11: Spain from East to West

Feb 10 2019

Snail has been seriously been hitting the road recently, slowly and steadily making our way over 800 miles across the breadth of Spain in the past 9 days.

I started writing this in Barcelona, and am now picking it up on the other side in Ourense. So this is going to be a two in one super blog from the past two weeks!

Snail's trail

BARCELONA.

I can see the whole of Barcelona right now by turning my head from left to right. We’re parked in an incredible view spot in one of the hills surrounding the city, where frontiers of forests and cityscapes meet the sea.

We watched the sun rise over the horizon this morning, as we have every day this week. There’s not much more powerful to me than watching the circle of the sun poke it’s head over the ocean and open the curtains on the world. Only matched by it’s colourful light show decent back around the earth in the evening. In fact this week we’ve taken a moment at both sunrise and sunset every day like a favourite TV programme performed live for us.

But this particular sunrise felt significant today. Looking over an entire city like this reminds me of our van life.

We’re seeing the city from afar, with snaking dots of commuting cars, and tiny specks of light in tiny windows - like how we see life emanating around us as we pass through in Snail, never staying long enough to settle. It gives us a perspective of seeing society as a whole, while at the same time feeling separate to it.

Christening our hammock overlooking Barcelona

I wonder what buildings the people in the river of cars will filter into, I wonder how many people are coming to the city with the intention of making money, how many here on holiday. People waking up, people going to bed. CEOs and cleaners, tourists and taxi drivers, families and lovers. Each with a role to play in a huge mixing pot of a million moments unfolding right now.

To my right, is a prison. Thousands of freedom-less humans, living their current lives in a space the size of my fingernail from here. Next to that, a 17th century labyrinth we visited yesterday, whose flaking, dusty, castle-like architecture stands out so much amongst the high rise apartments next to it. So much change has happened here.

Finally reaching the end of the labyrinth after way too long

Beyond everything is the ocean, which curves from east to west around me, and as far as my eyes can see, until the blue begins to circle slightly around the earth.

The most beautiful thing up here, is the city’s silence. I know full well that miles below me are the bustling markets, the ambulance sirens (that honestly sound like the clown police squeezing rubber horns), eruptions of laughter, rattling skateboards down Barcelona's backstreets. But up here the whole city is still. The only sound is the wind, which is moving the trees and blades of grass around me, vibrating softly like the sun’s distant dazzle from the ocean, which is also reflecting sharp light back at me from a handful of random windows.

The beauty is, I can see the city, the society, the world, without getting lost in it.

I have no role to play. Temporarily living here, I feel like neither a tourist nor a local. I’m not here to gain anything from the city. I’m simply here, experiencing it, before moving on.

Coming from living in a city like London, I know the feeling of getting lost in life. There are so many distractions and expectations. Everything is busy, all the time. In our old house in Shadwell, sirens and horns would filter through our window 24/7. It never ended, like a constant influx of waves. Where are the waves trying to get to? They’ll only be dragged back again before another reaches forward. Even if it feels as if ground is being made, the tide returns and so it goes. It’s in moments of stillness like this I realise the madness of the city life I once existed in.

I wonder how much really has changed here, how much the labyrinth has noticed emerge around it in the past 300 years. Apart from vehicles increasing in numbers and buildings getting a bit higher, ultimately aren’t things the same? People getting by, falling in love, having families, making things. The oceans and hills cradling Barcelona still watch as people come and go as they’ve always done.

We’re leaving Barcelona this morning after staying here a week. It’s been our favourite place so far. We’ve spent most of our time outdoors, often just in a t-shirt, skating around the sunny city with our friend Ali who came to visit (honestly skating is the best way to see a city and it always makes me feel local to a place), eating tapas and tacos, followed by a few days parked up at a sandy beach on the outskirts of the city. Now we’re powering over to the other side of Spain for another special visitor in just over a week.

OURENSE

Now we’re on the other side of Spain after 9 days of hefty driving. I feel like I’m sinking into the sofa right now in complete relaxation after bathing in natural hot springs this morning. We’re currently in Ourense, an area rich in natural thermal spots. We’ve visited three of the dozens of bathing areas which send steam into the sky along the riverside since yesterday.

We’ve never experienced anything like it. It’s been cloudy the past two days, but despite the grey, the rivers are lined with people in bathing suits while passersby are wrapped up in coats and hats. Weird.

