La Costa Brava
Posted By Aaron Wood on 5 June 2006
While winding our way through the foothills of the Pyrenees, I was silently taking in the wealth of beauty that surrounded me. I noticed that the mountains were all terraced, but the terraces were overgrown and in places broken making them look quite old. I asked Adrian about them and he transported us back through time to a period when a blight decimated the grapes of most of southern France. The winemakers, not wanting to admit defeat, moved south into Spain and built the terraces to continue the age old tradition of growing and harvesting some of the world's best vineyards. However, after several years the blight moved south and infected these vineyards also, and before long the terraces fell to ruin. Nonetheless, even now they are still plainly visible, adding a very intriguing character to the hills of the area.
Before long the terraces disappeared, and the hills took on a wilder and even more rugged appearance. The Costa Brava ('the fierce coast') is so named because of the intense windstorms that frequent the area. During these storms, the winds can be strong enough to topple trucks on the highway and make walking completely impossible. In the days when Spanish police officers wore capes, the wind once picked up one poor fellow and hurled him into a building 30 meters away! People who have been caught out on the coastal hills during these storms, tell of clinging to the ground on hands and knees and still feeling like the wind would pick them up and toss them into the sea. Countless centuries of these wild winds have eroded the very rocks in the area and given them a look that I've never seen before. Strange formations abound amongst the rocky hills making for a surreal beauty that is truly difficult to describe. From a high spot in the road Adrian pointed to a rocky little cove that in spite of its beauty looked totally inaccessible. "That's where we're going", he said.
Those of you who truly enjoy the sea know how the anticipation can build, until you can physically feel a longing in your body to once again be united with the aquatic realm that you have become so familiar with, yet are never bored by.
As I shouldered my pack containing the gear necessary for me to enjoy the cool water, I made no effort to contain my excitement. Bounding down the rocky trail I emerged onto a tiny beach, no more than 15m wide, completely surrounded by the rocky walls of the bay. Here Frank took a few pictures of Adrian and me as we geared up. Swimming along the shore, the rocks below disappeared into the blue.
Out at the point I filled my lungs and dove, and as soon as I was negatively buoyant, allowed myself to sink, following the rocks deeper and deeper. Drifting to a stop on the bottom I remained perfectly motionless. Adrian had advised me to sit still and allow the curiosity of the fish to draw them to me. In a few seconds I was surrounded by little fish, some swimming right into my mask. All around me the scenery that I love the most continued living and going about things as if I weren't there.
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