Lloret to Tordera – Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee

Well, wounded shoulder actually, and this walk puts that whole painful episode to bed.

We woke late, a suitable hour for two old farts – 8.30. We took a bus to Lloret and had a decent breakfast. Hooray!

I found an abandoned rucksack and held it up to the staff. Then a bloke came out of the toilet and said it was his and what was I doing with it.

His attitude reflected his hat.

From the cafe we took a northwards route up to a turn off in the mountains. Cutting across country the paths were remote, silent and peaceful. We both felt so much at ease with the environment, and the weather was very favourable. Cool enough for a decent pace and warm enough to be comfortable. It was liberating and we were back home in a way.

There are strange buildings up here in the middle of nowhere. A monastery which is over a thousand years old. With an old bastard bottom left.

We both felt great. But you do when you’re trekkin! We came across a palm tree farm.

We made it over the mountains, and our chosen path – the GR92 – is just brilliantly way-marked in this area. It wasn’t so good last year further north and we got a bit lost a couple of times, but here you don’t need maps that much. We dropped down to the plain leading up to Tordera and had a glimpse of the mountains that we were aiming for in subsequent days.

Just 12 miles today, a modest stroll. Then we headed to the train station in Tordera and went back to Blanes. And then it all went a little strange.

Needless to say we drank too much and didn’t wake up until it was far too late to walk from Tordera to Vallgorguina. So we spent an extra day in Blanes. And lovely it was too. This is Gary. A living, breathing humanoid under blankets and sheets.

And this is Gary enjoying snails. He loves em that boy!

Quite an elegant place old Blanes. We liked it.

This bloke is singing the Blades’ Greasy Chip Butty song. We all hold our arms up like that when we sing it.

And then the earliest of nights. I got to bed at 7pm. Ready for a twenty odd mile yomp the next morning.

Night night dear Reader.