Belated Spanish Climbing Post

Note the cojones on this gigantic, word-less billboard used to advertise a clothing brand throughout Spain 

Spain is a rock climbing Mecca.  Everywhere we have traveled in this county we have been surrounded by magnificent walls of rock.  For the past several days we have been climbing on the superb limestone of the Pyrenees.  If there are more beautiful and peaceful mountains in the world I have not been there.  This place is magnificent.

The village of Organyá

We are staying in Organyá, a very small town of less than a thousand people near the equally small country of Andorra on the French border in the north of Spain.  Our original intent was to stay in the much larger town of Lleida, but every hotel there was booked for a traditional Catholic festival.  A hotel manager where we tried to get a room happened to be a climber and he suggested another hotel about 100 kilometers away.  When he called that hotel for us, they too were full, but that hotel owner suggested the Hotel Dom where we ended up staying seven nights.  We were the only guests in the hotel for six of the seven nights, so we spent quite a bit of time with the proprietors over dinner.  The woman who owned the hotel is quite possibly the best cook I have ever met.  That is saying quite a bit as my mother, grandmother, sister and ex-wife are all excellent cooks, not to mention that I have been to many great restaurants.  But this woman was special, and Babe and I both savored every bite for a week.  In addition, they served local wines that were cheap and fabulous.  We were like pigs in heaven.

Our hosts right before they leave to get married on our last day

Nearby village

"Behind door # 1..."

We had come to the Pyrenees partly because an old friend of mine, Araceli Segarra, grew up here and told me many years ago how beautiful it was.  For some reason that stuck, and I contacted her recently to get some beta on where to climb.  She suggested the outstanding guidebook Lleida Climbs by Pete O’Donavan and Dani Andrada.  Araceli became famous as the first Spanish woman to climb Mt. Everest.  Her climb took place concurrent with the infamous disaster in 1990 that killed several people including the famous Everest guides Rob Hall and Scott Fischer.  All of this was chronicled in the IMAX film Everest that was filmed by an old friend of mine, David Breashears.  David and I met during our trip to climb the East Face of Everest in 1983.  I ended up devoting our whole marketing budget for the Polartec brand toward promoting this film, and got to know Araceli quite well in the process.  Araceli was also a well known fashion model in Spain at the time, and the only thing more striking than her beauty is how incredibly nice and genuine she is (not to mention a bit devilish).

The Pyrenees

Typical mountain village

The Pyrenees are located in the Spanish autonomous region of Catalan.  It is remote despite being only a couple of hours drive from Barcelona.  We feel like we have stepped back in time several hundred years even though there is lots of modern technology.  These are people who tried for years to secede from Spain and gave rise to decades of Basque terrorism; much like took place in Northern Ireland.  Those violent days are in the past, but the current economic crisis is Spain has rekindled calls for a separate nation.  Suffice it to say that these people do not consider themselves Spaniards, they are Catalans.  Araceli was the same way.  Spanish is the second language here at best, and no one speaks English (except the proprietor of our hotel).  The people here seem insular and suspicious of strangers.  Most appear to be older, like they are living in a retirement community.  We see the same old men sitting on the street every time we pass through the towns.  This is a far cry from the Spain of Barcelona one-hundred miles away.

Ah, the smell of cow shit

A couple days of solid rain force us to forego climbing in lieu of sightseeing.  Babe and I played an excellent game high up in the mountains where I pretended to be a Basque sheep herder and she pretended to be a sheep: baa!  Got to love those Catholics.

While wandering around on deserted, narrow we come across several people walking out of the woods carrying wicket baskets with which they had obviously been gathering something.  It looked very French.  Our first guess was mushrooms or truffles, but they had no pigs or dogs to find the latter.  We learned later that night at dinner that people were gathering the snails that came out during rainstorms. At my request, our cook whipped up an outstanding appetizer of escargot that I relished and Babe wouldn’t touch with a 10-foot pole.  Since then, my wonderful wife and mother have convinced me that the snails are no different from the slugs I grew up with in Seattle.  They have forever ruined my life-long appetite for escargot.

