July 26 Masia Pujol to l'Espunyola

Yesterday, when I arrived, plum tuckered out from the effort it took to find the place, I asked  el señor if there was an easier way to get back to the bridge, from which you then take a path to the abandoned church, and from there start the business of the day.  He looked at the trackback line on my GPS, which had dutifully recorded my fruitless attempts, went tsk tsk tsk, no no no, and pointed to this swingy little gate through which I was to go, and then made zig-zag motions with his hand in imitation of the way down, and added that goatherds had added to the path.  Had I not been worn out and the afternoon so hot, I would have rehearsed the instructions, but I could not.

The morning, i.e. at 6:00 a.m. did not start out well.  Guess why?  After about 35 steps, the "path"  became a maze of possibilities. Where are the goatherds now? It took the better part of an hour, much cursing, fighting with scratchy foliage, and, oh, the loss of HAT, probably during a slide down an embankment, which saddened me muchly.  It is not easy to walk east in the morning without a brim—in addition to sunglasses— to shield your eyes from the glare.  Fortunately, there was a slight cloud cover, a fair amount of the walking —climbing would be more precise—was shaded, and it was not brutally hot, just plain hot, only a problem at the end when I had to walk 35 minutes on a major highway to get to my accommodation, where I arrived at 1:30.

The stage today was a stunner, and one I had worried about a lot because not only was it physically demanding, but it had the only section of "exposed walking after which there is a short scramble" on the entire route.  "Exposed walking" is a euphemism for "if you slip here, you won't be talking about it."  And as far as the "short scramble" is concerned, well, since there is no option, you just make yourself do it and hope you get it right.  I was so relieved to have survived the demands to that point, that I celebrated with a tasteless plum and a drink of water.  All I can say is, Thank God for the excellent and frequent placement of red and white stripes, without which I would be lost forever somewhere in the foothill of the Pyrenees.

A bit of haze, but impresionante all the same:

There are valleys, too:

But the mountains seem to go on and on and on.  Truly they are daunting, and you are among them:

Those scarecrows have an important job protecting the weeds:

Oh, yum!

But guess where the grass is greener?

My kitchen: