Friday-Saturday, September 3-4, 2021

Tobera

Bike Route: Haro to Tobera, 33 miles, 2400 feet of climb

We were both still a little tired from our week of pushing across the Pyrenees with no rest days, but Friday's ride was nice. We climbed steadily almost all day, at gentle grades of 2-6 percent, moving from the Rioja (wine) region into a more arid landscape of olives, sunflowers, artichokes, and grains.

A little over halfway, we stopped in a plaza in a little town and snacked on cheese, chips, olives, and fruit that we had brought along. A park worker came by and chatted with us for a while. He was from Colombia, had lived in Spain on and off for three years, and spent a year working in Tijuana/Juarez (near El Paso). He is studying to teach English (his English was excellent) and wants to go to Colorado some day.

About three-quarters of the way up our second, tallest pass (3600 feet), we took a break on a stone bench outside a church in a little village. An older woman stopped to talk. As we struggled with the language barrier, another woman came by and started interpreting. Before the pandemic, she spent several months each year living and working in Dublin, and she missed speaking English. We practiced our little bit of Spanish with her. She told us how early in the pandemic, the Spanish police came even to their small village every day to enforce the stay-at-home mandate. They were absolutely not allowed outside their houses except for very limited access to groceries and medical care. She said it was like being in prison, and they are so grateful for the lifting of restrictions now--though they are also still very careful and very worried about the new variants. We wish more Americans would take Covid more seriously and be more careful.

Tobera, our home for two nights, is a tiny village at the edge of a large park on the Molinar River. It was founded in the 11th century. By the end of the 15th century, it had been established as a milling town with steep stone lanes and two-story homes. It is known for a series of waterfalls (called cascades here), which fed the mills long ago and now feed a water-pumping station.

It was too early to check in at our hotel, so we queued up at the only restaurant in town and had the daily three-course menu. It was excellent: creamed asparagus gazpacho, grilled bonito (similar to tuna) with potatoes, and cheesecake (me) and ice cream (Ken).

Then came the challenge of getting in to our hotel. We went to the address on our booking confirmation, and found the door with the correct number and the hotel sign at the side. But the door was locked and nothing happened when we rang the bell. I called the number on the confirmation. The person who answered did not speak English. We are very aware that we are in Spain and it is our responsibility to figure out how to communicate, and we do try hard. In Spanish, I told her my name, that we had a reservation, and that we were at the door. I struggled to understand her response, but thought she said there were two doors to the hotel, and we needed to go to the door on the left and find the keys in the window. We could not find any keys. All the doors on the street were locked. After several minutes of trying and failing to understand, I asked if someone could come in person. I couldn't confirm that she understood that request. At that point, a gentleman who appeared to be checking out of a room on the street gestured for me to follow him, and led me up the street, up a steep flight of stairs, around a patio, through a parking lot, to a set of doors with keys lying on the window ledge. Aha! I told Monica (on the phone) that we had found the keys, she said number 4 was ours, and I went back to get Ken and the bikes. In the meantime, three other parties had arrived and were all on the phone trying to find out what was going on. Once inside, we found four doors with no numbers, and we all tried our keys until we sorted out our rooms. 

We can laugh about it now, but it really was confusing. Most of our hosts have been super about communication, sending us detailed directions, instructions for check-in, and even photos of the building and door when they cannot be present.

Our room is fairly comfortable, with access to a terrace (where I am sitting as I write this), and the four rooms share a large kitchen/dining area. We had a little issue with the shower having no floor pan, and the water had started to flow into the bedroom before we realized that the floor did not slant properly to the drain. But we have dried it up with a bath towel and all is well now.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny. Ken took our bikes out for a little maintenance while I worked on some loose ends with taxis in Santander and Girona and added to our blog. In the afternoon, we biked a mile to Frias, an amazing fortified hill town with several restaurants, where we had lunch. We biked on to a larger town seven miles away to stock up on groceries for our next adventure. Sunday, we travel to Nela, a hamlet about 30 miles north, where there will be no restaurants or grocery stores, and the only grocery stores on our way to Nela are closed on Sundays. 

We didn't realize we would be leaving the wine region as we climbed up to Tobera. It is sometimes amazing what a difference just 30-40 miles makes.

Tobera is known for its cascades (waterfalls).

Less than a mile before we got to Tobera, we stopped at the ruins of Santa Maria de la Hoz, a 13th-century hermitage that was used as a guest house on the Camino de Santiago. (We just can't seem to get away from the camino; it goes everywhere!) The hermitage and its complex have now been taken over by a herd of goats. 

One of our few selfies. We look old!

Water from the cascades flows through Tobera.

On Saturday, we visited Frias, a larger town about a mile from Tobera. A church and a castle are set in a large park at the top of the hill, above the town.

The Old Town of Frias is built on a steep hillside.