Spain–South to North.

We cross so many borders that we see contrasts all along the way, some are cultural, some are climate and some are just mysteries like why does a kilo of ice cost 80cents in Spain and just across the border in France in the same shop the same pack of ice costs 2.20 Euro?? No one knows.  The climatic contrasts are, however, easy to explain.  Southern Spain is mostly desert.  Rivers are used as car parks because they haven’t flowed for years.  Anything green therefore is obviously artificially irrigated.  Some wild plants flourish in these conditions but not many.

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The remains of an old irrigation aqueduct that now has no water to channel.

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The desert stretches for miles.  From a viewpoint you can see its vastness.  The rows of green things in the distance are olive trees watered with miles and miles of plastic pipe.

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One way to make use of all this sunshine without water is to convert some of it to electricity.  This solar farm stretched as far as the ye could see in all directions.

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Someone is able to survive in this environment however.

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The water for irrigation is brought from further north where this year the rivers are in full spate because of unusually heavy rainfall.  These concrete channels run straight and true from northern river to southern reservoir and are somehow full of carp.  I chucked a bit of my sandwich in and this is what happened.

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Many people live here of course but everywhere has the air of former glory.

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Nothing looks truly cared for on the outside, of course we have no way of knowing what is on the inside.

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WE avoid motorways and toll roads where possible and often travel for hours along straight well maintained underused minor roads.  In southern Spain there are few places where you can pull off the road for a cuppa.  There is a reason for this I surmise.  Everywhere a car or truck can pull over someone has dumped their rubbish.  Not just a sweet wrapper or two nor even a bean can or three but huge truckfulls of domestic waste.  It seems that if you renovate your house, you remove the bathroom furniture complete with tiles, toilet  and towel rail and dump it in the countryside.

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And don’t worry about that bit of rubbish you have in the back of the car, just chuck it out of the passenger window.  On a regular cycle ride to the beach, I counted  in the gutter, one glass beer bottle and one can every METRE along the way each side of the road.

Sorry. Rant over.

We were travelling north through Spain a little early in the season so weren’t surprised when we pulled in to a campsite to find no one there.  The reception was closed and the whole site had a deserted air about it.  We filled up with water, dumped our wastes, cooked our tea and waited for someone to come along.  They never did and we left in the morning thankful for our free stopover.

There were a few little songbirds around however.  This coal tit

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and a yellowhammer

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and this Griffon Vulture.

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We were anxious to get along however and soon got our first glimpse of the Ebro River which as stated above was in flood.

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Getting up early in the morning isn’t a speciality of ours but sometimes it just has to be done.  That evening found us camping on a bit of rough ground on the banks of the Ebro river in where I watched a fisherman pull out a catfish longer than he was.  He couldn’t lift it off the ground for a photo and I decided I must have a fish.  I sneaked down to the waters edge with my smallest rod and a bit of cheese for bait. I also took my camera to snap up the competition; a purple heron. 

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Needless to say he caught more than I did.  I put away my rod and decided to have another go early in the morning but as the alarm clock was going off I could hear the most wonderful morning chorus headed by an unfamiliar birdsong so I put aside my rod and picked up my camera.  The bird turned out to be a nightingale; a most elusive singer but I managed to get a bit of a sideways shot.

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Having spent some time approaching this fellow, I decided to take camera not rod down the riverbank.  I had been so lucky, The other early riser was the fishing warden who was down there booking all the fishermen for fishing without a permit or using the wrong fishing methods.  I had had a very close shave.  Thanks Mr Nightingale.

I gave up my fishing plans and stuck to my camera for a while. for this squacco heron

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and this stork.

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We were continuing our northward journey to meet Sheila’s sister Wendy on the Costa Brava to celebrate Wendy’s birthday.

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We were just a short trainride from Barcelona and took the opportunity to soak up some Andalusian culture.

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But after a too short week it was goodbye to Wendy at Gerona airport

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and an exceedingly short hop to France for some expensive ice and our next step on our way to the Arctic Circle.

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