Sunday 3rd September - Force march
It is still raining at day break, but we fortify ourselves with several coffees back at one of the bars and survive the attentions of a group of drunken Spaniards that'd been there all night for a stag party. We had decided to use an iffy day, weather-wise, to go on a force march to get to an area with better flying options So, through Burgette and via country roads to the small village of Garalda which was in full fiesta mode. Noisy, cheap and alcoholic. A group of lads, bemused at our talk of paragliding from coast to coast, tried to give us directions to Barcelona. This was quite a hard walking day - almost all on roads except the last section from Ariva to Villanueva - an old forest trail along the edge of a small limestone outcrop. Limestone is starting to feature in the landscape and there are little gorges and outcrops in the steep forests. Once again it looked like there was going to be no room at the inn at Villanueva. But this time we got an extraordinary 'low save'.
Road maps indicated a hostel in the village and we staggered up to the bar, stinking of sweat and looking distinctly the worse for wear, and asked for two beers. But when I asked if they had a room the response was negative. I suggested that we would camp somewhere nearby but the barmaid said there wasn't anywhere. Perhaps, as we looked particularly crestfallen, she asked us to wait while she talked to the boss who eventually came over and tried to explain something about an Albergue and a big store house. I didn't really understand but set off to find this large house, looking more like a small monastery, lived-in but creepy. As I wandered around the huge entrance hall containing a pair of slippers on the floor and a massive wooden staircase, a white van drew into the driveway. I asked the old chap is this was the Albergue - it hardly looked like his - and he laughed. But he said something positive so I followed him to another part of the village where he unlocked the doors to a three story hostel - basic, but obviously kitted-out for 40 or more. 1000pts each for the entire place. I rushed, smiling, back up to the bar and told Simon.
Showered and changed, and fast getting used to our new-found 'fluffiness', we pigged out at the restaurant, and got an encouraging forecast via mobile phone from Lou back home. Despite the howling Northerly, she predicted an establishing high-pressure for the week ahead.
Road maps indicated a hostel in the village and we staggered up to the bar, stinking of sweat and looking distinctly the worse for wear, and asked for two beers. But when I asked if they had a room the response was negative. I suggested that we would camp somewhere nearby but the barmaid said there wasn't anywhere. Perhaps, as we looked particularly crestfallen, she asked us to wait while she talked to the boss who eventually came over and tried to explain something about an Albergue and a big store house. I didn't really understand but set off to find this large house, looking more like a small monastery, lived-in but creepy. As I wandered around the huge entrance hall containing a pair of slippers on the floor and a massive wooden staircase, a white van drew into the driveway. I asked the old chap is this was the Albergue - it hardly looked like his - and he laughed. But he said something positive so I followed him to another part of the village where he unlocked the doors to a three story hostel - basic, but obviously kitted-out for 40 or more. 1000pts each for the entire place. I rushed, smiling, back up to the bar and told Simon.
Showered and changed, and fast getting used to our new-found 'fluffiness', we pigged out at the restaurant, and got an encouraging forecast via mobile phone from Lou back home. Despite the howling Northerly, she predicted an establishing high-pressure for the week ahead.
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