In times of earthquake, RUN from the building

This is farming and Basque sheep-herding country.  The people here often live in houses that are hundreds of years old; some of the small villages are thousands of years old.  Many of the villages are built around former castles, and all of them feature a central cathedral.  Many of the houses feature stone roofs that must weigh thousands of pounds, made from local slate.  All of their heating is fueled by wood and we saw quite a bit of wood gathering.  This is as picturesque a place as exists in the world.  The only downside is the pervasive smell of manure, enough to choke you, found in the farming valleys.

Note the solar panels, satellite dish and large wood supply

On one of our sightseeing days we venture about 30 miles to the tiny country of Andorra on the border between Spain and France.  It is the 6^th smallest country in Europe with 85,000 people living in an area about two-thirds the size of San Francisco.  Andorra turns out to be little more than a shopping destination for Spaniards on the weekend due to its lack of VAT (“value” added tax).  We regret our decision to visit it as soon as we approach the border; the traffic is at a standstill trying to get into the place.  There are well-stocked climbing shops in the towns, however, so we stop to pick up a couple pieces of climbing gear and get some diesel.  We are dreading the return, imagining hours sitting in line at Customs, but it turns out to be a non-event.  Our American passports enable us to breeze through while the locals get pulled over for car searches by bureaucrats looking to levy taxes.  Andorra has a rich history and a beautiful setting, but the shopping  frenzy seems completely out of place and hard to recommend.

Climbing near Coll Pique´

We spent most of our time in the Pyrenees at two nearby sport climbing areas: Paret de l’Obaga Negra and Coll Pique´.  Both were superbly well developed.  Babe led several easier climbs in the 5.8 range and I drug her up routes as hard as 5.11.  The climbing was fun, the protection excellent and the ambiance was as nice as anyplace I have climbed previously.  One of the unique things in this part of the world is that the names and grades of the routes are written on the rock at the base of the climbs.  That sure makes route finding easy.  We saw no one else at l’Obaga Negra, and it felt like we had our own private climbing area due to the setting and hike in. The limestone rock was quite sharp, however, so we both took care not to cut our hands. 

Via Ferrata La Regina de Peramola.
Our route winds up the steepest cliffs, going from center-right to the summit.

Typical climbing on the via ferrata

On our last day in the Pyrenees we climbed the Vía Ferrata La Regina de Peramola.  This spectacular route features 3,500 feet of climbing and is undoubtedly the best day Babe has ever experienced climbing.  I also had a blast.  Vía ferratas, or Iron Highways, were originally developed in the Dolomites of Italy in the late 1800’s to connect villages in high mountainous terrain.  More were built During World War II to help troops move between fortified positions in strategic mountain passes that saw years of continuous fighting with little to no movement of the battle line. 

Check out the hand and foot holds

Pure fun

The Ferrata La Regina was built by Josep Vergara, Verena Masius and Xavi Vidal in 1997b an 1998.  Building it involved a staggering amount of work, a greats sense of the aestheic and tremdous vision.  Unlike a traditional climb, virtually every handhold and foothold in a via ferrata is planned out.  Most are artificially placed by drilling holes in the rock and cementing in a piece of rebar that often takes the form of a u-shaped rung, much like a ladder.  Running alongside the hand and foot holds is a steel cable that is used for protection by clipping into it with carabiners that are connected to your climbing harness using two separate pieces of webbing.  Clipping into a steel cable may be comforting psychologically, but it is by no means safe.  Since the cable system is made of steel there is no dynamic load absorption as you have with a climbing rope.  So falling on a via ferrata is dangerous to say the least, and there have been numerous serious injuries and deaths as a result. Although I didn’t bother with clipping into the cable system most of the time unless I was hanging out to take pictures, Babe used a self-belay device designed for via ferratas that allegedly provides some amount of dynamic fall protection.

Broken cables add to the excitement

These routes are "non-technical" and designed to be climbed by the "non-climber".  Uh huh!  Besides the obvious danger noted above, these routes go up sheer cliffs with hundreds of feet of exposure in isolated settings; not exactly for the feint of heart.  As we stand at the base and look up at the start of the route, Babe is intimidated.  Although the climb is well beneath her technical ability, the rock is dead vertical and she wonders if she has the endurance needed to spend several hours climbing a 3,000+ foot ladder no matter how straightforward the moves.  This  particular via ferrata features strenuous over-hanging sections, traverses that are wildly exposed and intimidating chasms, one of which was spanned by a 12” wide swinging cable bridge with some broken cables.  Another required stemming between two walls with a yawning gap dropping a hundred feet between your legs.  I assure her it is a piece of cake and off we go.  The link below is to a five-minute You Tube video that gives you a good idea of the route, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=189WxtZqrhs&feature=player_embedded.  All in all, the route featured incredible views, thoughtful movement and outstanding rock.

