Fallen majesty

Today (Sunday, I'm still backblipping), we were all at breakfast for 8 a.m. The hotel redeemed itself after last night's dodgy dinner with a breakfast of champions for the walkers. I'm not a great eater of breakfast and I wasn't very hungry, so I sipped coffee and nibbled ham and scrambled eggs while the others gorged on ham, eggs, cheese, fruit, pan con tomate, croissants, orange juice, and coffee. Then they collected the equally gigantic picnics prepared for them, including the biggest tortilla sandwich ever, and strode off into the hills.

It was already warm, so I lazed on the terrace for an hour reading and admiring the view of Beget as the sun crested the hill. Then I set off to visit Camprodon. It's only about 10 km away but it took half an hour to drive there, luckily without meeting many other cars on the narrow mountain road. And unlike yesterday, no ambling bulls in the middle of the road.

I parked the car on the outskirts of Camprodon, turned round, and saw this. Needless to say, I was shocked. It's a very fine example of Catalan modernism in the Gothic style, and it is completely ruined. How could it be allowed to get into such a state? This photo doesn't show the full extent of either the quality of the architecture or the amount of damage. It literally looks as if a bomb has hit it. In fact I thought perhaps it had, during the Civil War, but researching when I got home I found that it was actually used as a field hospital at the end of the war, subsequently abandoned, and eventually sold. But it's never been occupied since -- the current owner apparently has vague plans for a hotel or old people's home. In the meantime, the roofs are gone (apart from the restored turrets) and daylight shows through. You can see some photos of what it used to look like here (and read about it, if your Catalan is up to it). And my Flickr album here.

Well, after that Camprodon itself was a bit of an anti-climax. It is a lively little town though; there was a bustling Sunday morning market, and all the shops were open. Clearly patronised by locals since most people were speaking Catalan. I strolled the streets, had lunch, and set off back to Beget at about 2:30, pausing to admire scenery and take photos on the way.

The walkers were due back about 3:30. So I sat in the square and waited ... and waited. There's no phone signal anywhere in Beget, so I couldn't phone them and they couldn't phone me. Luckily I had a book to read. Eventually at 5 p.m. a hot and exhausted looking crew staggered up the hill into the square, having taken eight hours instead of the planned six and a half, with 1,300 metres of climbing instead of 1,000. We were soon sinking well-earned (by some) beers at the hotel bar, and  the owner once again excelled herself by telling the walkers they could pop in for a shower if they liked. But it was getting late, and we had a long drive, so we set off.

The weather was still glorious; we paused at the Col d'Ares (the pass between France and Spain) to look at a not very interesting memorial and admire the view. Catalan independence campaigners had been there before us. I'd have liked to spend longer taking photos  here, but I sensed the tired walkers would not appreciate it -- we didn't  get back to Narbonne till 8:30 as it was.