Europa Sin Rumbo

Europe without a course, the big departure!

September 3, 2015

 

At last! The Tour of Europe has begun, even if I don't realise it yet... After a year of preparation, the start took place on the first of September from Dinan, as planned, and here I am today in Nantes. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the Dinan start committee, the Rennes welcome committee and the Nantes welcome committee!

On my last day in Brittany, it's time for me to launch the 'Europa Sin Rumbo' website (which means Europe without a course), and to share with you the unusual moments that will unfold over the next 10 months. Most of the site will be in French, and the 'ESN Trip' part in English, so that it can be distributed throughout the European Erasmus Student Network. Sorry for the non-English speakers, but I don't think I'll have time to translate.

Goodbye Breton lands, and thanks again to everyone who supported me in this project, which, you're right, is a bit crazy.

 

"Allez le Breton!

September 9, 2015

 

Nine days already gone and 770 kilometres on the clock, only 292 days left to pedal!

Nine days, time to say the last goodbyes to friends, and to see others not seen for a long time. Time for the first spontaneous encounters and discussions about cycling and travelling. The time to hear the first "Vive la Bretagne" or "Allez le Breton! Time to cross the valleys of Brittany, the endless fields of the Pays de la Loire, the ports of Aquitaine, the vineyards of Gironde and the pine forests of the Landes.

It's also an opportunity to take one of the only five ferries in the world to Rochefort! Although this is a complete coincidence, as there is no bridge within fifteen kilometres of the town where you can cross the river. It also gave me time to pick up my first gift, Beaudelaire's spleen, from a bookshop in Saintes. Did he want to send me a message with this gift, the contemplation of emptiness and absence or share my moments of solitude with Beaudelaire, or quite simply, the book wasn't selling? What do I know?

Anyway, the weather was fine (admittedly warmer than in Brittany), my legs were a bit sluggish, but my spirits were high! Nine days to cross France from north to south. Tomorrow, I'm off to Spain!

To be continued...

 

A day of hardship? It needed one...

September 11, 2015

 

It had to be one... Yes, it had to be a stage like this one: Biarritz - Zarauts.

At dawn, fresh and in good spirits, I set off to cross the first border, Spain! The pain in my thigh is gone, although I can't ride at my usual pace. However, there are days like this, when everything comes together.

Crossing the border means :

Goodbye to the beautiful cycle paths of the vélodyssée, hello to the mountains and the main roads.

The GPS absolutely wants me to take the national roads, so to avoid them I'm off here and there on the small lanes. The problem in Spain is that there aren't several roads leading to Bilbao, but only one motorway or state road. Despite this, I set off in search of the little white lines on the GPS (which are supposed to indicate that the road is hardly used at all). And indeed it is! I understood why they were rarely used.

Here I am on a mountain path, the pain in my thigh back, I decide to finish it on foot, and that's when I come across a local:

"Tell me, do you know the way?

- No, I don't.

- You know that the rest is even worse, rising to 20% and even 25% on one section.

- No! (imagine my head suddenly going dark).

- All you have to do is push the machine.

- Yes, yes, I just have to... "

And then I look at his 4x4, I look at my bike. It could fit! I say to myself. The Basque guy looks at me, gives me a mocking smile and rides off...

After an hour's climb, the pain in my thigh getting worse, I set off again for Bilbao. At the end of a long day, I finally found a campsite at Zarauts, a surfers' beach, where once again I had to climb a 15%-20% slope...

The tent was put up, and at last I had a well-deserved rest after 80 kilometres! Well, almost.

The tube of washing powder had burst in the bag, and the clothes had been sprayed, including the towel (which meant no shower straight away)... It would be dark in an hour, and rain was forecast for the night, so what could we do? I spent an hour trying to remove the product with water, but I couldn't get it all off. Hallelujah! A washing machine and tumble dryer are nearby. I find €5 in change for the washing powder. At last, at last! I can settle down. Well, almost... As the tumble-dryer stage approaches, the two-euro coin has disappeared... I have to go back to the tent to get a ticket to buy peanuts (very expensive!) to get some change. Another useless expense...

