After some good times with Geoff, and too much rosé and pamplemousse syrup, I saw a window in the weather and decided to continue south. This was to be the first time I’d visited Spain and didn’t know what to expect. The northern coast of spain is known as the Costa Verde, and I should have known that verde, meaning green, means rain—my break in the weather wasn’t to come quite yet.
At the end of many, many kilometers I headed up a mountain road. Hoping to find a camping spot I climbed into clouds, and the air chilled with each hairpin bend. Already sunburned, and now soaked, the prospect of a good night’s sleep was not looking likely, so, defeated, I turned around and parked up at the first B&B I could find. I learnt two important lessons about Spain; nobody speaks English (and I speak no Spanish) and it’s pleasantly cheap (€30 for a charming room).
Next morning the clouds had lifted somewhat, so I went to look at the town and the lakes at the end of the mountain road.
With plenty of time left in the day I set off east to complete some more kilometres, the story of which I will save for the next post.
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