High on the route in her favorite shirt

"Oh my god".  Babe about to get passed at the stem-across

"Designed for non-climbers"

The walk back down after summiting was equally nice.  Four other parties were on the route that day.  All but one, a lone climber who passed us at the stem-across, were behind us on the route and moving more slowly so it felt like we were all alone most of the time.  Everyone of the parties passed us on the way down as we took our time exploring this magnificent area.  Two large eagles patrolled one of the cliff lines and we spent several minutes watching them visit their airy nest across a valley. At one point in a natural cul-de-sac beneath soaring cliffs we laid on our backs and watched the clouds encroach upon a steep ravine above us, their wispy tendrils filtering the sun to create an ethereal light around us.  We never wanted to leave this spot.  It was the perfect end to our Spanish holiday.

The walk off

The next day we caught a plane from Barcelona back to the States.  Every year for the past 42 years I have made from one to a dozen trips per year to other countries. Previously, I have always looked forward to coming back to this country.  Not this time.  It isn't that there is anything less desirable about the States, or that I don't think we are the luckiest people in the world to be living here; I do.  But the world is a magnificent place, with lots of ways to live that are equally compelling albeit different than here.  Spain is one of the most comfortable and desirable places I have seen.

View from the top of the via ferrata

Epilogue

Over the past several months Babe and I have been living the dream: no schedules to keep or responsibilities beyond our own well-being, visiting beautiful places, leading low stress and healthy lives.  Life has been a constant adventure that we have enjoyed in the company of some of my best friends.  The climbing has been tremendous and reaffirmed why it is my favorite sport.  Babe and I have grown incredibly close; the trust between us on so many levels is rare and something we almost take for granted but don't.

We have been back from Spain now for several weeks and are in the process of looking for jobs. That's a good thing.  Being on the road is great, sitting around the house is not.  We both look forward to re-entering the fray and whatever new adventures that entails.  At the very least, however, we fully realize that we share a passion for travel, adventure, the unusual, outdoor activities and each other.

Hard to resist

As much as I look forward to getting back to work, this sabbatical from it has been totally invigorating.  Life is good.

Madrid

More great Spanish architecture in Madrid

In case you missed us on the international news feeds, we are running from the police.  After stepping outside of the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum in Madrid where we had spent much of the day, we find ourselves in the midst of several-thousand Spaniards protesting the economic austerity measures imposed by the government.  We are running because they are running, and we don’t want to get trampled.  Turns out the police are firing rubber bullets into the front of the crowd.  At least a dozen people are injured and 20 arrested during a protest that looked to be completely peaceful and well-mannered.  We enjoy a beer provided by a local entrepreneur while strolling through the scene and escape unscathed. 

Enjoying a beer at the Protest

Gathering crowds and police

Our first inkling that something unusual was going on was when we walked from our hotel in the center of Madrid to the museum.  There were police everywhere.  This was a well-organized protest scheduled to begin in the early evening at the Parliament building next to the museum.  We heard the crowd building throughout the day from inside the museum while the staff anxiously looked outside.  People here are pissed off at the government’s handling of the economy as it threatens their well-being.  These protests are going on in Spain, Portugal and Greece at the moment.  Because of the global nature of today’s economies, if Spain’s economy tanks the European Union and euro are negatively impacted.  Investor confidence worldwide suffers and that provides us both opportunities and challenges.  From my perspective, the root cause also emphasizes the ills associated with economies featuring too much of a socialist agenda.  The lifestyle here is phenomenal, but the work ethic is not. 

All that excitement apparently got my nympho wife worked up, as she abuses me for hours that night.  This could be a short marriage if she ends up killing me in bed.



