Dropped the boys off in Barcelona yesterday and drove to Rodellar. Here’s a tip, if you’re driving to Rodellar, keep in mind that “Huesca” and “Osca” are the SAME PLACE, so just keep followin them signs. Some people just spell it differently. Probably Catalan separatists.
Rodellar is like Ton Sai, Thailand, in the way that it seems to exist just for climbers, and is positively overrun by an international rastafari cornucopia. I was delirious when I got in last night around 11. I stumbled into a restaurant and ate pizza and bought a very expensive guidebook. Unfortunately my Spanish is just good enough so that my questions get answered. In Spanish. Blar.
I had spend a lot of the drive thinking about my dog Ned who died last January, and I was kind of hallucinating that he was in the backseat which was weird. It’s amazing how quickly I go from feeling so psyched to be on my own, because it really is in so many ways so much easier to ride solo, to very lonely and homesick. Hopefully I can skype or ichat with someone from home soon. I’ll probably end up on video chat with Merrick for half an hour, though, since he’s the most reliable video chatter I’ve got. Jackie advised taking silly self portraits to cure the sad, and since I haven’t heard any better advice, here goes.
Ok. Got to figure out if I’m going to stay at the hostel or go camping. Might camp for a couple nights and see how it goes. Then I need some food. Then I’ll go try the belay hitch hiking thing again. This place is, climbing wise, in-freaking-spired.