Spain Again (Tarragona and Valencia)

It’s still dark when I wake up. I’d prepared and laid everything out the evening before so all I need to do is shower, get dressed, eat and drink something, put my kit into the panniers and head out. The evening before the receptionist asked me to post the key to my gite through the letterbox of the main gate, as no one would be up at the ungodly hour I must depart in order to beat the heat. I post the key through the slot in one of the gate pillars on my way out and head West out of Biarritz.

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From Zaragoza to Barcelona (via Hades?)

My decision to break the journey up in Zaragoza was made not only because I heard it was a cool city and wanted to check it out, but because it’s only a relatively sedate 200 miles (320km or so) to Barcelona from there. I’m not too hungry at breakfast, so I load up on fruit and coffee, check out and I’m out of the hotel and out of the city by 9am.

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Of Dust and Valour

At the end of my previous post, I think I possibly went off at the deep end with fascism, climate change, and Phaedrus, and my readers are owed an explanation, so I’ll attempt one and hope that it proves satisfactory.

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The Long Ride South (part 4: Zaragoza)

Despite the late finish the previous evening, I roll out of bed at 7am as usual, pull on jeans, a t shirt and flip flops and make my way down to breakfast. This is the most upmarket hotel I’ve stayed in during the trip, delusionally boasting 4 stars, and easily the worst. Breakfast is a wilted, dry and tasteless affair. The coffee is probably the most awful I’ve had in two decades, although not as bad as one I’d tasted in a Northern Irish prison early in my career as a justice reformer.

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