Madrid, capital de España

21 - 23 September

I made it into central Madrid through the excellent Alsa long-range buses mid-afternoon on the 21st. The change in climate - back to hot and dry after the cold, wet Atlantic Coast - was immediately noticeable! I headed into the city centre to my hostel; one of the cheaper ones I'd been in, but still perfectly OK - I did notice Spain was definitely the cheapest western European country.

A NZ girl in the hostel was keen to explore the city a bit so we headed out to find some of the main sights - Madrid, as the centre of what was once the massive Spanish empire, certainly had it's fair share.

Madrid's city symbol - a bear and a strawberry tree?

Plaza Mayor

Some triumphal arch (Puerta de Alcalá)

Fountains and the Spanish flag were a common sight in the central city - a noticeable difference from the Catalan flag that dominates Barcelona

I discovered there was a Real Madrid match on that night, so headed out to Santiago Bernabéu, their massive home ground. Even for a local league match, the tickets to an 85,000 seat stadium were almost sold out!! I got myself the cheapest seat in the house - behind the goal on the fourth level - and that evening headed along to what was definitely the largest crowd I'd ever witnessed - and mostly mad Spaniards too...

I gots me a Real Madrid ticket!

Real Madrid vs Getafe CF

Cristiano Ronaldo broke a nail so everyone had a fight

But Ronaldo is quite a good player, and scored a backheel on fulltime for Real Madrid to win 4 - 1

One thing that is very Spanish is bull-fighting. While I don't really condone the principles behind it, I still find the concept quite interesting and headed out to Madrid's Plaza de Toros (el toro = the bull) to see what it was all about.

The bull-fight is very steeped in tradition and there are still bull fights in Madrid every Sunday (at least) in season. Madrid's bullring is the largest in Europe and third largest in the world, seating 25,000, and is known as Las Ventas.

Entrance to Plaza de Toros

Bullfight advertisements look exactly the same as they probably ever did

Inside the bullring. Seating prices depend on whether you're in the shade or not!
The sandy central area still had a few spots of blood visible from the previous days' bullfights...

It all seemed pretty weird, that bulls are raised especially to be fought in this ring, and several die each week just for entertainment. The arena includes a hospital and vet for gouged humans and bulls alike. There is also a very big "honour" side to the whole affair, with exceptionally good bullfighters getting their names engraved on a board outside, and honourable bulls even getting being sent to the taxidermist for display in the attached museum.

No wonder some people are trying to ban the practice in Spain. It seems, however, that it is so steeped in tradition and custom now that it will probably be around to stay.

As one last thing before leaving Spain, I headed to the royal palace (Palacio Real). I headed on a tour inside the palace, which displayed a vast amount of wealth somewhat contradictory to the financial troubles the country is in. The armoury had some fascinating displays of medieval weaponry as well. Unfortunately, photography was forbidden throughout the palace interior, so you'll have to take my word for how impressive it was.

And then it was off to prepare myself for another change in climate - to Switzerland!

No basking in Basque Country

16 - 20 September

I arrived mid-afternoon in San Sebastián, a city on the Atlantic Coast virtually adjacent to the French border. Locally the town is also known as Donostia (dono meaning saint) in the Basque language, one that has no real relations to any other language. Locals all still speak Spanish, however. I had arrived in Basque country.

After several months focussed mainly on the Mediterranean, the other side of Spain - the Atlantic side - was very noticeably colder, greyer and wetter. In fact in rained for almost my whole stay in San Sebastián, which had me digging in my bags for long-forgotten pants and drove some of the hostel residents out to buy more clothes.

To be honest, there's not a whole lot to see in San Sebastián. A short break in the rain one day allowed me to go for a walk around the beach and coast and up to Castillo de la Mota on Monte Urgull.

Coastal view with colonial buildings and Monte Urgull

View of main beach from Castillo de la Mota... Bet it would look amazing on a nice day...

View of Isla de Santa Clara from the Castillo

What would a European city be without a neat church photo?
Iglesia de Santa María within the Parte Viejo (Old City)

Despite my complaints about the weather, however, I did quite enjoy San Sebastián's main attraction - the pintxos bars. Pintxos (pronounced "pinchos") is the Basque word for tapas, and San Sebastián is the place to go to eat them. If you don't know what they are, basically they are small, tasty meal items, and a dinner would comprise somewhere between 3 and 6 pintxos, perhaps.

The hostel I stayed in was a friendly, family-run place that employed a young German guy to work for them, and almost every night he took the majority of the hostel guests on a pintxos tour of the city. The tradition is that at each pintxos bar you visit, you have one or two pintxos and one drink, before moving on to another pintxos bar, and you would eat at three or four of these places in a night. While they're expensive, they are also extremely tasty and amazing, and a very awesome way to go out for dinner. No reservations, no waiting for a table or your order to come - and no health and safety regulations on food display either!

I was also introduced to a new drink - red wine and cola. It was surprisingly tasty and very popular with locals, known as a kalimotxo. Maybe that helped me go around the world in darts later on from 6 to 20 in one turn...?

I ate pintxos for dinner all three nights in San Sebastián - what else could I do with such amazing treats on offer??!! Pity each bite costs upwards of €2-3...

A typical pintxos bar
You typically help yourself to cold pintxos from the plates, and order hot ones and drinks from the staff. When you're ready to leave, it's all about honesty - you tell them what you ate/drank.

