Clouds on the horizon

We needed somewhere to stay between the Ebro delta and the Costa Brava. The further north we go the fewer campsites are open. Furthermore, the urban sprawl of greater Barcelona looms like a blot on the horizon, a maze of interconnected toll motorways that complicates route planning. We headed a few kilometres inland along our old friend the N340 and found a place to spend the night at a Cava bodega near Vilafranca del Penedas.

The setting was very beautiful with views across the vineyards towards the jagged outline of the Montserrat mountains.

There was no ambiguity about the owner's allegiance, a yellow and red striped flag with a single white star on blue triangle fluttered at the entrance - the symbol of the Catalan independence movement.

"Why does the Catalan flag resemble Cuba's?" Gill enquired. A good question! Google to the rescue - because Catalan separatists in the early twentieth century were inspired by the victory of Cuban nationalists in 1898 and adapted the design of their flag using the Catalan red and yellow stripes. In the process we discovered the significance of the other yellow and red striped flags you see around the region. The one without stars and just stripes is the official flag of the Catalan region. There is a third type with a red star. That is the flag of the more left wing Catalan Nationalists with Marxist leanings

The winery was still open when we arrived. Is Artcarva, as its name implies, a triumph of style over substance? That would probably be unfair, we sampled the cava and it was certainly better quality than something you would buy in Mercadona for €3.50. The going price here was three or four times that, a hefty uplift.

Artcarva is definitely pitched towards wine tourism. The surefire signs are - a tour with tasting at €12 a shot, a price list for airfreight to the USA, airline approved wine carrying bags on sale (a first!); there was even a leaflet in English about their 'Hen Do' packages.

What this all reveals is that we are within easy reach of Barcelona; the place reflects and exploits both ends of the city's appeal: bulk Cava airlifted home for monied Americans taking an excursion from their Yurupeen cruise's Gaudi fix; a bubbly moment for a Hen Party - Barcelona, along with Berlin, Prague and Budapest being a budget airline destinations of choice for the now ubiquitous pre-nuptial fling.

So, given the marketing pitch and the funky graphics is the place more style than substance? Perhaps the thought itself is an old fashioned notion and style is a substantial matter these days, the way a pattern is part of  a woven fabric, not an afterthought.

Next day we headed for one of the few ACSI sites open on the Costa Brava in early March. It's not a relaxing drive around Barcelona no matter which way you choose. Though the journey was scarcely more than 150 Kms it seemed to take most of the day. Les Medes site is on the outskirts of Estartit. We've been to the town a couple of times before on family holidays. 

We remembered it as a slightly down at heel small resort with a wide, windswept beach. The most memorable thing about the place were the spectacular rocky islands offshore, famous as a centre for scuba diving. It's fair to say the place has not changed a bit, apart from being closed up entirely, today - a spookily empty down at heel resort!

Tomorrow we head back to France. The high winds presently causing problems at home look set to arrive in mid France exactly the moment we have planned to cross the Central Massif. Further north it looks like single digit temperatures and heavy rain is on the cards. This comes as something of a shock. Since January 9th, when we recommenced our travels, we have had 45 days of sunshine, aside from a couple of brief showers when were camping in La Garrofa near Almeria. It is probably the longest period of blue skies we have ever experienced. It has not always been warm, but day time temperatures have never dipped lower than 16°. Right now in Buxton it is 5° and wet; though long range forecasts are rarely accurate, the day we are due to get back is forecast sleet and 6°,  that's a grim prospect.

It may be a tad grey but we are still parked a few hundred metres from the Med. We decided to explore the wetland area to the south of here. Back through Estartit's ugly outskirts. Some of the apartment complexes really do resemble a late fifties built sink estate, the sort you might find on the fringes of Dundee; the only things missing - a burned out Ford Fiesta and a old mattress in the front garden.

Soon we were on a cycle track that skirted the edge of a nature reserve. We had the place to ourselves. Eventually after a few kilometres we reached the mouth of the river Ter. It even had water in it, further south dry stream beds predominate.

A mother and child were sitting on the beach. They had constructed a driftwood tepee, the girl, aged about ten I guess, was sitting cross-legged in it. It was a delightful sight. I noticed other pyramidal structures dotted about. It must be a bit of a 'thing' hereabouts, like rock piling has become a pastime in other places.

The clouds grew darker. The chilly northerly strengthened, I was pleased to have chosen my cosiest fleecy for our bike trip. Like all Buxton residents I have a wide range of fleecies, perhaps I should assign them tog values like duvets