Girona

I had the most restful night for a long time. Not surprising, as it was a very comfy hotel. Breakfast was self-serve from a plentiful buffet but mostly sweet stuff; the Spanish love their sugar. I swapped a couple of jam packets for butter.


The bus didn't leave Cadaqués until 1425 and I had to quit the hotel at 1200. So I walked up the hill to the lookout over the next cove. A car with a couple stopped and asked me for the way to La Casa de Dalí. I'm sure it's the main attraction thereabouts. Back down at Port Lligat, there was a queue waiting for visiting hours to commence. I took a quick dip in the pool. The water was cold and there was a stiff breeze blowing so I dried myself quickly, packed, paid and trudged back to Cadaqués.

While waiting at the bus terminal, I saw from the schedules that there were no buses to Llafranc or Calella, two other coastal towns I would have loved to visit. So this trip I could only take in the inland cities of Girona and Figueres. I would have to return someday to Costa Brava with my own wheels to explore the little bays and coves. Finally the bus came and we took the winding road back via Roses.


At Figueres I changed to a train for Girona. I suspected that by error I had a ticket for a regional rather than one for the express that I was on. I decided to see what the conductor would do, and play innocent tourist if I had to supplement the fare. As it turned out he didn't care. Maybe he thought it was pointless for €0.35 difference.

I walked from the station to the old city, overshot the mark and walked back to the youth hostel. A humid day again, so I was raining sweat. The dorm room had zero privacy. What a change from a posh hotel room. Oh well, €18 per night was cheap and breakfast was included. I broke up another €200 note as I saw they had plenty of €50 notes in the till.


During my evening walk I stumbled upon the cathedral. I liked Girona; it had enough history to have interesting nooks, and the student population made it lively.

There were many attractive restaurants in the old city around the Plaça de la Indèpendencia.

I didn't feel like dining alone at a table so I settled for a sausage in a baguette with some healthy salad at a chain called Viena. It seemed to be a Catalonian chain—the menus were in Catalan.

An attractive woman waiting at the next table reminded me of Emma Suárez, the Spanish actress who made an impression on me in the 1993 film La ardilla roja (The Red Squirrel). She was soon joined by friends.

The cobblestone streets were well-lit by the shopfronts but they were deserted. Probably because it was Wednesday, mid-week.

From the bridge across the Rio Onyar, I took this photo of the distant cathedral, then returned to the hostel, wrote in the diary and called it a night. The street outside was a thoroughfare so every now and then a car with the stereo blaring would go past. What a contrast with Port Lligat.