Nuevalos to Barcelona

2nd August–11th August - Nuevalos to Barcelona

After getting so far off the beaten track by thinking that Nuevalos was in (or around) Zaragoza and adding 140 extra miles to our journey, we were therefore distinctly nervous as we followed the directions to Nuevalos. Using a map this time, we took the N202 off the motorway and with some trepidation followed the signs to what we hoped would be our destination. We appeared to be in the middle of nowhere – miles of partially cultivated fields, forest, steep hills and tight bends on narrow roads; what were we getting ourselves into? We travelled slowly; it was impossible to go above 30mph and the 7 miles to Nuevalos seemed like it would last forever. I kept wondering how we would manage if we had to do a 3-point turn! However, our fears (or mine) were groundless. Once into the village, the campsite (Lago Park) was clearly signposted, and it was a lovely site with a fabulous view, but on a very steep hillside. We were welcomed by Patricia in reception, a lovely girlie who was incredibly helpful and spoke excellent English. Graham wanted to adopt her but I said No! We’ve already got Emily and that’s enough for anyone!


We were quickly settled on our corner, with a shaded pitch and just a few yards from the spotless loos, showers, etc. But to reach them there was an incredibly steep incline; we looked a bit like those comic postcards (normally from Wales) of people bent over almost horizontal as they battle the wind and rain! Toledo was fairly hectic and this site was really just a stop-over on our way to Barcelona, so we chilled out for a couple of days (too hilly to cycle; well for us anyway and I’m not sure that “chilled out” is appropriate!).

The village of Nuevalos had little to offer but we were anxious to buy some provisions – not a supermarcado in sight! However, we found a couple of little “corner” shops and were served “over the counter”. We wanted six eggs and the shop keeper was not amused as he had to cut a box for a dozen in half. Oh well.... we eventually found a supermarket in a town 16 miles away in Calatayud. It was worth it though, because we found a reasonably priced white wine called “Yela”, which was delicious.
As usual, Graham prowled the site until he found someone he could talk to. I then found myself being introduced to Udo and Renate Olberts from Wuppertal, Germany, who were touring in a large campervan. They were lovely company and experienced campers, and gave us some good tips. We spent a very pleasant evening with them drinking their Pastis and our wine... see photo.

We chose Camping Lago Park because we knew it was only a few kilometres from the Monasterio de Piedra, “The Stone Monastery”. The monastic buildings, once part of a grand Cistercian complex, are a ruin but they stand amid park-like gardens which seem all the more verdant in the otherwise harsh, dry landscape. (History: November 1194, 13 monks from the Convent of Poblet came to the old castle of Piedra Vieja at the request of Alfonso II of Aragon And his wife Dona Sancha in order to found, in the ruins of the castle, the Monasterio de Piedra dedicated to “Nuestra Sra. De Piedra” (Holy Virgin of the Stone). The cloisters, the chapter house, the Baroque altar, the Abbey, the Crypt, the converts’ passageway, the monks’ kitchen (the first place in Europe where chocolate was made; 1535) were all in good condition, sadly it was the chapel which was in a state of ruin.

After our visit to the Monasterio we followed the sign-posted routes around the park (hadn’t realised at the beginning that the route was around 3 miles long, up and down, steep hillsides, etc). The park is part of a network of protected natural areas of Aragon and designated since 1945 as an Area of Natural Beauty. The waters of the River Piedra have shaped the landscape into lakes, grottos and waterfalls – absolutely spectacular and wonderfully cool as we relished the spray from the waterfalls. Apparently the park also has displays of falconry and other birds of prey. The nearest we saw was a poor old caged vulture, with his beak almost touching the ground in a very dejected pose. (As I type this Graham has gone on another walkabout to find friends; he’s had a gin & tonic and, to be honest, he’s not a drinker, so I hope he doesn’t get himself into trouble)

We were exhausted the next day and did very little; we took a dip in the pool but it was icy. It was necessary to swim very quickly to keep warm and as Linda and Chris know only too well, I’m not a great swimmer! Around 3ish decided to eat and as I couldn’t be bothered to cook we decided to go back towards the Monastery to a rather nice hotel and restaurant, the Hotel Las Truchas. We had the most delicious menu-del-dia and a decent bottle of wine in very civilised surroundings. In the end it was a bit of a let down having to go back to Lago Park and get packed up for our onward journey to Barcelona.

