The last of the quiet roads for a while. |
Also one for making
comparisons, for example the types and colours of the different houses in each
of the Spanish regions, Roz became obsessed with, believe it or not, the
garbage systems in some of the towns we travelled through. In her opinion,
Catalonia should also be renowned for its waste disposal bins. While in
Alcover, she remarked how impressed she was with the stainless steel bins that
lined the streets beneath the terraced alleyways. ‘Compact, colour coded and
not even an eye saw’, they were a much cleaner receptacle than the large open
plastic bins in places further south, like Fortuna. A lasting impression
though, all for the wrong reasons, some weren’t much more than a foul-smelling
‘home’ for plagues of emaciated cats.
Surrounded by mountains and a
deep gorge below, the strong crosswind buffeted me from side to side. Unrelenting, it made me feel that at any moment I'd be thrust against the two metre-high steel barricades that were ironically there to stop you from disappearing over the edge. Straining every sinew just to remain steady
within the one metre
verge of road provided, it was like crossing a fast flowing river with only the narrowest of tree trunks to keep you from falling.
Feeling every reverberation
like it could be my last, I shrunk my head between my shoulders when one of the trucks went within a whisker of
sideswiping me. The driver was obviously in a huge hurry as
just seconds later he was blowing on his horn in an effort to force the motorist
in front to either put his foot on the pedal or just get out of his way. How I
survived it, and what felt like so many other close calls, I still wonder to this day. Either the Spanish
truckies were better drivers than their impatience suggested or I was just
plain lucky, most likely the latter.
The road to another world. |
As the bulk of the traffic hammered its way towards Montblanc and Lleida, the multi-ethnic ‘capital’ of Catalonia, a further 60 kilometres to the northeast, I finally reached an intersection that would take me in the direction I needed to go. As if in a time machine, I was instantly transported to another world, one of quiet roads and sweeping views I at last had a moment to look at. The rumbling dinosaurs were all but gone, replaced by the calm clickety-clack of wind turbines which like a ballerina’s arms, moved gracefully in the breeze.
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