Day 14. Clouds, salt, wool, wonder. Torres de Fals - CACIS Forn de la Calc

The sky looked like a thick grey blanket but in the far distance orange sunrays pierced through it. I had slept under a layer of plastic on an improvised bed of hay behind the two towers. The camp on the other side was still quiet, some people were waking up slowly. I decided to walk ahead and make the most of the day. Fig breakfast on the road, beautiful views of the mountains we had already walked through behind of me. Two huge black dogs running as fast as they could through a field into the forest. Montserrat was clearly visible today but looked so unreal with the dramatic clouds hovering above it.
The small mountain inbetween me and Manresa was a bit of a climb but nothing compared to the mountains we had encountered in our first days. I followed the red and white of the long distance walking trail and spend some time on the top looking at the shiny city at my feet.
A sign told me I was walking on a Camí de la Sal, via salinaria, an old salt road. It was a hot day, I was sweating. Salt.
I carried the last oak tree through the Carrer de les Alzines, the Oak Road into Sant Joan de Vilatorrada. The magic of coffee, the ugliest church I had seen so far, the beauty of old abandoned factory buildings, a gravel road leading through fields and fenced properties, fruit trees everywhere. Two thirsty men asked me if I knew where they could find water and I explained them where the nearest stream was.
The northern outskirts of Manresa. Big highways and of course the yellow M. I had spotted it on trash aside the road earlier already. Funny to see a MacDonalds again. I ate plums and grapes and apples and figs instead, still walking on the old salt road that led me past the Parc de l’Aguila. A big lake, I thought about swimming but it wasn’t allowed.
The industrial area of Sant Fruitós de Bages was defenitely the ugliest place I’d seen in a long time. It is interesting to walk through those areas though and enjoy all the crazy visual distraction. Nobody was walking. People drove their cars up to the doors of the megastores and plunged in to buy more things to stuff their houses with.
Navarcles. A lovely old bridge crossing the river, imprints of dog feet in the concrete, houses built on the edge of a natural stone wall. A lovely river walk, still under a grey sky.
After Navarcles the landscape was open again. Black trees and fields were the sad remains of a forest fire that had raged close to here not so long ago. The saddest sight. Montserrat was in my back now, the goal for today was a small detour but a worthwhile one. El Forns de la Calc, the lime stone ovens, now turned into the artist residency CACiS, with a focus on land art, ecology and performance.

When I stopped for a final break, the rest of the group passed me in cars. They hadn’t made it all the way. I followed in their tire tracks and found them 15 minutes later in complete silence on the mount covering and surrounding the two ovens. Everybody was staring down into the pit that functioned as a chimney in the old days. At the bottom a woman was lying in a huge nest made out of sheep wool. One of our group members entered the nest and spent what seemed to be a small eternity in her embrace. They were radiating happiness.

There was a beautiful energy in the air and I wandered around a little before pitching my tent. Remains of installations made out of natural materials were decomposing, changing shape and function. In the forest big red ladders made out of branches stood against tree trunks, other trees seemed to be growing through red wooden chairs, built in a similar way as the ladders were.
It was already turning dark.

We settled in and gathered around the long dinner table outside of the stone building. A feast meal had been prepared for us, there was wine, there were stories, lots of laughter and gleaming faces. We were tired and clean (showers!) and in good company. Life can be so easy from time to time.

For a moment I felt sad about having to leave tomorrow morning early already. It was a magic place and it asked for your time and attention. But what's the use of  worrying about being somewhere else in the future when you only exist now?

Day 12. Footstep dreams in paradise. Salo

The group is changing all the time, getting bigger and smaller and bigger again. People leave and new people join, people return or promise to return and will in the last days. Every day there are goodbyes and welcomes. Some people skip a day here and there and drive with our transport car, some people just join for a day, but there are still a few people who walked the complete route so far.

Not that it matters we don´t all walk the same distance. It isn´t about who walks most or fastest. The route is made of all our communal footsteps, every walk is just as valuable and is part of the bigger whole.

Today is the first time in 12 days we don't have to get up around 7 or even earlier. We are staying at camping el Paradis where there is a swimming pool and a restaurant. We sleep our way into the morning, we dream of walking. When we wake up and go for a swim we are asked if we want to eat paella. Some questions are easy. When I walk into the restaurant to order a cold beer just before lunch, the two women cooking ask me to come into the kitchen and they proudly show me the paella in process. My Spanish is suddenly fluent. A big pile of the same water creatures we saw swimming in the aquamarine lake we swam in earlier this week is waiting to decorate the beautiful dish.

But first Jordi gives us a talk about cooperatives. I embroider honeycombs on my suit while listening, trying to translate the language I don´t understand into lines and patterns that might catch the meaning. The afternoon flies by. I wouldn't mind hanging around the pool all day but there is some walking to be done still. At 6 we gather, when the day is at its hottest, and walk to the astronomical observatory. 14 kilometers, more than 3 hours, the air is heavy, it is humid.

The sky, which has been clear most days, is covered in clouds now. It is a bad day to look at the stars. We arrive in the dark, accompanied by a dog (another one) who decided to join us somewhere halfway. It start to rain.

Inside the observatory we bump into the sun. It looks like an enormous yellow beach ball. The man who shows us around has a halo of enthusiasm around him. He starts a projection and we are being sucked into galaxies.

He takes us up, opens the roof, the telescope is impressive but can’t show us more than the naked eye can today. I sit outside and stare at the dark shape in the far distance. Montserrat.

