The Road to Catalunya: Part One

The first chapter of a journey across the Iberian Peninsula: from São Luis in Portugal to Monfragüe Natural Park in Spain.

We have not even to risk the adventure alone
for the heroes of all time have gone before us.
The labyrinth is thoroughly known...
we have only to follow the thread of the hero path.
And where we had thought to find an abomination
we shall find a God.

And where we had thought to slay another
we shall slay ourselves.
Where we had thought to travel outwards
we shall come to the centre of our own existence.
And where we had thought to be alone
we shall be with all the world.” ― Joseph Campbell

I put the key in the ignition and start the engine. The old Mercedes diesel van coughs and splutters into life. I roll unceremoniously down the hill, slowly rumbling along the bumpy gravel track, waving goodbye to my new Dutch friends —leaving the valley I have called home for the past two months. 

The feeling of leaving Portugal is certainly different from last year, thankfully in many ways that are positive. Least of all, being able to drive across Europe with my fuel expenses paid for this time — but that's only one of the smaller examples. Perhaps the biggest difference is the feeling that I now have something to return to. I've found the place I want to call home. I've found my people. I'm no longer searching.

As hard as it is to leave, the call to adventure is a necessary process. The threshold needs to crossed — limits need to be challenged, skills put to the test. Lessons need to be learnt and integrated. I’m following the thread of a dream, continuing on the path that I have been walking for some time. I don’t yet know where it leads, but in the grand scheme of things, it seems to be working.

I drive further towards the Spanish border, noticing how the weather pattern is the reverse of the last time I travelled along this road. Bright sunshine and silhouettes fade into grey clouds and showers of rain. I go past the town of Evora and notice the strange contrast of modern industrial estates and roman ruins. Around thirty kilometres from the border, I notice a couple of hitchhikers. I pause for a moment, weighing up my choices — suddenly remembering the times I hitchhiked and how grateful I was for the rare person who decided to stop and give me a ride. Pulling into the hard shoulder, I put the hazard lights on and they came running over. 

Their immediate sense of gratitude gives me a buzz of energy, internally indicating that I made the right decision. I ask them where they are going, Badajoz was the answer. We bundle into the van, making introductions between the hitchhikers and Lupa before heading east along the autovia towards Badajoz. We initiate the expectedly awkward small talk which emerges when you pack unfamiliar people in a relatively small space. Sebastian, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, was explaining that he was from Switzerland originally — who recently met his travel partner Eva, while walking the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain. He said that he had been living a lifestyle of “one year working, one year travelling” for a few years now.

I wanted to open up a deeper conversation behind the intentions for travelling, but I knew that we didn’t have enough time to delve into this properly. Internally, I wondered what it was he was looking for — what it is that we’re all looking for through the pursuit of travel. I’m certain that the answer is hugely varied depending on who you talk to about it. My impression, both from my own experience and the perspective of those I have talked to about it, is that many of us are looking for a place that truly feels like home. A place where not only are our basic needs met, but where we have an environment that is conducive to facilitating the expression of our highest purpose. Certainly community playing a big part in that, I’ve observed how the mass of humans are living in a form of acute or extreme social isolation. A lack of authentic communication and intimacy. Maybe our desire for travel is merely the seeking of a place that allows us to feel truly like ourselves — to be fully expressed, actualised, integrated. I digress.

I guess I’ll never know what Sebastian’s intentions are, but I appreciate the mystery of not knowing. I hope he and Eva find what they are looking for. I pulled into a petrol station to fill up on diesel, noticeably extortionate in price compared to the last time I travelled this route. We say our goodbyes, have a picture taken together and part ways. It feels nice to reciprocate the spontaneous act of kindness that so many have shown me on my travels.

Only two more hours of driving left to my destination for today — Monfragüe Natural Park. I actually planned to visit this national park the last time I travelled along this route, but the incendiary, mid-summer temperatures encouraged me to seek shelter higher up in the mountains. I’m grateful to be undertaking this journey in April instead of June. It’s incredible how these small differences can make or break an experience — instead of melting under my huge glass windscreen with no air conditioning, I’m cruising along the open road in the comfort of gentle Spring sunshine and a light breeze.

As I roll down into Monfragüe, I drive carefully around the bendy mountain roads. Following my instincts, I head down into the valley to find a sheltered and quiet spot. My understanding is that if you are willing to drive where no one else will, the chances of finding the perfect spot are dramatically increased. I take a very tight ninety-degree bend, edging slowly from where the asphalt meets the gravel. Thankfully, on this occasion my instincts prevailed. I find a secluded area in a cork forest, perched on the edge of the valley, overlooking the river that flows below. The time is 7:43pm and I’ve been on the road since 9:30am this morning. That will do. I fire up the stove, reheating a meal of chickpeas and vegetables from the day before. I put on some gentle music from Sun June and notice how it feels to finally feel fully relaxed, arrived, landed. I fade slowly into sleep — dreaming about highways and industrial towns, trails and forests, past and future.