Lunch with the Serra Del Cadi

Cerdanya Day Three

After following the route of the good men yesterday todays adventure was alleged to be a little less strenuous, involving only 3.5 k of uphill struggle from Martinet to the tiny village of Travesseres, where we were to have lunch at a mountain restaurant, Cal Lliuret.

Our path climbed up up up out of Martinet, passing a new age encampment of black plastic and tarpaulins before snaking upwards over the now familiar Llosa river and through pine groves and fields with the high peaks of andorra and France ahead and the view southwards towards the ubiquitous mound of Cadi. After the clouds of yesterday and the rain of Friday this was a day where the mountains sparkled like laser whitened teeth and the suns warmth brought out all the fragrant aromas of the rural beasts that clanged their bells beside us as we made our way up the steep incline.

About 2k up we came upon a memorial stone to one Josep Ribot Blanch, or as the stone says "here you find the death" on the 30th December 1956 aged 26 years. apparently Josep climbed this path from Martinet to Travesseres to play cards, but this one night he cheated once too often and one of his victims waited at the turn in the path and fired two bullets into the head of young Josep, killing him instantly. At this time I don't know what the outcome was, though I presume in such a small community it was known who the assailant was, and no doubt he was apprehended and tried. I will attempt to follow up the story at some point. Memorial here

After what seemed to be five hours, but she who knows insisted was an hour and a half
I trotted the last few yards and collapsed on the steps of the restaurant. We were shown to the outside porch where a beer and tapas revived the flagging spirits and the breath taking views of Cadi provided a backdrop to a lunch of fideus with calamars and sepia, or to you mere mortals , squid and octopus with savoury noodles followed by home made cheese cake and wild strawberry coulis.

As we looked out onto the pas dels Gosolans, our host Josep Luis told us about the cami dels Secadors or road of the harvesters, from the times when travelling bands of men travelled into the valley of Cerdanya to harvest the crops. Apparently they lugged instruments with them and as they arrived at the Pass of Gosolans they would start to play, probably an early warning to lock up your daughters. Alas the tradition is no more, the men have been supplanted by tractors but no doubt the integrity of the daughters is more assured.

Hauling my bloated frame back down the mountain took considerably less time as gravity appreciated the extra weight and we arrived back in Martinet in good time. I managed to scrape both sides of the car trying to pass through one of the narrower streets and was therefore treated to a running commentary of my many and detailed shortcomings as a driver, mountain walker and eventually navigator as once more it was decided that the carefully planned and detailed instructions given to us on departure by our local friends were worthless and we set off once more on a cross country odyssey on a road which hugged the mountainsides and swooped and rose like a demented swallow. Eventually more than two hours after our anticipated arrival we arrived home, with my mental promise never to undertake another such journey firmly rooted in intention