Mallos de Riglos

Waking in Barcelona was good. The meal the night before is best forgotten unfortunately, but we had a laugh anyway. Our hotel was great up on MontJuic and the day looked blue and clear. As it was. 

I had a daft notion and vague idea of prehistoric digs and bones and such and the name Huesca surfaced in my brain. Half way to San Sebastian and it was time for a coffee. It seems that coffee in Huesca has been mentioned before, an army joke, a "Yeah, right! It's not going to happen!" comment dating back to the civil war.

George Orwell didn;t make it back, but we did. Huesca was deserted but there was coffee.

Then we found these red and angry peaks, rising above the blue green melt water.  Dancing, dangling stalegtites dripped from the roadside cliffs. And then down through more threats of snow, glacial moraine scattered villages, some totally abandoned with reservoirs replacing grazing land and then we were down in Pamplona. M had tales to tell of some years ago, chasing bulls (and girls) 

The last push to San Sebastian took little time and effort and here we are. Tapas and marches in the plaza Constiucion (re closeness of family to imprisoned ETA suspects), we kept quiet, enjoyed a bit of vino and can hear the rush of the sea from the bay in front of our window.