During my time in San Sebastián, I'd been trying to work out how to get to Switzerland, my next planned destination. I had expected to train through France via Marseille, but prohibitive train costs led me to book a flight from Madrid to Geneva. That meant a few days to spare, so I headed around the coast to Bilbao for two nights.

Bilbao didn't seem like much of a destination except for one thing - the Guggenheim Museum. I didn't go inside - the exhibitions and cost both not to my liking! - but it looked pretty impressive from the outside for some fun photography shots.

Guggenheim Museum exterior

Guggenheim Museum exterior

Reflections off a sculpture outside the Guggenheim Museum

I relaxed for most of my time in Bilbao, writing my journal, watching Team New Zealand slowly choke against Oracle in the America's Cup, etc.

Basque Country flag

Large dog made of flowers.
Don't ask. Don't know.

Someone tried to start a bonfire at the church?

Riverside at dusk in central Bilbao

So, apparently, Bilbao in Basque is "Bilbo".
Still, doesn't anyone find that funny? Or am I the only one from JRR Tolkien-mad New Zealand?

After a quiet couple of days I took a bus off to Madrid for my last few days in Spain.

Stunning Landscapes part 1 - Los Pirineos

10 - 15 September

Having left all my "town" gears in Zaragoza, I arrived in the small mountain village of Torla after two busses through increasingly hilly territory. There were several refugios in the town, which cater for trekkers passing through, and offer pretty cheap accommodation - I had my own sleeping bag, thankfully, and got just a mattress and a hot shower for €10.

That left me the afternoon to plan my 4 days of trekking and explore the small town. It was a very pretty little spot, with that crisp clean air you only get in the mountains. It was also a bit colder - actually a nice relief from the heat of Italy and Barcelona for a change.

From Torla looking out towards Valle de Ordesa (Ordesa Valley)

Backdrop within Torla township

Dawn in Torla

For my first day of hiking I elected to do a day trip into the Valle de Ordesa, heading up towards the tallest peak in the area, Monte Perdido (or Mont Perdu in French - translating as the Lost Mountain). I caught a visitor bus into the national park - private cars aren't allowed - and took a challenging track heading straight up the side of the valley to a shelf, which I then walked along. The tough climb was definitely worth it, with the views into, along and across the valley being absolutely spectacular. I don't think the photos really do the majesty of this place justice.

View back down the Valle de Ordesa valley from the Faja de Pelay shelf

View directly across the valley including the Breca de Roldán - the dent in the skyline at the left of the photo that lies on the Spanish/French border. More about that later!
(Breca de Roldán is the Aragonese name. It's called La Brèche de Roland in French, or Brecha de Rolando in Spanish)

More valley views including the cliff I'd stood on top of at a lookout

Chamois spotted ahead on the track

View at the top of the valley with Monte Perdido hidden (lost?) in the clouds behind

Cola de Caballo waterfall, which translates as the horse's tail

The stunning views simply didn't stop all day, and I enjoyed a lunch of fruit, cheese and crackers near the waterfall before taking a slightly easier route back along the valley floor.

After a second night in Torla, I packed up my pack and headed north along the walking tracks towards Bujaruelo. It was a pleasant walk, quite quiet and mostly along a river that had carved out a small canyon in the valley floor. It took a few hours with my heavy overloaded pack until I arrived at the Refugio de Bujaruelo, which was a tiny settlement (read: three buildings) and my accommodation for the next two nights. They even had beer on tap!

On a bridge in the canyon

Muesli bar stop with my trusty Kathmandu pack, jandals and Maori name tag attached

Bujaruelo

I enjoyed a quiet evening in the refugio, and next morning set off early straight up the hill towards the Puerto de Bujaruelo, a pass between Spain and France. Passing several marmots, and with several other groups of hikers around also, I reached the border pass for lunchtime, to be rewarded with more amazing views (of course!).

Three hours straight uphill to France

The border pass with a touch of snow left

View back down into Spain from the border

Over lunch I got talking to a group of five Spanish men who were heading to another refugio for the night on the French side. I decided to head on to there too, as it was located below the Breca de Roldán I'd seen from afar several days ago and that was supposed to be quite impressive. Once I got there, I got convinced to walk right up to the breach, and boy was that worth it!

Oh, and I had to start saying "Bonjour" to people, instead of "Hola". Stupid France.

View of Refuge des Sarradets (mid-right of photo) and skyline
(within France; ridgeline is the border)

Final ascent up to the Breca - 2804 m altitude, 100 m high and 40 m wide

Back in Spain - view from the Breca

Overshadowed by the massive rock face of the Breca

I only had about 10 minutes at the top before realising I really needed to head back to Bujaruelo to get back before dark. Thankfully it was all downhill, and I made good time to get home half an hour before dusk set in.

Leaving in the morning, I set off back for Torla. The empty refugio I'd stayed in the first night was full (!) and I suddenly realised it was a weekend. Thankfully one of the others in town had a couple of spare beds and I relaxed in town for the evening. The next morning was spent beside the river, writing my journal and waiting for the bus back to Zaragoza in the late afternoon.

Blister? No problem! Keep calm and carry on...

One of the things I really enjoyed about this trip was that I spoke almost zero English in five days. I was having to rely heavily on my Spanish and was quite pleased that it was still up to task! The joy of getting out into the countryside where foreign tourists are normally not found was a bit of a challenge, a thrill, a relief from the city and a very enjoyable experience.

So, back to Zaragoza to pick up the rest of my things, and then a train down to the western side of Spain and the Atlantic Ocean - San Sebastián (or Donostia in Basque).