometres led us back to Benny.  We remained at Marly Parc that night, quietly enjoying a couple of chilled beers tucked away in the shady warmth of our private little corner.

A&N x

Spain – El Mas Pinell beach, Roses & Empuriabrava

After leaving the too-perfect beauty of Pals, we needed a new place to overnight.  Despite the lack of warmth, we decided to head back to the coast and spend a night at the beach.  We chose a secluded parking spot at the end of a dusty track at El Mas Pinell beach ( 42.018222, 3.192852 ) and squeezed in between the dog-walking day trippers.  Our chosen route in was a sandy trail, rough and pitted, but we later discovered the much better road in from the north, tarmacked most of the way, that would have saved us a few bumps.   But we were practically on the beach here, thirty seconds stroll from the sea, so all was well. (bar the weather).  We walked the sands, tentatively testing the sea with our toes, but not braving a swim.  At least initially.  After a return to Benny and to fill ourselves with tea and bravado, we returned to the sea for a splash around and the briefest of dips.  The wind ripped the heat from us all too quickly and we retreated back to Benny to regain our warmth.

El Mas Pinell beach (selfie)

El Mas Pinell beach (Nicky in waves)

One by one our single-use beach friends peeled away, and we were alone by early evening.  This left us free to enjoy a sun-setting walk with the soft sound of the lapping waves as our only companion. We collected a few pieces of smooth, white driftwood with thoughts of fashioning door handles or stool legs from them, in some mythical future existence where we become competent at wood-working.  We rose early in the morning and walked our tea mugs along the beach, lapping up the solitude, before making the decision to move again.  We were definitely feeling restless on this trip, unrooted.  We drove away from the coast, via the much better northern road, and turned north to visit the popular tourist town of Roses. We had skipped around it last time we were in the Costa Brava, instead heading straight to Cadaqués.  With no formed expectations we were a little surprised by what we found.

El Mas Pinell beach (morning walk)

We parked easily in a free car-park ( 42.266346, 3.166726 ) near to the walled Citadella de Roses and walked into the centre.  Roses was much bigger than we thought, with an expansive crescent of golden beach lined with all manner of shops and apartments.  It looked much more like the Spain of package tours, Costa del Sol and drunken tourists than anywhere else we had visited in the Costa Brava.  Behind the glossy façade lay a maze of tiny streets and small plazas filled with snacky restaurants and pubs touting for customers.  The car parks were filled with foreign cars, mostly French, Italian and Swiss, with the local Spanish looking to have skipped town for the holidays.  We walked as far as the marina and returned the same way, eyeing up the beach and the frothing sea, but again turning down an opportunity to swim.

Empuriabrava (waterways)

Instead we drove a short way south along the coast to reach the town of Empuriabrava where we parked in a scruffy, quirky free aire ( 42.258463, 3.115425 ) that was almost full.  The marked spaces were over-wide, much too generous, almost like a campsite.  We and two other adjacent vans parked right in the centre of our bays and later found two other vans had sneaked in between us.  There was still ample room for all of us.  We had a short exploratory walk around the nearby streets.  The whole town was based on strips of water, with each house having a road to the front and a boat to the rear, offering a very different feel to anywhere we’d visited before.  The following morning we went for a run through the bright streets and down to the beach, exploring around mini-marinas and curved avenues, eyeing up which style of house we’d prefer from the plethora of choice.

Empuriabrava (run to beach)

Empuriabrava (jetty end)

We ran out to a small marker at the end of a jetty.  The sea was crashing wildly against the rocks, with large waves rolling through the protected narrow opening of the town’s waters.  We watched several small craft try to breach the waves and escape to open sea, only to be repelled back to the calm waters to think again.  One larger vessel, lifeboat sized, bounced strongly through the crests, impressively catching metres of air between each successive wave.  I was glad to be watching rather than on board; the passengers must have been shaken to the core. We continued our run along the beach then back a different route, still gaping at the extent of this mini-Venice.  It was an interesting maze of affluent neighbourhoods and waterways, not at all similar to the tourist trappings of Roses.