Well, here’s a surprise (I’m being sarcastic), we weren’t camped near Barcelona but a huge site with 1,600 placements just outside the resort of Sitges on the Costa Dorada.

The site was perfect; clean facilities, excellent shaded pitch but not what we had been used to or liked. It was huge! When we arrived at reception we had to wait for someone to jump into a van to guide us to our pitch. Although the pitches were gravel, someone raked them each day; Spanish women spent their days with mops and bleach cleaning the facilities... it was all spotless and I have no complaints apart from the size (and getting lost several times). We had worries about accessing drinking water. Reception had forgotten to mention that for a deposit of 60 Euros we had our own private tap which we could use! So from the free and easy sites we had been used to, this all came as a bit of a shock. We had exceedingly nice Dutch neighbours who, of course, spoke English beautifully. They also had some good advice about what to see in the area.

On our second day we drove into Sitges. Although my friend Kay had said it was a lovely seaside resort I was sceptical. BUT she was right; we loved Sitges (and she was right about Parga too). We had a very pleasant few hours walking along the promenade and then through the back streets as thirst drove us to find a pleasant pavement cafe. We sat for a good hour with a beer, people watching.

I was dreading going to Barcelona. I knew it would be hot and that it would be a BIG city. We did our research the night before. The Rough Guide came up trumps with a park-and-ride facility just outside the city. Graham and Jane (the satnav) are pretty good now at finding places so it was a great disappointment to be told by the “park-and-ride facility” that it no longer operated. Faced with a roundabout with 8 exits we took the easy (but expensive option) and parked in an underground facility. We were directed to the metro by the car park attendant who turned out to be extremely helpful.

Although the metro at first seemed complicated it didn’t take us too long to get to Cataluyna, which is at the top of the Ramblas (where we wanted to be). Didn’t really know what to expect but the Ramblas is a wonderfully pedestrianised, kilometre-long tree-lined avenue that splits the old town in two, Barri Gotic to its east and El Raval to the west. The Barri Gotic (Gothic Quarter) is the medieval nucleus of the city – around five hundred square metres of narrow streets, mansions, museums and historic buildings; perfect for wandering. The Ramblas has wonderful shops, bars and restaurants but, even better, loads of pavement artists; crazy people doing crazy things and such fun to watch. I had wanted to visit the Picasso Museum, so we drifted away from the Ramblas into La Ribera, the home of the Picasso Museum. There was a huge queue as it’s reckoned to be the most important collection of Picasso’s work (well, in his early years). I’m sorry to say that I still fail to “get” Picasso’s cubism, although I realise he’s a gifted artist, but we’d had enough after a couple of hours and lacking enlightenment (as well as muttering, “the emperor’s coat) so we decided to move on to our next destination (by metro) to Gaudi’s great Temple Expiatiori de la Sagrada Familia.

DISASTER – as we were entering the metro, I pulled the car park ticket from my purse (please remember even with contact lens my vision isn’t too good close up) and tried to feed it into the metro turnstile. A guard wagged his finger at me as I tried to put the ticket in the machine again. Eventually I found the proper ticket. NOW, I don’t remember whether I left my purse on the turn-style. We were two stops along in the train when I looked into my bag and found my purse missing; credit cards, 200 Euros. YIKES! Despair and panic! We hopped off the train and reversed our journey, but predictably the purse had gone... or had it been lifted from my bag on the metro? The purse was always too big for the bag (or was the bag too small for the purse – not sure). We (I) felt devastated, not so much at the loss, but at how stupid I’d been and how careless. Graham was a brick, said not to worry and took charge! (He’s excellent in a crisis). We found a bar and spent the next hour phoning banks and credit card companies, getting my cards cancelled. We’d had the foresight to withdraw 600 Euros before getting the debit cards cancelled, so at least we had some money!

