Two weeks ago, Ellie and I left Àger, Pablo and Agus gave us a lift to legendary Sant Llorenç de Montgai. I should have written about it then, but we've been crazy busy! This place is famous for its stunning raw natural beauty, good fishing at the tranquil lake, and its AWESOME cliffs. Loads of those cliffs we saw we recognised from climbing videos we had drooled over back in London. So good to be there! The place is a sight of joy for sore-footed climbers who haven't got a car as well, since many of the walls literally border the main road.
This village has only one problem: they have no shops. Just one little bar. So shopping has to take place in Camarasa, another world famous climbing village located 6 km away from the campsite we were staying. In that place a jolly man gave us some free bread, advice, and the possibility of renting a room off him cheap next year to return and climb. Tempting!!!
One note about camping there, though. The wind really kicks hard! On our second day as we were walking back to our happy tarp, we saw a neighbouring tent get picked up and blown away! Fair enough, it wasn't pegged, but that night's wind did make sleeping in a tarp that much more interesting.
We climbed as much as we could here with what little time we had, and what little energy we could muster. Àger left us in shambles. The most exciting bit was some short, bold, 10 metre-ish overhang we played around with. It had the extra allure of not being in any of the topos we found. Good big jugs, powerful moves, great big grunts and curses. One big problem: people seem to have thought it was a loo, and its really REALLY annoying to have to watch your step because of poo on the ground. I mean, some respect, please!
One thing everyone kept mentioning as we chatted with the locals was that this is where the world's best rock climber lives (cue Angel choir) Chris Sharma. Ellie was really scared I would stalk the poor bloke if we saw him, which I would have. We didnt. However, we saw his girlfriend, Daila Ojeda! We were merrily walking across town heading to the impressive 100 ish metres crag when we saw her across the road. I now know what teenage girls feel when they see lady Gaga or whatever. We both went beetroot red, slowed or pace down to a crawl and shyly waves hello while trying not to let our jaws gape open. She is our official climbing hero now.
On the day we were due to leave, we missed our train. Obviously there were no buses and the next train would make us miss our connection to Vic to visit my friend Eva. So we did the obvious, and headed to the bar for a beer while we got our thinking caps on and figured a way out of this one. An ineffectual hour later a man popped onto our table and started to loudly blabber at me in the thickest Catalan accent. After seeing our blank states he switched to Spanish and, after he apologised for having barged in uninvited, offered us a lift to Lleida.
We obviously accepted, overjoyed at the lucky chance. So the happy hippie old man and his wife took us over to the car, one that's called dos caballos in Spanish. An ancient vw beetle sized old thing that somehow managed to swallow all 190 litres of packed gear and the four of us and carry us merrily on the road. The man and his wife were a continuous racket of happy bickering and nationalistic Catalunya propaganda, managing in the meantime to tell us stories of how that very car took them all the way to China and back. Lovely people.
The next few days we spent with Eva in Vic and the surrounding areas, recovering our strength. It was a week of delicious gastronomic feats on all parts, exploration of Roman ruins, and visiting the most delicious butcher's in Spain: her mother's. Perfect place for climbers as well: in its beautifully preserved Roman temple there was an exhibition about the exploits of the local expedition club, with loads of old climbing stuff. Ellie and I decided that Vic was so much nicer than Barcelona, quiet, ancient, and delicious, not yet a big enough town to make you feel like another ant following the line. And the food is sooooooo good, the wine is so cheap, the views so awesome.... sigh.
Tarragona we only stopped at for one night, and came to wish we had had more time. It's another ancient Roman place, with ruins strewn casually about the place, just so you had something nice to rest your eyes on while you sip the delicious and fabulously cheap local whine... double sigh. And it turns out that Siurana (or Oliana) I get easily confused, number one place for elite sport climbers, is just an hour away. Poo for our lack of time.
Good news was we were off to Chulilla for another round of awesome climbing after that, and Christmas celebrations! Wheee!
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