Once the business was done, I went back to the tent and began to realise that the place where they'd put me up was next to the bar where the fiesta was taking place... No doubt they'd categorised me as young and therefore a potential party-goer, but that night my body was incapable of it!

It's midnight, I've been up for seven hours and dinner has finally been eaten. I set down far from any nuisance on the point. The mountains sloping into the ocean, the lights of the city in the distance pointing towards the beach, the ocean rolling out its waves in total tranquillity. A magnificent landscape.

Yes, that's why I wanted to travel: unique moments that erase everything that's happened during the day. The hassle, yes, but it's worth it!

 

Storm warning!

September 23, 2015

 

"Storm warning! And yes! Two weeks of travelling, and already some exceptional circumstances!

On 11 September I crossed my first border, and all the codes that change with it... In the end, the national roads are less dangerous than the regional roads and the Spanish respect the distance of one metre fifty much better than the French, first prejudice broken!

Anyway, after crossing the Basque mountains (with a cyclist passing me saying: - Bretón? - Si. - Bien!"), skirted the magnificent Atlantic coastline, passed hundreds of pilgrims, exchanged a few words with the local Basques in the villages along the way and spent three days resting in Bilbao (where I was made very welcome by the local ESN team!), everything was going swimmingly until... the arrival of the cyclogenesis...

I didn't know what it was, nobody saw it coming and I was forced to stop my journey 50 kilometres from Bilbao in a godforsaken village called Islares. With my knee feeling worse and worse, I stopped at the only open bar in the area for a coffee while waiting for the wind to die down, God willing! Once I've finished my coffee, a regular turns up and asks for a coffee. Meanwhile I'm watching the news, which is announcing that it's a cyclogenesis coming from the south (from which I deduce that it's a storm) and that it will last for three days... My goal of arriving in Santander within the day is greatly diminished. The regular at the café looks at me, sees my swollen knee and suddenly starts checking me out! He asked me several questions, made me take off my shoe, felt my foot, then my back, explained several theories to me, gave me bags of brown sugar and then left... Was he a physiotherapist? Was he a doctor? We'll never know...

An hour and a half later, I still tried to gain 10 kilometres. After a kilometre, I reached the estuary, which was heading north, but the gusts of wind stopped me in my tracks. I tried to walk, but fell back with each gust... Now I was stuck in Islares, where it was impossible to camp, so I had to take a hotel. The next day, I waited until midday before embarking on the challenge of the Extreme Estuary! The wind wasn't as strong, but I had to cross it on foot. Hallelujah! The bridge is crossed and I can finally set off towards Santander. The gusts were still powerful and I was concentrating as hard as I could on the bike, listening for the slightest rustle of leaves, watching out for the slightest movement in the trees that might herald the arrival of a gust in a hundredth of a second. The ride was no longer a pleasure, but I kept heading for Santander until the storm eased off at around 3pm.

The next day, my knee and the storm got the better of me and I had to rest. I decided to take the bus to Avilés in Asturias, and spend a week resting with Carmen, the "madre de todo Europa". Here I am, immersed in a Spanish family, with enormous meals! Their starters resemble our main courses... Calamares en su tinta (calamares cooked in its own ink), cachopos (a sort of cordon bleu but with two steaks instead of ham), fried octopus, huge desserts, you name it... A week to make up for all the kilos lost! And to sum up the dialogue at a Spanish meal (especially with grandmothers):

"Is it good?

- Yes, very good!

- Then have some more.

- No thanks, I'm fine.

- Please eat.

- No, no, it's fine, thank you.

- Yes, eat ! Look how skinny you are !

- OK, fine."

And off I went! Here I am, eating for six at every meal...

Anyway, Carmen took me everywhere, to the doctor, the physio, the bars (where they were showing the Rugby World Cup!), the beaches, etc. As for my knee, it turned out to be a synovial effusion. The physio, nicknamed Coqué (Joaquin's nickname) admired my European Tour and told all his patients about it. He put me back on my feet and, as a bonus, offered me all the sessions!

Refurbished, I'm ready to hit the road again! The weather's looking good, heading for Santiago de Compostella and then Portugal!

A continuacion...

 

The end of the Earth, and after?