We drive back by car. Big hare are caught in the beams of the car lights.El Paradis is wet and dark. We sleep and dream of stars.

Day 11. A new day. Santuari d´el Miracle

 

And the sun rose behind the Santuari d´el Miracle. No miracle, just beauty. Silence, only broken by the churchbells earlier at 7. A small oak tree was planted. A miracle might be needed there. It suffered during the 10 day walk but hopefully the energy and love of all the people carrying this small tree through the mountains will give it strength.

Another walk today, to Paradise. Camping Cal Paradis. But for now paradise is here. In a cup of coffee on a silent Sunday morning. In taking some time to write. In being slow while the group is already on the road.

Day 10. In search of silence. Solsona - Santuari d´el Miracle

I didn´t read the book that was on the table of my cell. But I looked at the landscape from my window. I carried a small oak tree on my back into the church of the monastery, where in the middle of the huge glittering altar piece a big oak tree starred, the one that marked the disappearance (yes, disappearance, not appearance strangely enough) of the Holy Virgin two young shepherd boys had seen here more than 500 years ago. It was the miracle the monastery, or maybe the location, got it´s name from. The oak didn´t survive and the monks have been trying to replant an oak tree at the same location but until now they haven´t succeeded.

 

My tree sat beside me on the wooden benches of the small chapel where the monks sang the Vespers. I didn´t read the book I got handed out there either. I embroidered small stitches on the back of my suit jacket.

Afterwards we enjoyed a simple and tasty dinner at the Casa d´Espiritualitat. It was announced as a silent dinner but nobody was silent. Somehow it is hard for people to be silent, even at a place like this.

We retrieved to our cells, it was silent there but when I opened my window the outside world entered. The restaurant that is part of the complex hosted a big group of people and almost until midnight loud voices could be heard.

And of course there is never complete silence. When the voices died out and everybody had gone to sleep, the crickets took over. A lovely sound always.

I read my own book. The Very Lowly. A Meditation on Francis of Assisi, by Christian Bobin: "We live in cities, in professions and occupations, in families. But the place we live in is not really a place like that. The place we really live in is not the one in which we hope - without knowing what we are hoping for - the one in which we sing without understanding what makes us sing .... The nature of the cricket is to love its song and take so much pleasure in it that it does not look for food and dies singing."

Day 9. Solsona

Soundwalk, improvised performance and exploring Solsona with chairs.

Day 7. Ways of mapping. Arp - Sant Lllorenc

The trail is copied in the scratches and bruises on my arms and legs. Nothing too crazy, not too much blood being shed, no big injuries. Just getting stuck in a blackberry bush, slipping on loose stones during a descent, taking a short cut going down a slope in a dense forest, unavoidable to walk days on end without the landscape leaving some traces. After 7 days the multitude of minor wounds can be read like a map.

We are walking through an area with a long smuggling history. Picasso was intrigued by it when he stayed in Gosol. Writers wrote stories about it. From Spain to France and the other way around. From here to Andorra and vice versa. It isn´t something from the far past. It is of all times. I heard a story about somebody we met during our walk who used to go on skis to Andorra in winter to exchange goods. But some stories can´t be told in detail, or maybe they can but only long after they took place.

I carried chicken I smuggled out of the big pan that contained our main course yesterday. Not an illegal act really, there was loads of it left. Some bread as well. Maybe the man running the refugio we stayed at would have had a good purpose for it, maybe not. Anyway, I thought feeding a hungry walker on a long hot walk was a very good purpose.

What we learned yesterday and today is: if a man living in a remote place in nature tells you about a scenic alternative route that isn´t on the map but not too difficult to find, don´t take that route. It will be difficult to find and probably far more strenuous than the less beautiful but easily walkable and well marked route on the map.

We learned the hard way but we managed to find a way down through the spooky forest. I walked behind a smiling mickey mouse on a yellow rain cape - first rain on the walk - which made it even more sinister.

After that it wasn´t too complicated. Fourteen kilometers to Sant Llorenc along the GR. Bautiful landscape with mountains in our back and in front of us. The lushness of a valley with a river running through it.

I was tempted to take a bath twice. The first time I found a small pool in the river under some big rocks, flowers and butterflies everywhere, dragonflies in metallic blue. I walked on to find a waterfall and if my longing to be at the endpoint in time and have an easy late afternoon wouldn´t have been so present, I would have taken off my clothes to stand under it. But when not too long after I crossed a bridge I saw four of my fellow walkers floating naked in the water coming down with quite some power from a small natural dam formed by rocks in the river and two of them sunbathing on those rocks, their feet in the water, I didn´t hesitate.

We arrived at the hostel just outside Sant Llorenc tired. Seven days of walking without a resting day are taking their toll. Still our tired feet managed to get us to the medieval village center to see a performance by a group of 4 young poets in the inner courtyard of the convent. If I understood the introduction well, they had a mission to keep the older Catalan poets alive and to create new poetry (in new ways) as well. They partially improvised and it seemed to be inspired by our walk. I caught a word here and there, but mainly listened to the sounds while embroidering lines and shapes on my suit jacket. Somehow I believed I was capturing what they were saying, translating without really knowing what was being said but also without really knowing what I was embroidering.

The car brought us back, we drank a last beer and fell in a deep sleep. Tomorrow we have the morning off. Time for some loitering. For a swim in the municipal pool. For a slow coffee on the village square. For me it means time to work. The group´s leisure time is my writing time. But I love my work, otherwise I wouldn´t be here.

Day 6. Gosol - Arp