The Iberian Horseshoe — A Journey

Get­ting to Girona is not easy with­out a car. We choose the high road from Ripoll, pass­ing through the vol­canic land­scapes of La Gar­rotxa rather than the more di­rect route through Vic. Our bus dri­ver is clear­ly ac­cus­tomed to the route and takes blind cor­ners with gusto. I am not an en­thu­si­as­tic flyer but for once I would have been glad to be on a plane with any haz­ards well hid­den from view. The town of Olot on the open plain below is a wel­come sight. It is the size of Torelló and Ripoll com­bined but the ab­sence of a rail­way line leaves it some­what iso­lat­ed.

In the bus sta­tion, wait­ing for a con­nec­tion to Girona, I flick through an ex­hi­bi­tion of pho­tographs from around the world. A teenage boy shows his younger broth­er some pho­tos of Peru. The lit­tle boy has never been to the home­land. I look into his dark eyes and he gives me a know­ing smile. Maybe he sens­es that I no longer know where home is ei­ther.

The main routes into Girona are lined with re­tail parks, and cars of every de­scrip­tion, in­clud­ing many brand new peo­ple car­ri­ers. I am glad again that we don’t have a car as I wouldn’t know where to begin to look for a park­ing space. I am tempt­ed to find other things wrong with Girona, to tell you, read­er, that it is a ter­ri­ble place, and best kept off any itin­er­ary. But Girona’s new town has too many cars and that is about the only fault I can find with the place. In fact, it’s a mir­a­cle that the city is not bom­bard­ed by armies of tourists as it is truly charm­ing.

But trou­ble lurks in the most ro­man­tic places. I want to visit a friend who lives in the old quar­ter. Mary would pre­fer to spend some time idling round the streets.

“Well, do that then,” I say. “It’s just that I told him we were both com­ing.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have told him that with­out con­sult­ing me first.”

She walks on ahead. I’m los­ing ground on her. I shout but she keeps going down Car­rer Santa Clara until she finds a shop win­dow of in­ter­est. I catch up.

“Look, I’ll go and meet Tim my­self if you want some time to shop or what­ev­er.”

“It doesn’t mat­ter now. I’d bet­ter come along or I’ll look re­al­ly unso­cia­ble.”

“Well. If you’re not in the mood for so­cial­is­ing then don’t fuck­ing both­er.”

“No, I’ll just have to go, won’t I? To see your friend,” she sighs.