1st October 2015

 

One month has already gone by! Only nine more to go... A month already full of unique moments, emotions, galleys above all good humour. If the next nine months are anything like this one, I'll sign up straight away! (Even if it's already signed).

 

Here I am in Vigo, in Galicia with our Celtic friends (who, according to a local girl, are a total lie!), with my legs back in full feeling and my knees back in normal shape.

It's been a hard month to sum up, with so many new encounters and scenes. However, it was marked by the Camino de Santiago. "Buen Camino!" the Spaniards kept telling me, and I thought they were nice here, but in fact they weren't (well, they are nice), they're just used to seeing a lot of pilgrims, and "Dios mio!", I never thought I'd see so many! The closer you get to Santiago, the more the route resembles an anthill. All these hikers multiplying as you get closer to the final destination. Some do 40 km a day, others do it more leisurely at 20 km a day. But the trail is only really complete when you reach the end of the earth, the Fistera lighthouse, Spain's Finisterre (and yes, the Spanish have a Finisterre too, with the same weather!).

Indeed, when you get to Finisterra, after that there's nothing left, no horizon, just a big white wall - it's the end. The end of a long journey, the end of a long self-examination, the end of a struggle with your body. Tradition has it that you burn your shoes on the last cape, the start of a new life and an eternal beginning.

Well, for me it's just the beginning, except that from now on I won't be in the category of pilgrims (although it was a total coincidence, I was just thinking of walking through the north of Spain).

 

The Camino de Santiago is a meeting place for loners. On arriving at Fisterra, I met a German pilgrim, Michael, who was wandering around with no idea where to go, like me:

Where are you going?" asks Michael.

- I don't know, to the right, along the coast.

- Me too, to see what's going on down there.

As with every meeting, we talk about our lives, our plans and, above all, why we're here.

We meet another pilgrim, this time from the Czech Republic. Michael had met him before on the way. The Czech then went his own way. Wandering along the rocks, we come across an abuelito* collecting starfish:

"Why do you collect starfish? Are you eating them?

- No, those things proliferate, so I collect them before they eat us.

This answer left us sceptical, and he continued:

"You know, things have been changing here for a few years now. You see animals that you never used to see before. Animals are lost, disorientated, whether at sea or in the air...

- Is climate change to blame?

- Oh yes, climate change, and those politicians who do nothing about it. When you see that idiot Sarkozy coming to Catalonia, he's got nothing else to do, and that Merckel... We're in a fascist world, I tell you."

This discussion leaves us at a loss for an answer, and the old man continues on his way, maintaining his fatalistic tone. Then we continued on our way:

You know," Michael tells me, "we're not living in a fascist world, but we are living in a sick economy, a very sick economy. Merckel can't do much about it, it's these invisible people with lots of money who are running us. It's against them that we need to take action, and also against these arms dealers...

You know, my future project is to go here and there, where the arms factories exist. To stand in front of them, contemplate them and describe or photograph them. No emotions, no morals, no comments, not like those Hollywood films where emotion prevents us from seeing reality. Just reporting what's going on. The human stupidity is there, we make weapons and sell them, not to keep them in a museum, but to kill. It's not logical.

After long tirades, we parted ways, following each other's desires and returning to our solitary habits.

 

These solitary habits lead us into some new scenes. Looking for a cheap bocadillo* and avoiding the touristy cafeterias... Here I am, arriving at a fairly remote spot, a tiny cafeteria with four people on the terrace:

"Excuse me, do you sell bocadillos here?

- Of course cariño*! What would you like? Jamon, tortilla...

- Tortilla, please."

The four sitting on the terrace walk into the bar and say to me:

"Come on! Come and sit with us! The waitress is going to give us a private concert!

The Galicians gave me a warm welcome. I end up with a bocadillo with more tortilla than bread: "Here, finish the cariño tortilla", says the abuelita*. She offered us fresh mussels from the port and we began to listen attentively to Laura de Fistera's songs in private.

 

I'd been hoping for moments like this, and here I am! Here's hoping it continues.

 

A continuacion...

 

*Abuelito/abuelita = grandfather/grandmother

*Bocadillo = Spanish sandwich

*Cariño = darling