It Was A Hard Day’s Night – Tivissa to Rasquera and on to Benifallet

Yesterday’s route was 22 miles. I ended up doing 26. Today’s route was Tivissa to Rasquera over more mountains and across a broad plain. The track then dropped down to the Ebro River, one of the biggest in Spain and renowned amongst U.K. Anglers for its catfish and carp fishing. The track crosses the road bridge and then on to a hostel converted from an old railway station across the river from Benifallet. A more leisurely 18 miles.

Breakfast at the Braseria Tivissa was really good. Tortilla, chips and bread (with olive oil and mashed tomatoes), olives, orange juice and coffee. Four quid. In fact the room, the beers, bottled water, great tapas for dinner and breakfast was £37. You wunt get the room for that in most of the UK.

On the tables around me local people were enjoying morning banter and breakfast; which seemed to consist of coffee, beer, red wine and brandy. They were all getting pissed at 9am.

I left at 10 (sober) and the steep gradient up the first mountain range began to hurt. 

This country is just brilliant. I keep expecting to see Frodo and the Company of the Ring wandering over the hills towards me. In fact I feel like Frodo. Since I first read the Lord of the Rings it’s branded on my soul. A ridiculously long walk, but, unlike Frodo, without mates. I won’t leave you Mr Frodo. Bugger off Sam. I must be more of a Bilbo. It’s the later ones that you get into that feed you back to the earlier ones that open up the doors of pleasure.

Lord of the Rings back to The Hobbit

Lou Reed back to Velvet Underground

Good Vibrations back to Pet Sounds

Given to the Wild back to Wall of Arms

Hot Rats to Captain Beefheart

Looking back Tivissa was nestling in the sun like a cat. I resisted the urge to throw a stone at it and tell it not to poo in my garden or kill birds ever again.

The track cut up a ravine and a notch in the spine of a steep ridge, through which a waterfall fell in wetter periods. The valley above then opened out a bit to the left of the ridge (below).

A spring gave me the opportunity to drink plenty and refill my bottles.

Higher up the valley the track led to a Chapel which had been designated to the people who walk the GR7. What a great gesture. And particularly for this Pilgrim as the sundial on the front was dated 1889. May your blades remain sharp, and our Sharp remain a Blade. 

Climbing higher the view down to the chapel gave me faith. 

The track led up to a pass between two peaks and gave a vista north and south, with Rasquera, my first rest stop, in the distance in the second photo down.

Rasquera didn’t look that far. It took another three and a half hours! Downhill mostly but draining in the heat with a rucksack. The GR7 veered eastwards, almost away from Rasquera, and I was getting more frustrated. It then appeared to be heading due south towards the mountains, rather than westward. And I had nearly another ten miles to do after Rasquera. 

The amazing terracing unknotted my knickers for a while. How much effort and muscle went into this older day miracle?

And then with head down and teeth gritted, under a scorching sun – only April for Jesus Blade’s sake – I crunched the track to Rasquera and stopped in a cool bar for a drink. 3pm and 10 miles to go. Only 10 miles done in the last 5 hours. Gordon Bennett. I had read blogs that Mosquitos swarmed in their billions in the bottom of the Ebro valley. Bowland Climber, on his blog, had warned about it, even in relatively cool weather. I decided to follow old and new roads that mirrored and hovered above the GR7, which dropped right down to the river banks. My first viewpoint of the Ebro scanned both the downstream and upstream views. Quite magnificent. How lucky am I? Some of my friends and family can’t do this or join me for work or health reasons or whatever. To think that I can look at a map of anywhere and decide to walk it, and then do it, is beyond my ken to be honest. 

Ebro baby!!!

I was making good time now, very good time. The route dropped down past spectacular rock structures and on to the valley floor. No mosquitos but I’m glad I stayed higher on the hills and got the views.

The road rejoined the GR7 and crossed the bridge over the river upstream from Benifallet.

After another hour of graft I made it in the twilight to the old Benifallet rail station. A hostel for cyclists who pedal along the old railway track. 

The only guest (again), a couple of beers on arrival, on the house, a great shower, a three course meal of local beautiful products with unlimited local wine for 5 quid. I thought the room rate was high; it was the only place realistically on the route and proved to be the bargain of bargains. 

I went to bed at 9.30pm. So should you. Night night.