Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.
A big church on a hill, with a fairly underwhelming theme park beneath it.
A wet day, but in an enjoyable way.
A lot of geocaches, and a bit of dentistry.
Today was the planned day for a bit of monk-on-a-mountain action. I’d been here before, in 1973, but that was a long time ago.
Every holiday has a day like this. The one where we don’t do anything.
This was our mid point, and the girls celebrated by climbing some trees.
We were supposed to be going to Barcelona to see at some of Antoni Gaudí’s more obvious contributions.
Time for a bit of caching while the girls had a lazy day.