 

Boy in a Turban by Sweerts

The Thyseen-Bornemisza museum is the best art museum I have ever visited, or should I say it most appeals to my taste in art.  Previously, I would have awarded that honor to the Louvre in Paris, Barnes Foundation collection in Philadelphia or the Brandywine Museum in Chadds Ford Pennsylvania, but the formerly private collection at the Thyseen-Bornemisza museum sets it apart.  In just one of the numerous small rooms that house this collection there are masterpieces by Van Gogh, Monet, Renoir, Pissarro and Whistler.  The next room features Degas, Gauguin, Cezanne and Toulouse-Lautrec.  All are among my favorite artists and they represent only a smattering of those represented in this massive, eclectic collection.  Outstanding pieces are on display from virtually every period of painting, starting with Classicism around the birth of Christ and the Renaissance periods (1200's-1500's) up through Pop Art.  One of the pieces we encounter, Michael Sweerts painting The Boy in a Turban from 1655, is so lifelike that it looks like a photograph.  I stare at it for at least 10 minutes.  Much like the Mona Lisa, you can't appreciate the mesmerizing light and detail that these paintings radiate unless you seem them in person.  Photographs like on this blog simply can't capture their magnificence.  

The museum has a great system to generate high quality reproductions on the spot of all their paintings, so I buy my son Colin a couple of them (Van Gogh, Bosch) for his new apartment in Portland. 

Heironymous Bosch's view of Hell.  Print I bought my son Colin

From what I can glean, old man Thyseen was a prominent Spanish industrialist and art collector with Nazi leanings.  His son continued the collection after the war and eventually sold it to the city of Madrid who outbid ($350 million) the Getty Foundation for the rights to it in 1993 .  The collection is worth at least three times that today.  Other than music and nature, there is little that stirs the soul like great art.  This museum is sumptuous; I wish it were closer to where I live.

Museo del Prado and Babe

Descent of Christ by Weyden

Earlier in the week we had visited the Museo del Prado art museum.  It is even more famous due to its collection of classical painting and sculpture dating from 130 BC.  This museum features art by Bosch, Velazquez, de Goya, Caravaggio, Rembrandt and El Greco to name a few.  I particularly like the masterpiece painted in 1435 by Roger van der Weyden, Descent of Christ from the Cross.  It is stunning.  Although this mostly religious collection of paintings is not what most appeals to my sense of taste (endless paintings of Christ nailed to the cross by people who weren’t there), the artistry is undeniable and we both feel honored to see it so well displayed.  Both of these museums are a must see for art lovers.

This matador gets badly gored two minutes after this photo was taken

Notice the horse is completely blindfolded.  Good idea!

We spent four nights in Madrid.  Our first night Michael Vick would have been proud of us: we went to a bullfight at the main Plaza De Toros.  It was quite an event.  Six bulls get the honor of dying in front of the enthusiastic crowd.  After a couple of fights I am waiting for them to trot out the Christians and lions for some real blood sport, but no such luck.  Make no mistake, this is a dangerous sport.  The first matador we watch gets badly gored near the end of the match.  He takes a horn through one of his thighs and either his chest or upper arm; hard to tell from where we sit.  The matador gamely hangs on inside the ring while his compatriots finish off the bull, then he is carried swiftly to a waiting ambulance.  We don’t learn what became of him, but he lost a lot of blood and was unconscious as he left the ring.  I had seen a gruesome photo on the web from a bullfight earlier this year.  It showed one of Spain’s famous bullfighters with a bull’s horn coming out of his eye socket after the bull gored him up through the throat.  Of the six fights we watch, the bull gets a shot in on one of the human participants in three of them.  One bull decides it doesn’t want to fight so a bunch of tame oxen with bells around their necks are let into the ring in order to retrieve the conscientious-objector bull peacefully.  This elicits laughs throughout the arena.  Best guess is that bull still headed to dinner plates around Madrid as is the case with the other bulls.