It sums up the confusion of how my body has been feeling recently, going from -11 degrees snow-topped mountains to 16 degrees sunny beaches in the space of a few days. Then rainy January days inside, followed by a perfect blue skies skinny dipping in the ocean. It’s like we’re experiencing all the seasons in one. Perks of having a home on wheels!

When we first stepped into the hot springs, we had to try really hard to contain our excitement amongst the Spanish locals bathing along side us. The water was crazy hot - more than 10 minutes emerged in some of the pools is enough to feel like a boiling potato. To feel the natural heat from the earth bubbling water beneath our feet was an amazing experience. Bathing at eye-level with the river passing alongside us and ducks occasionally jumping in the pools with us (don’t worry, it was the cooler pools, no crispy duck was found) was a constant reminder that - woah, this really is nature.

Van life generally has made us really appreciate warm water. We can’t turn a tap and get it anymore. We can’t flick a kettle and have a quick cup of tea. We felt as we imagined our ancestors did, indulging in the baths as a rare treat from the earth… Because for us any bath genuinely is a treat.

After yesterday’s session I was so proud of us when we both successfully took a cold outdoor shower (without the squealing and slight running away like we have before). I couldn’t believe it as we stood outside at sunset on a grey February day in our bikinis with cold droplets of water on our body and we felt great. We felt great an hour later too. We actually felt warmer because of it. Since van life, we’ve slowly been thickening our skin to the elements, no longer feeling so sensitive to temperature changes. It’s ironic that exposure to ‘discomfort’ actually allows us to be more comfortable because we’re not sensitive little cotton buds like we used to be in our constantly air conditioned lives.

Prior to arriving in hot spring heaven, we powered our way along the top of Spain. This has been me for 9 days:

Mostly driving through mountains, but occasionally lost down Spanish backstreets. (You wouldn’t believe some of the alleyways our maps have led us down. We had a little old Spanish lady hobble out of her house with her dogs at her feet trying to help us manoeuvre through a slice in the wall just big enough for Snail to get through.)

It’s been rejuvenating to be immersed in nature again. We still get so excited when we’re so out in the styx there are absolutely no houses around, and have our little home watching us from the hills.

Since its been warmer, we’ve been finding some really special spots for yoga and meditation. Often, its surrounded by water. Nothing like doing downward dog with the full energy of a waterfall powering at ya.

Last week, we found ourselves in an ‘enchanted forest’. Basically, a natural art gallery. Heavenly for us because trees are Simone’s thing and painting is mine and we were in the company of hundreds of painted trees. As if a forest could get any more alive?! We watched as abstract art on individual trees formed shapes with neighbouring trees as we moved through the bursting forest. It was literally a living art piece. It’s a really wonderful idea that would be a joy to see in forests everywhere. And we don’t think the trees mind.

Another beautiful place we visited en-route was a quaint, very old fishing village. Houses were built into the curved cove, colourfully peering inwards from the hills. They were all linked by tiny alley ways and the history hung in the air. Literally it was a bit smelly.

Then we spent a day at a gorgeous cove which we had completely to ourselves. I picked a beach from a map at random and off we went. We ended up snaking down and down and down a very steep single-track road while I repeated ‘sorry Snail’ each time we turned another hairpin bend as I feared how we’d ever get her back up again. But we persevered and were rewarded.

We had a perfect van life day looking for sea creatures in rock pools, playing guitar and doing yoga on the beach and watching the sunset with an open fire to cook dinner on. We also skinny dipped in a cave and a secret waterfall we discovered - yep, skinny dipped, in February.

A 150 mile drive in one sitting (a long way for little Snail and her little 50 mph top speed) led us to Las Medulas, an ancient Roman gold mine and one of the strangest landscapes I’ve ever seen. The 2000 year old methods of extracting gold left the bright orange rock in pointy spike shapes where the mountain used to be. It felt like we’d entered a wild west movie. As we shouted from the top of the valley and listened as our own voices replied from the depths of the caves, I realised how striking it was to find the battered remains humans had left of the land to be beautiful. Regardless, life still thrives there even though the mountains are broken. The beauty is in how the earth heals herself.

Later we’re heading to Vigo, where we’ll meet our pal the Atlantic Ocean again, which we spent every day with when we started our journey in Ireland. And will be up and personal to again as we follow the coast through Portugal and then Morocco. Things are going to really start hotting up in here. (And did I just imply we’re friends with the Ocean? This is what living in a van does to you. And I bloody love it.)

Love,

Becky and Simone