Vall D’Aran to Vall De Nuria

Heading north on N232 in the Spanish Pyrenees, we go through the Tunel de Viella which was bored through the mountain in 1958. Before that date this Spanish valley was totally isolated from the Spanish side of the mountains for 6 months of the year because of snow.

Once in the valley after enduring my claustrophobic fear of what if... for 7 kilometers of smoky narrow darkness we head east up the Vall D’Aran and are surrounded on both sides by the peaks of the Pyrenees. Climbing up switch backs and with the temperature rapidly dropping we achieve the pass, Port de la Bondigua @ 2072 meters, and stop to marvel at the views and the ski lifts built here. Down the other side we go and are thankful for the inventor of the guard rail.

For 6 hours we go and north of Ripoll head north once again at Ribes de Freser after having taken the wrong road at Alp and passing through the ski village of La Molina. For some reason Rosemary had taken a perverse joy in this misstep. She giggled at my grumbling about lost time and fear of flying, flying off the edge of the road and into the ravine... but I digress... north at Ribes de Freser to Queralbs an ancient stone village overlooking the Freser River Valley.

Alas this village only opens it’s doors to visitors on the weekends which this was not. After inadvertently querying his honor the mayor at work in his garden and being turned away from where he had sent us we were directed to Mas Casa Nuova, a casa de paiges or turismo ruale, in a word, a farm, that took in boarders. Run by a charming woman Nuria, named after Our Lady of Nuria for protection, and her family - husband, father, mother and sister. We felt that we had been blocked in our original goal of Queralbs in order for us to experience this wonderful family, their hospitality, their 300 year old farm house and the ‘turismo ruale’ system. Our room was on the lower floor of the 4 story building, the floor traditionally used as the barn. It seems that our room was once used to house goats and now once again was occupied by a couple of old goats.

Dinner and breakfast are included in the turismo ruale plan. At different meals we were served a ricotta type farmers cheese and a breed of cheese that was creamy and soft somewhere between feta and edam. We were also treated to a tour of their quesaria while there and were surprised at the modern equipment contained in an ancient building with which to make their cheeses.

Day 2 in ‘Fustanya’, the name of the family’s holding which comprised a small village, we took the cremallera, a small train that is run by a cog or gear on what looks like a zipper for the third rail (cremallera indeed meaning zipper) from Queralbs up the Nuria Valley gaining about 2,500 feet of elevation during our ride up a narrow steeply sloped, Pyrenees valley. At the top of which is a renovated resort hotel fronted by a lake and surrounded by more peaks with ski lift access and many hiking trails. Also here is a church enclosed by the hotel and artifacts from the 9th century hermitage located on the same site.

Staying only long enough to quickly view the church and to purchase lunch to go for our back pack, we headed off to take the trail back down the mountain valley and to our car which awaited back at the train station below and as usual it took us 4 1/2 hours to travel the stated 2 1/2 hour distance. We always wonder who decides on the posted times.

What magnificent views along this steep and rocky trail that parallels the train tracks and which providentially switches back and forth across the gorge to stay on the opposite side from the train.

There is little I love more than hiking beside a swiftly moving mountain stream and here we were doing just that as the stream tumbled over rocks and boulders, forming cascades and pools on it’s, as well as our, decent.

After crossing over the water for the last time on an ancient appearing bridge I was soon dismayed to discover that the trail led along a sheer precipice that dropped hundreds of feet steeply and directly down from the edge of this very trail. Never one to enjoy being right on the edge of great heights all I could do as my testicles retreated into my body cavity, was to emulate them and suck it up and continue on this, my life’s path. Breathing short rapid breaths and with palpating heart in chest I kept my eyes on the up side of the trail while the depths blurred by on my left. Trying to think of myself as a sure footed mountain goat, much like one that formerly inhabited our quarters at Mas Casa Nuova, we traversed this abyss and felt as if we had achieved a great victory indeed. Traveling along further, much further actually than we would have liked, we finally did achieve our destination in Queralbs and being the boy scout that I am and being prepared, it was our with the flask and in with the reward, brandy.

After sleeping the sleep of the dead mountain climbers we were, we had our final breakfast at Mas Casa Nuova and upon asking about the church next to the neighboring farm, we were told that we could get the key by knocking on a little window next to the door at the aforementioned farm. It turned out that it had been Nuria’s grandparents home and that now her uncle and his family lived there and that her mother had been raised there.

We did get the key and Nuria’s aunt told us that it was an 8th century Romanesque church and that it was the oldest in the valley. A lovely ancient church it turned out to be in it’s Romanesque simplicity with ancient lock and key and 2 bells in it’s little tower.

A grave yard next to it has a plaque that states that it is for the family that inhabits Fustanya. When queried about this upon the return of the key we are told that it means arboles, trees, in Catalan.

Pondering what it must be like to have your own personal family 8th century Romanesque church and to have been married there and to have a plot awaiting in it’s mausoleum, down life’s highway we went.