Headed for the dinner tables of Madrid

There is a ritualized protocol that is followed in these fights.  Somehow they manage to piss the bull off before it enters the ring (probably an electric prod applied to the nuts).  The bull charges in looking for something to kill and makes a beeline straight away to anyone holding a cape.  That goes on for awhile until a heavily armored horse enters carrying a picadores with a long lance.  The bull does its best to gore the horse while the picadores on top stabs the bull with his long lance.  Prior to 1930 the horses didn’t wear the protective armor and were invariably disemboweled by the bulls, resulting in the loss of more horses than bulls during these fights.  It is worth noting that the horses are completely blindfolded; any horse with half a brain would say "fuck this" if it knew what was in store for it.  After lancing the bull, the attendant banderilleros come in to plant short, barbed sticks into the bull’s shoulders.  This helps weaken the animal and can reveal its favored side to the matador.  The main matador with his red cape then shows off his mastery before dispatching the bull with a single sword thrust down through the shoulders into the aorta.  Finally, the bull is pithed with a knife to the brain by one of the attendants and dragged from the ring.  At once horrific, noble, exciting and archaic; no way this happens in the States. 

Great art adorns the city

On our last night we go to a Flamenco performance at El Corral de la Morería, reputed to be the best place in Madrid to see such a show.  The dancing, a cross between tap dancing and pole dancing, is excellent.  So is the music which includes a great deal of rhythmic clapping.  I also now know where to find a job if I ever get throat cancer and can only croak out the sounds.  The male singers wail horribly.  Prior to the show we allow ourselves to be hustled off the street into a sidewalk restaurant by a handsome and charming maître d’.  The meal is excellent and he is very entertaining.  We watch him snare several unsuspecting groups of people into his establishment.  Everybody wins.

Main boulevard in the center of the city

Great parks & gardens throughout the city

Unlike Barcelona and València, finding someone who speaks English is much harder to come by in Madrid.  Even the young people speak little but Spanish.  Public transportation is again superb.  With their metro, train and bus infrastructure the Europeans are simply better at moving people than we are in the States.  There are scooters everywhere and the city is setup to accommodate them with parking.  It also helps that so many people live in the center of the cities we have visited.  The freeways between cities are excellent here but they see little traffic.  With gas prices running over $6.00 per gallon that is not surprising and the most common autos seem to be smaller, manual transmission vehicles that burn diesel.  Fortunately, our diesel burning rental car gets terrific mileage.

Candy store open at midnight

Notice size of elevator

Our “4-star” hotel here is tiny and located right in the center of the best area.  The walls are paper thin and we listen to the Spanish cunnilingus champion bang his girlfriend for half the night on our first night in the hotel.  If this is a 4-star hotel than the Motel 6 we stayed in outside of Glacier National Park is a 5-star hotel.  The elevator is so small that we can all only laugh when two large, black American women attempt to join me in it.  

Madrid is regal, fully Spanish and proud of it.  Like the other cities we have visited in Spain, it is easy to walk and full of surprises.  The street hustlers are entertainers, their creativity fully on display at the Plaza Sol.  The city is full of beautiful gardens, majestic buildings and great art.  Our days are spent wandering the city, stopping in for a bite at the Ritz, sampling the exquisite food at the numerous tapas bars that surround the Plaza Mayor.  This is a city that just starts to come alive after 8:00 PM, and many of the restaurants don’t even open for dinner until then.  We find ourselves returning to our hotel after 1:00 AM every night.  Most of the shops are still open and we don’t ever feel threatened walking around that late.  This is one of the world’s greatest cities; right up there with London, Paris, New York and Hong Kong.

València

Our hotel in the center of València

We left Barcelona thinking we may have visited the nicest city in the world.  Much to our surprise, we like València even better.  Located on the Mediterranean and founded around 138 BC by the Romans, València is Spain’s third largest city after Madrid and Barcelona.

Needless to say, it has an incredibly rich history that is reflected in the city’s compelling blend of ancient and fantastically modern architecture.  This was the site of conquest and crusades; with occupation by Romans, Vandals, Visigoths, Moors and other Muslim dynasties, Christian Crusaders and the English to name a few.  It is worth noting given the world in which we live in today, that this city in the 13th century was the home of great conflict between its Muslim, Jewish and Christian inhabitants.

Like Barcelona, the first language spoken here is not Spanish.  Whereas the Barcelonan’s speak Castilian, the primary language here is Valèncian.  Unlike Barcelona where all the signs are in three languages, most of them here forego English.  Nevertheless, we find it easy to communicate and get around.  The metro system is again excellent.

