Spain/Portugal: An Iberian Lesson to Learn

Motorcycle enthusiasts enjoy different styles of bikes, whether it’s a cruiser, a sportsbike, a dualsport, a touring bike, or any of the countless other types. However, as varied as the preference for the type of motorcycle may be, I’m confident most riders will agree they find great pleasure when riding curvy roads.

On my second day riding the Pyrenees mountain range, after camping on the French side the night before, I conti nued ascending on some of these twisty roads tangled in between the snow capped mountains. As I leaned into one curve and on to another, I could periodically see a distant and majestic peak appearing in my line of sight until, eventually, I was at the base of it. I pulled over. It doesn’t snow in San Diego or Tijuana, where I’m from, so every time I see snow I become excited. I played around with the snow for a few minutes before continuing the ride, which, despite my initial thoughts, it was not a cold one at all, and the road conditions were great. Afterwards, I would have many people comment on how fortunate I was for not having been rained on while I was up there; that would have been upsetting.

I peaked at Col du Pourtalet with 1,794 meters above sea level and shortly after began descending into Spain. Most of the towns I encountered, still in the snowed mountain range, were ski resorts. After lunch in Jaca, at the base of the mountains, I followed the beautiful backroads of this Aragon region towards Bardenas Reales, a large desert area in the neighbouring Navarre region. These backroads I mention, unsure of which ones I specifically took, were perfect for an easy afternoon ride; they go through vast amounts of nature with a few villages and small towns sprinkled throughout, such as Murillo de Gallego, Santa Eulalia de Gallego, Biel, El Frago, and several others. Minimal traffic and sharing rest stops on the side of the road with people traveling the Camino de Santiago was a plus.

I was to spend the night at Javier’s, my couchsurf host, in La Amunia, but first I would catch the sunset in Bardenas Reales. Although days seem to be longer here, I stil find myself pushing the limits of how much I can pack into some days.

I off roaded into the natural reserve and immediately noticed the beauty of the desert landscape hightenned by the lack of noise and people. This scene is only interrupted by the eventual military base located within the reserve. I paused at a “Castil de Tierra”, which is a natural formation of the landscape resembling a castle. There, I stopped to write these very words as I waited for the sun to set behind the low surrounding mountins.

The next several days would prove to be a trial of how I wanted to proceed on this trip. I, erroneously assumed, I would be able to explore the perimeter of the Iberian peninsula in a short amount of days, a week or so. Well, I had forgotten I cannot cover as many kilometers in a day here as I do back home. I found myself driving all day to visit big cities such as San Sebastian and Bilbao in the north, where traffic is abundant, streets are intertwined, the city is swraming with people, and I do not trust leaving my motorcycle parked and walking away to explore.

These days were difficult, but that’s not to say it was all negative. I road up the mountains of the Cantabria region, leading into the Picos de Europa national park. The fun in riding mountainous roads shadowed the bad experience I was having lately.

It’s safe to say I had days full of highs and lows. Even as I rode into Portugal across the mountains and mistakenly took an electronic toll road under the rain towards the big city of Porto, which I also escaped only to later get pulled over by the police who, thankfully, did not speak English and the Google Translate screen on his laptop was not very effective. I decided to land in Coimbra instead, which had a more welcoming feeling. In Coimbra, a city known for its prestigious university, I had salmon over bread with mermelade spread and saw the sunset from the top of a hill, where the laundromat where I was washing my clothes was. Lovely, I know.

After realizing the motorcycle was having mechanical problems I decided to leave the rest of Portugal and the south of Spain for another time, and began my way to Barcelona, where a friend, Pedro, has a shop and was willing to help me.

On my way there, I stopped by Javier’s in La Almunia again and, coincidentally, the following day would be the San Jorge celebration in the Aragon region, and I was invited to stay. Much takes place during San Jorge, what I was able to gather is as follows: no one goes to work or school, the whole town meets at the center Plaza de la Paz, early morning, and begins drinking beer immediately. I believe it was around 10am and I was walking in public with a beer in each hand, something that would never happen in San Diego or Tijuana. Drinking is not the objective of San Jorge, but more of a passtime towards something greater. Everyone in town belongs to a “Peña”, which I interpreted as your crew of friends, most Peñas wear a distinctive colored shirt with their original design to identify themselves.

