Those are probably the last words you want to hear when you are at the mercy of informal guides, in the middle of the Catalan countryside, blanketed in snow. Yesterday we got up early and set off to meet up with a small group, with the intention of walking to a nearby town called Riner. As it had been described to us, Riner is located about 8km south of Solsona (which is 5 miles in English - Daily Show anyone?) and we were going to walk there, have a little snack and walk back in time for
comida. Sounds harmless enough, right? It was a lovely day, the sun was shining, and we set off, a group of six - Kristian and I, Roser (the director of the school I work at) and a man and two women that we just met. It wasn't long, maybe 10 minutes into the walk, that the road we were on turned into a dirt road, or I should say, a mud road. With the crazy snowstorm we had last weekend, and the sunshine and rising temperature, the path we were on was a muddy, slippery disaster. We walked on beside a small river for a few minutes more and then came to a fork in the road - one path continued alongside the river and the other cut off to the left uphill and was a little more wild-looking. There was a short discussion and then we chose the path that led up. There were a few comments and some joking about how we were on an adventure and how we might get lost... but they seemed confident and unconcerned and we plunged ahead. The lack of sure-footing, due to the mud and snow, made the walk more difficult and challenging - but it was only 5 miles... Keep in mind that on Saturday, the day before, I had run 15 miles and was sporting a blister the size of my big toe, on my big toe, and was slightly favoring my right leg due to what felt like a pulled groin. I thought the walk would be a nice way to stretch my legs though - I didn't know it was going to be an arduous mountain trek. After walking for about an hour or so, it began to be clear that we took the wrong road. As the debate about which way to go or whether we were actually lost was being discussed in Catalan, it was a little unclear what was actually being said -- if we just took a slight detour and they knew how to correct it or if we were really lost. It became clear when we left the dirt road we were on, cut across a big snowy field, entered into the underbrush on the far side, walked for another 5 minutes and came back out to the same field in a different location and crossed it again.
¡Por el amor de dios! We finally reached a summit of sorts, and at the edge we paused and the truth came out. We were lost. All around us were snowy hills and valleys. A debate began about which direction was which and if we should retrace our steps or continue wandering in a new direction. They kept exclaiming, "que aventura!" and in reality it was an adventure or "a forced death march", depending on your perspective. The "leaders" decided we would keep going forward, which meant going down - but also up again since from our perch we could see nothing at the bottom but the deserted hillside rising up on the other side. So down we went. At the bottom we again deserted the path we were on to duck under a thankfully non-functioning electric fence, and began to scale the hillside, passing the most enormous frozen piles of
caca I have ever seen. I said a silent prayer that they were made by cows and that we weren't about to come upon a surprised and disgruntled bull. Thankfully we encountered neither, but the prolific dung piles just added to the general unease we were already feeling. I was reaching a certain level of fatigue, and my right leg was aching something fierce, and passing through the muddy fields made each step a struggle as the mud clung to our shoes in big clumps and made our feet weigh double. At the top of that hillside we encountered a chain of power lines that led off into the distance, so we set off to follow them. Electricity must lead to civilization,
¿no? And eventually it did. We came upon a road that was an actual road, and several cars even went by. Saved! Almost three hours had passed, but they recognized the road we had found, and said we were just about there. Phew! We struggled out of the underbrush and descended onto the road, where we stopped for a water break, and the "leader" took out his map to show us how lost we had been. WAIT! WHAT???!!! He had a map THE WHOLE TIME???!!! Holy crap, I think both of our heads almost exploded in that moment. Roser called me over
"mira, Deborah, es muy fácil llegar a Riner si sigues el rio..." but we walked a little crazy today. A little, eh?
Walking on the road was much easier and we set off again to reach our destination... because we were just about there according to them. The road went downhill and wound back and forth down the hillside. At one point we could see the road lead way out ahead of us and below us was the same road that had wound back on itself. Our fearless leader decided it would be easier to just scale the hillside down to meet up with the road again, instead of walking all the way out and following all its twists and turns. So the six of us scaled a rocky, steep hillside, covered with every imaginable kind of pricker bush - a grande shortcut. When we picked up the road again there was a road sign that said Riner 1.7km. Sheesh. I thought we were almost there! But we did finally make it. Riner, as it turns out, is not a town, but a small stone church and a crumbling tower sitting above the river valley. Yesterday was St. Sebastian's day and it is the one day of the year that the church is opened and a mass is held there. So naturally, there was a collection of people there milling around, waiting for the mass to end. In the meantime we climbed to the top of the tower to check out the view and then descended to receive our loaf of blessed bread that they handed out to every person at the end of the mass. It was delicious.
Thankfully, we didn't have to walk back. A phone call was made, and Roser's husband came to collect us.
¡Que aventura!
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