The Road to Catalunya: Part Four

The fourth and final chapter of a journey across the Iberian Peninsula: from the blue waters of La Tajera to the town of Mequinenza.

The van shook violently in the gales, the torrential rain lashing down onto the fibreglass roof in a ruthless and unforgiving manner. It was 2:35am when I woke up, still adjusting to the fact that the storm was in fact occurring in real life and not in the dream world. After the experiences with rain on my previous travels, the last thing I wanted to was to get my home-on-wheels stuck in the mud with no one nearby to help. I quickly put some clothes on, climbed into the drivers seat and started the engine.

When I put the lights on I realised how intense this storm was. I thought about stepping outside to get my towel that I hung out to dry, but I decided to fetch it in the morning. I didn’t really fancy a cold shower at midnight. I put the van in the first gear and crawled slowly up the dirt track, parking next to the road where the surface was gravelled and more friendly for traction. Thankfully, the nearby cliffs provided some shelter from the blustering winds — seemingly as soon as I moved, the rain died down to a drizzle and Mother Nature took a pause from her stormy rage. I switched the engine off and took a moment to appreciate the irony. So much for the perfect spot. 

The next day, I felt an impulse to make further progress towards Catalunya. The weather was changing now, with a front of rain and wind sweeping its way across the Iberian Peninsula. I generally find that the fourth or fifth days of a transnational road trip tends to lead to shift in perception. The novelty of a new adventure begins to wear off and the fatigue begins to set in. Many hours of driving on the autovia and the disruption of familiar routines can create some residual tension, so I decided to shake it off by going on a hike with Lupa through a mysterious-looking valley. There seemed to be a trail that followed a dried-up river bed through a barranco, leading to some interesting rock formations.

It was only a 5 minute drive away, so I headed there and parked the van on the clifftop overlooking the small village of El Sotillo, with a population 41 people. I’m not sure if this is characteristic of tiny rural towns, but the vibe was definitely strange. It seemed like a ghost town, possessing an eery ambience that is hard to explain. I put Lupa on the lead and we walked down through the concrete streets, while a group of aggressive dogs barked on the hill above. I wondered whether this was foreshadowing, or simply a form of paranoia derived from watching scary films when I was younger. Either way, we continued out of the village as the concrete turned to dirt beneath my feet. Following the flow of the water, me and Lupa wandered deeper into the barranco as the sun struggled to make an appearance through the dense layers of cloud. 

The first glimpses of the Frailes del Reato rock formations started to appear in the distance. These tall structures had the stance of a circle of wise elders, overlooking the valley below with their watchful gaze. I’m sure they have seen a lot in their years. It’s a shame that there is virtually no information I could find that would explain these geological formations, but I suppose it adds to the mystery.

The lack of rain this year was evident as me and Lupa traversed over the dried up riverbed, following a vague trail that climbed up the side of valley. As we emerged out of the brush, a large boulder hanging precariously on the edge offered a platform for an incredible panoramic view over the curving turquoise river below. The stillness of this place struck me. There was nothing, except for the rustling leaves and the chirping birds that were nesting in the natural monoliths. I soaked it in before deciding to head back in order to continue the voyage.

A town called Mequinenza was the next stopping place, approximately 3 hours away. That afternoon was a strange one. After a few days on the road, time starts to become blurry and daily routines can feel a bit like purgatory. More miles. More motorways. More petrol stations. I found myself feeling increasingly existential as I pushed onward over the seemingly infinite horizon. If there wasn’t a purpose for this travelling, I don’t think I could justify it. Having a creative opportunity that allows me to define a reason for these road trips makes a huge difference. I remind myself to be grateful for this, for the boredom of countless hours of driving through the middle of nowhere. This is all part of it. You can’t have the beauty of a long adventure without the periods of boredom, restlessness or existential questioning. Welcome to limbo. 

After some virtual satellite perusing, I found a suitable spot to park up for the night. It looked like there was a medieval castle which is perched on the hill, high above Mequinenza. About halfway up the ascent, I found a gravel lay-by which appeared to be a suitable place for temporary, mobile habitation. This was the destination. I pulled off the main road and onto a narrow path which bended its way through a series of cherry orchards, with the flowers just coming into blossom. I must have caught a second wind of enthusiasm as I climbed steadily through the fields — feeling suddenly reinvigorated by the idea of finally approaching my next spot. It’s the simple things. Thankfully, my satellite scouting didn’t disappoint and I was presented with a sweeping vista — the castle above, the cherry orchards below, along with passing vehicles in the town that seemed a thousand miles away in the distance. I drew the curtain and watched the sunset cast its golden rays over the landscape. Even a dreary day can surprise you with a beautiful ending. I’m camped on the border of Catalunya now. Tomorrow I begin the march across the final frontier, before these memories of motorways and wilderness fade into the background once again. I can only intend on enjoying the ride while I can — before I end up wherever I’m heading, or wherever the flow of life is taking me.