Andorra
I spent two nights in Belchite at the parking area for motor caravans, and really grew to like it there. The town itself was pretty small and some of the faces and personalities, like the buildings, became familiar even in the short time that I was there. Like the woman who worked in the cafe and had a second job in the supermarket. My neighbors were a retired couple from Belgium who made the same tour around the old ruins as I had done. Their Spanish was as poor as mine so we made up for it by speaking in French together. They left just ahead of me on Thursday morning and I set my course for Andorra, Teruel, not to be confused with the principality of Andorra in the Pyrenees. This was a journey of about 64km about which I was feeling pretty confident.
The view of the enormous plane which I had seen when coming down from the mountains two days ago proved to be quite deceptive as the plane was in fact dissected in all directions by dry valleys and ravines, so the going was anything but flat, but the road was good and the weather was warm and sunny. However by about 2pm my legs were beginning to ache and although I stopped several times the pain was getting worse. At one point I was forced off the road by two Mercedes sports cars, racing to get past an oncoming lorry. Lucky for me that the roadside was relatively flat and accommodating as there are stretches along that road which are certainly not! I had a call from Scott at the Catholic worker farm last night and he had been asking me about the trip and if I felt safe or had had any near misses. I think this was the closest I've had so far, but I've noticed that one or two lorry drivers seem to be attending to their digital screens in the cab as much as they are on the road, which definitely made me feel a little nervous.
About ten kilometres short of Andorra there is a steep gradient that rises to 650 metres. My legs were already aching badly and the thought of attempting the ascent threw me into despair. I pulled off the road and tried to sleep in the shade of an olive tree. An hour later when I stirred myself into action I remembered one of the gifts I had been given by my colleagues at the Lodge on my last day of work. A box of isotonic high energy solution sachets. This was just the situation that they were made for. So I gulped one down and the effect was almost immediate. In any case I took the long gradient, in my stride, and the subsequent road into town which rises another 100m! So if any of you are reading this, thank you dear colleagues for a life changing gift!
Coming in to town I discovered why the quantity of heavy lorries on that road outnumbered the cars by so much. Andorra is a mining town, virtually surrounded by quarries and factories, manufacturing all kinds of heavy building materials. First job is to find a place to put my head down for the night. There's no campsite in Andorra and precious few hotels. My map showed there was a parking area for motor caravans, but I couldn't find it. Close to where it was supposed to be there was an old abandoned orchard next to a disused railway line, quite close to the centre of town. It was in a complete cul de sac and would make a perfect place to stay. There were still a couple of hours of daylight so I set off into town to find something to eat. On the way I passed a huge sports centre and called in to ask if I could take a shower. They said of course, but I would have to pay the entrance fee of €4. Well that was a lot more affordable than a hotel which was the only other alternative in this dusty old town. Feeling totally invigorated and renewed I set off to find a place to eat, and lo and behold almost immediately ran into what I thought was a Turkish kebab shop. At least that's what it said over the door, but it turns out that the guy running it was actually from Pakistan. He turned a mean kebab which I found very familiar and satisfying.
The night was quiet and uneventful. While I was packing up the tent next morning one of the locals came by with a wheelbarrow. As far as I could understand he told me that I had picked a good place to put the tent. He insisted on bringing me along to show me something and took me up on the embankment of the old railway line. Down below on the other side he pointed out the parking area for motor caravans which I had struggled to find the night before and no wonder. It was like a bombsite, strewn with rubbish and as he indicated, it was overhung by some very large slabs of brickwork and concrete that looked close to falling into the area below. "You could die camping there" he told me and I think he said that they were trying to get it closed. Well I breathed a sigh of relief and thanked him for his time and trouble.
I set off through the town, calling in at an attractive looking grocery shop. I didn't want to buy anything much as I would have to carry it so asked only for an orange. But the grocer, who it turns out was Moroccan, wouldn't accept any money for it. He was astonished when I told him I was cycling to North Africa and while I was stashing the orange in my bag he went inside the shop and came out with a banana. This, he said, is much more important. And I had to agree. I've found that if I don't eat bananas on a daily basis I get very susceptible to cramps in my legs. Well I shook his hand and asked his name, "Hassan" he replied "like the poet?" I asked, and he exploded with laughter. "No not me" he said, "I'm not a poet". What a great start to the day.
Passing through the centre of town I came upon this impressive monument which is the only photo I managed to take in Andorra.
A real working town, and a great place to stay.