A&N x

Spain – Olot (part 2), Santa Pau and Banyoles

We slept soundly in our scruffy campsite.  It was a chilly, cloudless morning as we collected our bib numbers and readied ourselves for the off.  Thinking 10km should be an easy jaunt, less than a quarter of the distance I’d completed the Sunday before at Cheverny, I was a little blasé and returned to bed until ten minutes before off.  We were less than 30 seconds from motorhome to start-line, so perfectly placed for the event.  A quick warm-up, then we set off into the town, with no notion of the route.  After many bends, streets, squares and 47 minutes and 23 seconds we arrived back, the wonderfully cool morning and number of participants allowing a fast time (for us).

Olot - race banner

Olot - pre-race warm-up

Our time was enough for Nicky to finish second in her age category, and as sixth lady overall.  We were informed that they had a small trophy for the top three placed in each section, so we waited around for the presentations.  Unfortunately we found out that trophies were only awarded in the half marathon race, not the 10k, so it wasn’t to be.  We had the consolation of having each been gifted two vacuum-packed bags of non-descript meat for finishing the race.  (The half-marathon finishers each received a leg of ham).  We inquired later with some locals and were told it was definitely pork, but ears, noses and tongues were mentioned, along with intestines and blood.  We were to boil our prize for between one and three hours and were promised it would be the tastiest thing ever.  Mmmm.

Santa Pau - free aire

Santa Pau - village

Instead of parading with our tacky plastic trophy, we instead had post-race showers at the campsite, packed up and headed off to stopover at a free aire in nearby Santa Pau ( 42.146914n, 2.568332e )  This was a peaceful, large field close to the centre that we had almost to ourselves.  Later we had a mid-afternoon stroll around the beautiful medieval stone village, seeing the Castell de Santa Pau and the softly rolling hillsides it sat within from many angles.

Santa Pau - Nicky at castle

We drove a little way back the next morning, intent on walking an advertised 10km loop of the local extinct volcanoes.  We avoided a packed car-park charging €8 to enter, instead parking about 400m away in a much nicer free area, almost entirely unused, with wonderfully spacious motorhome spaces.  A perfect base, and we couldn’t fathom why so many were paying in the other car-park, other than to save themselves the little extra walk.

Volcano walk - free parking

We set off through knotty forests trails with twisted roots and cool shade.  Some stretches, nearer to the car-parks, were overrun with parents and their young kids, a reminder this was the beginning of the Easter holidays and most places were likely to be busy.  We first passed the crater of Volcà de Santa Margarida, named for the church built down inside the forested rim.  Later we circled around the Volcà del Croscat, where we passed groups of kids on what looked like their first camping trip, all noise and chat, some carrying packs bigger than themselves.  There were stretches of beautiful forest trails with jumbles of lava rocks and tree roots.  It wasn’t long before we arrived back at our starting point.  It took us 2hrs 30mins to walk around the 12km route at our leisurely pace, although the signboards suggested 4hrs 20mins for the loop.  Perhaps we need to stop off and savour the views a little more.

Volca del Croscat - forest trails

Volca del Croscat - paths

From here we drove a short way on narrow, winding roads, passing loose white horses with young foals on the way.  We arrived at an €19 ASCI campsite in Banyoles ( 42.120655n, 2.747245e ) set on the shores of a luminous blue lake.  It had tight, cramped pitches, marked with stones on open areas with no privacy, and many scruffy and unoccupied permanent sites.  The hook-up was low amp electricity that we tripped twice in the first two minutes before we learned of its secrets.  But once in and settled, we sat still for a few hours and properly relaxed, glad for the restful downtime both mentally and physically.  We both suffered poor sleep due to drunken chatting and dogs barking into the wee hours, not the relaxing quietness that we’d had in each of the free aires we’d stayed at to date.

Banyoles -Nicky on run

Banyoles - Nicky looking over lake

We got ourselves up at 8am and headed out to run a circuit of the nearby lake.  Beautiful in the low morning light, the lake was well used with casual kayakers and serious rowers being drilled by coaches in motorised craft.  Plenty of others are walking or running the shore path.  We ran at a slow pace, stopping frequently to take in all the miradors and enjoy the wonderful freshness of the morning air.  The loop was just shy of 8km, an easy jaunt to waken us up and properly kick-start our day. We rewarded our efforts with an early brunch of butties thick with bacon and HP sauce, both brought all the way from the UK.  Then, with full stomachs and content from our early exercise, it was time to head for the rugged stony coastline, the central focus of our planned Costa Brava trip.

A&N x