Boondock Puffins

The morning kicked off yet again with the best of intentions: an early run up a mountain. There’s something about being in the mountains that makes you think, today could be the day. We can once again be those people who runs up a mountain just because. So, we did. We ran, I puffed, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I might actually enjoy it. But then the mountain reminded me who’s boss, and I was back down to earth with a thump and a high heart rate.

By the time we got back to the campsite, it was a scene straight out of a nature documentary, complete with more spiders in the camp sink. It’s becoming a pattern. The spiders in this part of the world are not your run-of-the-mill garden variety. No, these are the bold, almost menacing kind. They wander across the sink like they own the place, stopping only to give you an air of mild disdain. I’m fairly certain we’re sharing our mornings with an arachnid mafia.

But anyway, enough about the six-legged overlords. The real reason we’re here, aside from attempting to outrun our own inertia, is the ride. More winding mountain roads; more epic views that could only be described as pure motorbike heaven. We spent most of the day learning about the local wildlife via the road signs, because let’s face it, road signs are like the brochure for the place you’re visiting. There’s the Tejón (badger), the Aguila Real (golden eagle), the Milano Real (a type of eagle, evidently, but I swear it sounds like it should be a luxury car), and of course, the Quebrantahuesos, which apparently translates to “bone-breaker,” and we learned it’s a vulture (a fitting name considering its penchant for scavenging, but the Spanish seem to have a gift for poetic animal naming).

We stopped for coffee from our thermos near Laspaules, which is a charming little village that has forgotten the modern world, in the best possible way. From there, we headed to a rural campsite nestled deep within La Vall de Boí, which is the sort of place that only exists if you’ve spent a little too long looking at maps. It’s the kind of place where the mountains seem to fold in on themselves in layers, as though the earth is gently hugging you.

The village around the campsite was like something out of a picture book. We took a slow walk around it, wandering the narrow cobbled streets where you could hear the gentle clink of the church bell from a mile away. In the midst of all this tranquility, we managed to catch up on some much-needed laundry. After a stretch of time on the road, “doing laundry” has become an art form of its own. The best part, though? The campsite had Wi-Fi. So, as the mountains stood sentinel outside, we caught up on work and enjoyed the serenity surrounding us.

The following morning, we were back at it, ready for another run, this time deeper into the mountains. The views were absolutely mind-blowing, like something out of a documentary about landscapes, or a classic Hollywood film.

The afternoon unfolded slowly. We found a quiet corner to lose ourselves in books and nap guilt-freely. It was glorious. The rhythm of the mountains, the rustling leaves, and the distant call of birds. Everything conspired to let us take a deep breath and just be.

As I write this, we’re already starting to plan the next few days. The idea is to head toward Barcelona – more riding, more mountains, and perhaps more spiders. But for now, we’ll savour the slow afternoon, the peaceful walks through the village, the quaint local (tiny) shop, and the steady hum of Buntu the bike waiting for his next adventure.

Catalonia, you’ve been a true delight. Let’s see what Barcelona has in store.