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.
Continue reading “From Zaragoza to Barcelona (via Hades?)”
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.
Continue reading “The Long Ride South (part 4: Zaragoza)”
Blac Ridere 