– Jack Kerouac “On The Road”.
Here’s a few pictures of Charlie, just rolling….
“There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.”
Birthday treats
After all my talk of having stars fall out of the sky for me on my birthday – we thought that we should prepare properly. So we packed beer, gin and a kettle!
Although we are camped in the mountains there is still a little ambient light coming from the nearby village, so Geoff and I went on a reccie the day before for the best viewing spot…..
Finding the right spot for viewing
What about the view from here?
Not much more than a cow track
helped by some locals who knew the hillside tracks better than us.
No, this way is better!
We camped out late into the night and although we didn’t see as many meteors as we had hoped, we still had fun. I managed to take my first (not very good) photo of star trails.
Star trails
The remote didn’t work so I taped it open with a bolt and some gaffer tape and let it run for forty minutes. Any suggestions of how to do it more professionally are welcome!
During the day Geoff found a donkey farm for me to go and pet baby donkeys – too cute for words – and their troll-dog buddy who lived in a wall!
Cute birthday donkeys
Why the long face?
Donkey’s noses are the best
Troll-dog
Medieval troll-dog
Then in the wee small hours we got up again and watched some more meteors – what a great birthday in an extraordinary place!
Thanks for all my birthday wishes – today we are off to France… more coming soon!
The donkey killers and the fire starters
“I don’t know why we do these things – there was probably a reason once, but no one remembers anymore – it’s just how we do fiesta here in Catalonia.” …….
Our host at the campsite in Oix – a tiny village celebrating its annual fiesta this weekend – shrugged as I asked him to explain last night’s high jinx. It’s as hard to describe as it is seemingly to explain, but here goes: Imagine stepping onto the set of Mad Max – where grown men and women are dressed head to toe in dark maroon fire-retardant trench coats, sporting old-style motorbike goggles, one wearing a rams head masks, horns, most with their faces painted, wicked grins all round and wooden staffs spiked with fireworks.
Rams Headed Fire-Starter!
At eleven at night the few village lights still glowing were doused, the purple pirate drummers struck up a hearty beat and then the rebels came alive. Each of them lit the Catherine wheel fireworks on their staffs and ran at the crowd herded into the narrow street leading down to the church. Yes – AT the crowd!
Drummers
Purple haze
It quickly became apparent why so many men where wearing old straw hats, as the sparks flew and the locals dashed not away from the maniacs trying to scorch them, but straight into the centre of the spewing embers to dance in circles with the fire-starters.
Dancing with the fire-starters
More dancing with the fire-starters
Fireworks showered down on us from the balconies overlooking the square and the little road that circled the church; sparks shot up our trouser-legs as the pyromaniacs swept the road around our feet with more explosives. As one firework died down another was fished from a leather pouch slung over their shoulder, pegged onto the staff and quickly lit.
Fireworks from the balcony
Showering down from all angles
Herding into the narrow streets
Too late to look for cover!
A full circuit of the church later, the drums thrashed a final charge, the dancing became more frenetic and then almost as soon as it started, it was over. What the hell was that all about, and what the hell is coming next, we wondered. The lights came on and then, somewhat incongruously, a local Catalan reggae band started up on the stage – playing to a diminishing crowd as the fire dancers melted away back home again. It was fabulously crazy and we still haven’t found out why they do it. For equal mystery we could have stayed in Solsona – the town we left to come here – for their festival. Hanging donkeys by the neck and hauling them up to the top of the church spire is not my idea of a party.. but apparently that’s what passes for a good fiesta in Solsona!
Donkey disaster
Even at the gift shop…
Don’t panic donkey-lovers… it’s only a story and that’s only a model. Apparently the donkey killers of Solsona were some not-so-smart fellows who had heard there was grass growing on the roof of the church, so decided the pull their donkeys up there for a feed… by the neck. They also have dancing giants and a bunch of other stuff that seems a little crazy to outsiders like us, but makes perfect sense to the locals. Solsona and Oix are in the heart of Catalonia. An autonomous region, with its own government, flag and language; the people are fiercely proud to be Catalan first and Spanish second. It seems a lot of things are different here and traditions abound. Given that we are also so close to France – about 20 kms as the crow flies high up into the Pyrenees – I can get away with saying “vive la difference” !