“San Jorge celebrates the patron of the Aragon region; all of Aragon is celebrating, but no where as it’s done here, in La Almunia. Here, we take it a step further. People from the outside come into La Almunia on this day to experience San Jorge.” This is what a local man from the purple peña was telling me as I got close to observe what he was cooking. You see, besides drinking, socializing, and listening to music, each peña takes a spot around the plaza, lays some dirt on the ground and starts a fire over it, where they cook “Rancho”, a typical dish done only on San Jorge. Rancho consists of sausage, chorizo, rabbit, pork ribs, sheep, vegetables, eggs, and a special extra every peña decides to add to their own.

As I walk around the plaza, observing, people are pouring out of the bars with handfuls of beers. Outside a bar, I bump into Eduardo, someone I had met my first time in La Almunia a week ago. We greeted each other and went our own way. This happened a few other times when I ran into some of Javier’s friends I previously had met. This made me chuckle; a week ago I had pointed out to Javier how nice it is that, as we walked down the street, everyone greeted him, he seemed to know everyone. “It’s a small town, we walk everywhere here, most people know each other” he replied. I like this aspect of small towns, something rarely seen in cities like San Diego or Tijuana.

While our peña gathered around a table and began to eat this deliciously looking rancho with a mouth-watering aroma, I met Gerard, an irishman who’s been coming to La Almunia for the past 15 years. Gerard had just finished the Camino de Santiago, after having been laid off his job as an engineer in Ireland. Ironically, though, he became a rich man while traveling the Camino. “During one of my hikes, I found a sign that read something like ‘I am a millionaire, I am the owner of my own time.'” Gerard said.

A peña, I further noticed, is a family. Some of the shirts read “Peña Evasion – 25 Aniversario”. 25 years of getting together every year for San Jorge. Not to mention many of them were childhood friends, some of which already had children of their own. One of them, David, was sharing his once thought perspective of people from the U.S. and how things are not the way they are presented in the media; people in Spain are not always runing from bulls, people in France are not walking with bread under their arm all the time, and people in New York don’t all live in a spacious apartment, enjoying walks through Central Park and going to the same cafe where the center couch is always available for them. David’s wife is a huge fan of the TV series “Friends”, and thought the life displayed on the show was very real to that of everyday Newyorker. She moved to live to New York with this in mind, but quickly found out it was unrealisitc. She came back to Spain after 3 months.

I made my way to the outskirts of Barcelona, where my motorcycle would receive service from my friend, Pedro, who owns a shop. I actually met Pedro 4 years ago when we both coincided in Costa Rica. Since then, we’ve kept in touch and today I get to visit him in Barcelona.

After a couple of days of assisting Pedro with my bike, we were waiting on parts, so Pedro gave me the next day off and let me borrow his Honda CBR on which I toured Barcelona.

Motorcycle parking in Barcelona is free, and there’s plenty of it. Basically, any sidewalk wide enough to fit a motorcycle without blocking pedestrians is good enough. Having said that, I was appalled at the amount of motorcycles in the city; scooters trickle in between cars to the front of stop lights and cover sidewalks by the hundreds. Although navigating Barcelona on a motorcycle seemed frightening at first, it wasn’t as bad, and I surely would not prefer to do it by car and take several times longer.

I visited a few locations. Among them, the ones I enjoyed the most were the church of La Sagrada Familia and the Camp Nou stadium. Each, in their own way, amazed me beyond belief.

La Sagrada Familia is a work of art which is still being contructed, based on the vision of renowned Catalan architect, Antonio Gaudi. I had seen photos of it before, but standing in fornt of it, admiring how majestic it stands, is a completely different experience. Stepping away from the religious significance of the edifice, simply observing the design, magnitude, and effort to rise such a place is incredible.

The Camp Nou stadium, home of FC Barcelona, was also a special place to visit because of the history that has taken place within it. I’m not a particular die hard fan of this team, but I recognize it as one of the best in the world. Beyond the museum, I was able to visit the stands, the media room, the locker rooms, the bench, and the actual field! While sitting on the stands, looking down onto the field, I could imagine the best players in the world on it. It was, without a doubt, a great experience. For what they charge for a ticket, though, would’ve thought Messi himself would give the tour!

Spain and Portugal taught me a hard lesson; this trip is different from anything I’ve done before, and what has worked in the past may not necessarily work here. I’m glad I learned this lesson now, while there’s still plenty of time and territory to cover.