Along the road to València

The four-hour drive along the Mediterranean coast from Barcelona was a real treat.  In addition to some splendid scenery, the roads are in excellent shape and Europeans are simply much better drivers than Americans.  They stay in the right lane exclusively, except to pass, and are uniformly courteous.  People are not driving while holding a cell phone to their ear, there is no road rage and all the drivers are actually using their rear view mirrors.  Having driven a car across most of Europe over the years I know that to be true throughout the continent.  We are driving an underpowered diesel (Opel Infinity) with a manual transmission, so I am usually staying at the recommended freeway speed of 120 kph (75 mph) and we are continually getting passed by Audi’s, BMW’s, Mercedes and the like.  Over 98% of the cars sold in the States come with an automatic transmission.  Throughout Europe, the reverse is true.  There are no speed cops on the roads.  Every so often there is a fixed radar installation monitoring speed and presumably sending you a speeding ticket in the mail if you are going too fast, but these are all clearly marked with large signs well ahead of time in order to give you the chance to slow down.  How civil is that!

The one mistake we made was to travel along a toll road.  When given the option on the GPS to avoid them we figured the toll roads would be easier and maybe cost us around $5.  Imagine our surprise when it costs us nearly $80!  We won’t make that mistake again.

Inside the central Cathedral

Babe and I agree that we could both live in this incredibly beautiful city.  If Barcelona is vibrant and sophisticated, València seems somehow more genuine, relaxed and less touristy.  Formula One runs the European Grand Prix in this city which is considered to be one of the gastronomic epicenters of Europe and the home of paella.  Nearby is where they grow the saffron and special rice that most Spaniards use to make this delicious staple.  We visit one of the elegant restaurants in town with an excellent reputation for serving seafood paella and are not disappointed.  Our meal is fabulous, helped along by the excellent Spanish wine.  Throughout our trip we sample the local wines; I’m drinking the full-bodied reds and Babe the whites or champagnes.  All of them are both sumptuous and inexpensive.

Science Museum Complex

Much of our time in the big cities is spent simply wandering the streets.  On our first day we wander into the famous València Cathedral.  The exterior walls date from the 13th century and look like the walls around a moat.  They belie the outstanding artwork inside; give the Catholic Church credit for supporting an endless source of artistic endeavor.  The central market here is throbbing.  Locals are here to buy staples and get deals; the tourists are here for souvenirs.

Returning from a bookstore where I stopped in to buy a climbing guidebook we walk down a street where several people are sitting around smoking crack.  It is only one block off the main square.  We politely decline when one of the dealers offers to sell us drugs and subsequently learn that Spain has become the new Amsterdam with respect to its lax drug laws.  Interestingly, the crack scene in València felt much safer than I have encountered in other places like Lawrence, Massachusetts.  Still, cocaine is one insidious and destructive drug.

Aquarium grounds

That night we sit outside for dinner next to a delightful couple from Norway and Germany.  We are dining around 10 PM as is the custom here, one we have heartily embraced.  They tell us about the Ciutat de les Arts I les Ciències (City of Arts and Sciences) and their visit to the aquarium there.  They are so enthusiastic about it that we decide to visit the next day.

Wow, we are not disappointed.  Designed by Santiago Calatrava and Felix Candela, the architecture rivals any in the world for its elegance and inspiration; the modern equivalent of Gaudi.  A least a dozen buildings devoted to education and entertainment show off the continuing brilliance of Spanish architects. 

Jellyfish like creature with incredible light show

We buy tickets to the Aquarium where we spend several hours in this outstanding venue.  The jellyfish and seahorse tanks are among our favorites, but the highlight is a dolphin show like you might find at Sea World, only the human trainers here are active participants in the show.  They ride the dolphins and get tossed up in the air up to 30 feet, incredible to watch and not something either of us has seen previously.

Yee Haw!

Next to the Aquarium is a Science Museum.  We don’t have time to see it, but do eat lunch there and play in large inflatable balls floating on one of the reflection pools.  These clear plastic balls are big enough to stand up in.  After you get in one, the attendant fills it with air and closes up the waterproof zipper, leaving you to flounder inside.  Both of us try “walking” on the water, but the instability inevitably causes us to fall and we are reduced to crawling inside.  It was a bit foolish, but fun nevertheless.  Babe is envious of my balance as she lurches around inside her ball like a drunken sailor.

On to Madrid.

Me gracefully showing Babe how it's done