Rather dejectedly we decided to continue to our next destination; Gaudi’s famous Sagrada Familia. As we reached the metro exit I turned my head and was amazed at my first glimpse of the Church – it’s strikingly different and huge. It was begun in 1881 by public subscription and was originally intended as a modest, expiatory building that would atone for the city’s increasingly revolutionary ideas. When Gaudi took charge, he changed the direction and scale of the project almost immediately. Gaudi’s original plan was to build a church capable of seating over 10,000 people! In particular, twelve extraordinary spires rise to over 100 metres. They have been likened to everything from perforated cigars to celestial billiard cues (Rough Guide). Anyway, it was awesome and I’m glad we made the effort to continue our journey.

The next day we chilled out, found a “Roski” supermarket (Auchan really) where I could buy the really nice Yela wine and stock up generally. I love Spanish supermarkets (albeit French owned) fresh fruit and vegetables in abundance, with fish counters full of the sort of fish which is too expensive to buy in the UK... monk fish, every crustacean and, of course, the ubiquitous sardine. (Reminders of Spanish campsites; sardines being barbequed, campers hammering pegs into ground, airbeds being pumped up and everywhere the distinctive sound of holiday-makers in flip-flops).

Despite my/our losses we just had to go back into Barcelona. We were persuaded by our Dutch neighbours to take the bus and train rather than the car. What they didn’t tell us is how long it would take; almost 50 minutes to get to the station and once there we had no idea which train to catch. Sign language does help, as I pointed down the platform and muttered “por favor Barcelona?” to a bemused Spaniard. Another 50 minutes in a double-decker train took us to Barcelona, but we had no idea which of the stations in the city we would end up in. Luck was with us as “our station” was linked to the metro. Five stops on the metro and we had reached our destination: “La Boqueria” just off the Ramblas - allegedly the most famous food market in Spain. I could believe it; fabulous fresh fruit, vegetables, dried hams, sausages, chorizo, fish, obscene piles of cherries, apricots, melons... delicious and, interestingly, the skin of half a pig’s head??? Seeing all that food made us hungry (well, me actually, as Graham doesn’t seem too bothered about food). We had been recommended to eat in the market and found a bar serving huge platters of fish (with wine of course) at 37€ for two. The platter was mountainous; grilled langoustines, prawns, squid fried in olive oil, small plaice (dabs), mussels and razor clams, the latter of which I’d never eaten before – absolutely delicious and simply grilled. Rick Stein is always raving about razor clams and now I see why.

Stuffed full, we wandered up the Ramblas to the metro, Cataluyna station, to visit Gaudi’s famous park, Palau Guell. (The park was intended to be developed for housing for the very wealthy within a prime site, on the highest point in Barcelona, with wonderful views over the city; Gaudi was commissioned as the architect and completed two houses before the project became uneconomical. Later, the remaining site was landscaped and became a public park. The road to the entrance to the park appeared vertical! However, there were escalators to help us up two thirds of the way and in temperatures of around 38°C we struggled up the remaining incline! Exhausting (you would think I would be losing weight!!).

We weren’t surprised at the design of the houses, having seen Gaudi’s villa in northern Spain at El Capricho in Comillas. These two were equally bizarre – one like an elaborate child’s birthday cake; and the other I couldn’t adequately describe – see photos! High up above these houses was a huge round empty plaza (apart from a million people) supported by 20+ massive carved pillars which provided shade for the buskers. In the plaza we listened to a group of guitarists playing classical music; a perfect end to our day.

We spent that evening packing Freda and the Jag ready for an early start to the border and into France - Argeles sur Mer. Just a short hop – only 160 miles!

NEXT MORNING – another disaster (although not as disastrous as the lost purse)! Graham is never too bright in the morning; I’m the lark and he’s the owl). Rather than wait for me to help guide Freda off our pitch he decided to go it alone. He didn’t even shriek (as I would have done) or wonder why the car wouldn’t pull forward. His bike had got entangled with a tree... seriously ouch! Back wheel bent like a sausage. And as Graham cynically remarked, it had to be the expensive wheel with all the gear cogs. Ironic, I thought, our next destination is flat, easy cycling at last!!! Oh well.

Arrived at Camping Dauphin and joy oh joy, in reception was a young Englishman, Philip, who not only guided us to a very nice pitch but recommended a bike repairer... It cost 50€, but a new wheel later Graham was mobile!