Travel Day

Sho, what a long travel day.

My darling mother woke me up at 5am with the rustling of packets while she repaired her hiking bag for the umpteenth time. Love her. Truly.

So, I fought the urge to stay in bed and instead got up, made myself a cacao and enjoyed a little stillness while my parents headed off to run some sunrise errands.

We had to drive to Barcelona and drop off our luggage at a 24-hour supermarket where it would be stored while we hiked with only our backpacks. There is something mildly terrifying about trusting an unknown storage room with everything you own, but apparently this is how these things work.

Of course, that also meant braving rush-hour traffic from Calonge to Barcelona with two humans who don’t regularly drive in Europe sitting in the pilot seats. By the time we finally heard the rental car keys drop into the bottom of the Hertz post box, all three of us were feeling a little frazzled.

Delighted to finally be sitting in the departures lounge with a coffee in hand and no more wrong turns ahead of us, Mom and I took a collective breath.

I hadn’t had much time to think about this hike beforehand. It seemed to arrive without much anticipation this year. Life has been full and busy and, unlike last year, I hadn’t spent weeks imagining the mountains before arriving.

So, when we boarded the plane to Santander and landed a short while later, I still felt somewhat disconnected from the adventure ahead.

It wasn’t until we began winding our way along the mountain roads that I felt that familiar flutter of excitement in my chest. The trees grew thicker, the peaks grew taller and the meadows became impossibly green. With every turn of the road, the excitement built a little more.

I had become quite accustomed to afternoon naps in Calonge. The whole family seemed to operate on a collective siesta schedule and I had settled into it rather happily. Today, I fully expected to continue the tradition.

However, the moment I breathed in the mountain air and caught sight of the incredible town of Arenas de Cabrales, I knew the nap was no longer on the cards.

The place is beautiful.

It has that ski-town feeling about it, with chalet-style homes tucked beneath dramatic mountain peaks. Everywhere we looked there were little local cheese shops, delicatessens and butchers displaying their regional specialties. Mum and I had to exercise considerable restraint to stop ourselves from filling our backpacks with artisanal meats and cheeses.

Eventually, we found a lovely restaurant willing to serve us dinner at the very un-Spanish hour of 4:30pm.

It was around this point that I discovered the routes my mother had planned for us.

And basically, she was trying to kill us.

If left entirely to her own devices, we would have hiked the entire mountain range from top to bottom in five days.

While sitting there eating delicious entrecôte and grilled vegetables, I looked over the routes and started doing some quick calculations. Mom had casually planned three consecutive days with between 1,200 and 1,400 metres of elevation gain and an average of around 20 kilometres per day.

If we were both at peak fitness, that would still be a respectable challenge.

Neither of us is currently at peak fitness.

I laughed when she admitted that she hadn’t actually looked at the elevation profiles.

Only my mother.

Thankfully, over lunch we replotted, reassessed and reworked the next few days. There was much laughter, a little negotiation and a healthy dose of realism.

One of the things I love most about travelling with my mom is how well we travel together. We have created a space where both of us feel comfortable speaking up, changing our minds and voicing concerns without it becoming a problem. Neither of us needs to pretend everything is fine when it isn’t.

By the time we finished lunch, we had a much more sensible plan and were both feeling excited for the days ahead.

The mountains were waiting.