Walking in Catalonia Day 4: Garriguella to Palau-Saverdera

Strong coffee and a slice of Emilia's homemade apple cake, the perfect birthday breakfast before the longest walk of the trip, nearly 17 km (if we didn't detour) with an expected time of 6 hours. Our route would take us south and a first glimpse of the coast where we'd finish the trip. The guidance notes suggested that walking poles were essential for the final descent, oops, not something we'd planned for but how steep could it be?

We set off, a little later than planned again (blame chatting over coffee), then, with rucksacks filled with sandwiches, apples, oranges and water, we headed first into Garriguella to stock up on some further bottles of water 'just in case' (another very hot day was forecast). Looping back to our route's intended start after shopping, we missed the crucial turning point out of the town, circling the roads around the church for at least another 40 minutes before realising our mistake. It gave me the chance to take even more photos (the beauty of being lost is you get to discover more). 

Back on track, the route climbed steeply, over another ridge and several large beehive cities hidden amongst the scrub. The scent of honey and flowers perfumed the air and Garriguella became smaller and smaller as we climbed higher into the heat haze of another very hot day. Here and there, bunkers left over from the Civil War looked out over strategic points of the valley. The track looped and dropped down the other side of the ridge, leading to a major road edged in pine trees. We crossed carefully to the other side, entering the Parc Natural de Cap de Creus and unfolded a new map.

The wide dusty track rose steeply again, with routes leading off to the telecommunications tower perched at the top. Every few steps we stopped to look back at the view of where we had come from, the road we had crossed moments before now a thin grey ribbon twisting through the landscape far below. Higher and higher we climbed into the intense heat of the sun-baked ridge. We concentrated on not repeating our earlier mistakes, and after what seemed an age, the path headed down to the pass Coll de Canyelles and the distinctive route marker of the main rail track to Barcelona. Over the other side, another short climb lead us to a hairpin corner of a mountain road. A rocky path behind a stone wall followed the road for a few 100 kms before we were back on the tarmac, carefully following the road barrier, although traffic was minimal. Another tortuous bend on the mountain road and we ducked under a gate and back onto a footpath, relieved to be off the reflected heat of the road. 

Finding a tiny patch of shade under a stunted almond tree we perched on a rock to catch our breath before heading back out into the sun. The path was rocky and steep and climbed relentlessly, each corner teasingly promised a respite from the climb, but continued upwards again and again. Finally near the top, we shrank to the size of the only small shadow under another twisted almond tree, trying to escape the sun, feasting on apples and water, it was too hot to eat anything else.

After a short rest, we carried onwards, reaching an area of pine trees and an old farmhouse, Mas Ventos (House of the Winds) overlooking the huge sandy vista of the Gulf of Roses, stretching far into the distance of a scorching afternoon. Tired and hot, we again struggled a little to find the next part of the route tracing back our steps until finding the wide track below Mas Ventos and along a steep ridge overlong the coastal plain below. The path was wide and dusty and taking the full brunt of the sun, we may have looked like a pair of weary pilgrims if we had passed anyone else but we were totally alone. Then, just after another turn, we walked into the welcome shade of a group of trees and the tiny hermitage of St Onofre, clinging to the rocks on a tumble down cliff. We rested here for a while, drinking in the cool shade, then climbing down some stone steps at the back of the hermitage found the steep descent down for which walking poles had been recommended.

It was definitely steep and rocky but compared to our mistake the previous day it was certainly easily manageable without poles. The first part was blissfully shady and occasionally damp, the only sound our feet dislodging the odd rock and the echoes of birdsong all around us, we were concentrating too hard on where to place our next step to talk. Once again a sense of natural magic pervaded the air and for all our tiredness we could only marvel that someone had climbed the other way to build the hermitage. Breaking through the shady trees and back out into the sun, we perched precariously to take a rest, our feet kicking out into a sheer drop below. Twisting back and forth the path seemed to go on forever before finally coming to an end into a small clearing at the edge of Palau-Sevardera. Exhausted, we sat shamelessly in the dust to eat an orange and read the notes on how to get to our next accommodation.

A few streets later, we found it, Hotel Niu de Sol, a dark doorway on a narrow street, our host welcoming us in despite our sweaty and dusty appearance. Our room was cool and tranquil, billowing curtains opening onto a tiny Juliette balcony overlooking the street. There was an honesty fridge (were we quickly found two cold beers) in the light filled breakfast room. The hotel is run by three generations of women from the same family and evidence was everywhere of their thoughtful touches. I was impressed that as well as the usual toiletries, the bathroom also offered feminine hygiene emergency packs, a spare toothbrush and a decent drying rack, the sort of detail that makes somewhere special. 

The hotel had recommended a restaurant, Casa Carmeta, around the corner (just as well as I wasn't sure how much more my feet could take), which I had booked earlier in halting Spanish using WhatsApp. On arrival, we were welcomed into a walled garden full of tables and chairs by Eddy, the charming owner. He settled us in with a generous glass of cold white and dish of olives and wild rabbit terrine whilst he explained the menu, chalked up on a board. We chose duck with soy and ginger and local beef, all delicious. After we paid the bill, Eddy came back with two different bottles of Ratafia (a traditional Catalan liqueur made from walnuts and herbs), and with a theatrical flourish, two frozen shot glasses. Help yourself, he said with a wink, all birthdays should be celebrated. Conscious of the long walk the next day, we were sensible and chose the bottle with the most interesting label, soaking in the afterglow of a wonderful meal by candlelight on a warm summer's night.