Cheers!
Forget that “cheap red wine with an old orange thrown in” drink that is unpleasant and sickly – here is the recipe for the best Sangria I have ever tasted…..
Chill a jug.
Pour equal measures of:
Cointreau
Martini / Vermouth
A dash of whisky peach
A can of orange/lemon fanta.
This – with the ice – should ¾ fill your jug. Top up the rest with two spoons of sugar and red wine.
Fruit – only if you have time for it to ferment for at least half a day and give extra flavour – oranges and apples.
Take out onto a sunny terrace, stir with a long wooden spoon, pour and admire the view.
Cheers to that!
Frank Gehry, I could kiss you…
… for creating one of the most fabulous buildings I have ever seen and had the urge to rub myself up against! The Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao is perfection.
Add it to your must see list of extraordinary places.
Here is our homage to the Guggenheim, Bilbao
Discovering a new way of life
Unless you count Catholic school, Rolling Stones concerts at Wembley Stadium and working for Greenpeace – I’ve never really engaged is serious cult activity…. until now… … .. ..
The 20th bi-annual International Friends of 2CV meeting was held for five days at a motorcycle Grand Prix race track in Alcaniz, Spain.And if these two opening sentences don’t contain enough contradictions already – stand by.
Geoff and I have had Charlie Charleston for a couple of months now.
Geoff and Charlie Charleston in reflective mood
We think the car is cool, fun and quirky; always raises a smile from others, sometimes brings mechanical worries and frowns, is certainly no power-house of a machine – but when all is said and done, it is only a machine. Or so we thought….
This is not a car, this is a way of life
Not just a car
I have 2Cvs on my mind all the time
The declaration is certainly clearly true for many of the people who have travelled thousands of miles to be here. Some have been making the meeting pilgrimage since the 1970s. It is a 600cc machine that dictates holiday destinations and by the look of it, what many people’s savings are spent on.
Pretty in Pink?
The Burton conversion
Chequered history
Stuck on you
More than four thousand cars descended on the baked hillside at Motorworld, Alcaniz. A tented city began to slowly emerge, to the relentless sound of metal on metal as pegs and poles were finally cracked into the iron-hard ground. Eventually the chalky white hillside was peppered with stiffly flying national flags, multi-coloured tents and cars, and echoed to hoots and toots as 2CV club members greeted old friends from the previous meet and paraded their treasured cars up and down the campsite. The peacock display was clearly much too important than to be slowed down by the brutal 45degree heat.
Purple People Pleaser
No Nukes Classic
The Purists and the Pimps
They came in every shape and even size imaginable. Classic cars, lovingly restored with exquisite attention to detail vied for attention alongside those with every kind of change, addition and alteration you could think of. Men and women in their 70s traded notes and admiring glances with all the young dudes, united in common appreciation.
Yellow Peril
Another brick in the wall
Double trouble
Got it pegged
Licensed to….???
It is still a 2CV apparently
Bronzed Adonis
Escape from Alcaniz
We newbie owners lasted one sweat-soaked, breath-gasping day and night before we rolled up Chubby the tent , stuffed everything back into Charlie and drove in the opposite direction, retreating back to the tree-lined camp site 40 kms away – including bar and pool!!!
Are you going my way?
Look behind you
We resorted to day-tripping, shopping for supplies and casting incredulous eyes over the rally cars.
Rallying call
Skull and cross eyes!
They take it very seriously
We traded travelling intel with a lovely young Spanish man who has spent the last four years trundling around the world in a 2CV forty countries and two full engine repairs later and the same front tyres that he left on (Michelin is the way to go apparently!), he still grins when he tells the tales. All I can say is that 2CV owners are hard core. Geoff is still wondering if are they hard core or soft in the head – or a bit of both?
Can’t fail to smile
It is undeniable that there is something joyful about being surrounded by so many little ducks; seeing them scuttling around town, taking roundabouts at seemingly unfeasible angles and watching all those spectators who are unfamiliar with the car, its suspension and other characteristics simply stand back and watch with astonishment. We have been met with friendly smiles, encouraging words, sound advice and always good humour. As cults go – you could do a lot worse.
Getting our ducks in a row
