The Bizarre Barcelona Bus Ride

We departed from our palatial Montpellier apartment unscathed in terms of penalties, and announced we would be back in the Spring. The journey down the autoroute was uneventful:- busy as would be expected on a Saturday in the school holidays, but in great weather, and all the congestion was behind us the other side of the city. After crossing the border it was quiet on the Spanish side and we rolled up at Yvette's winter home earlier than anticipated. Bob dropped Ruth and the luggage at Girona airport, dropped off the car and walked back, and we had a beer in the near-deserted cafeteria. At this time of day there is no direct bus to Barcelona airport, but there would have been time to catch a bus that would connect at Girona city. We chose, instead another beer and a taxi into the city;- justifying the EUR 30 expense on grounds of heavy cases and Ruth's recovering shoulder.
Throughout our stay in Montpellier French and Spanish TV had been showing a lot of footage of the public pro-independence manifestations in Barcelona following from the jailing of Catalan politicians on October 14th. By the time we were due to travel through there had been a general strike, and the city had been brought to a standstill on Saturday. We boarded the bus  - which was half an hour late -  at Girona not knowing what to expect, but with plenty of time. The indicator on the bus said only "Barcelona Norte" - the main bus station, but we confirmed with the driver that the intention was to continue to El Prat, and a very pleasant Moroccan off-duty tour guide confirmed this.

An hour and a half later we were on the outskirts, and all seemed calm. The only peculiarity was the presence of hundreds of parked coaches. We then started to see small groups walking towards the centre with Catalan flags, and then more, and then the traffic diversions started. The majority of passengers wanted to get to Barcelona Norte, but after getting out and talking to the police the driver announced that he could get close but not fully  get there. This was translated for those that needed it by the Moroccan! We pulled into some sort of bay to give time for retrieval from the "hold" and a self-help group formed to direct folk's onward walk!

This left a handful of us wanting the airport, which would involve getting back out again to the Ronda and heading South. We started going down small streets - often with views up to the vast assembly of people. At one point we were in the middle of a housing estate and had taken a wrong turn so negotiated a tiny roundabout to turn back. The Moroccan explained that the driver was not from Barcelona! (His name was not Manuel!)  Eventually we made it to Terminal 2, and we didn't have the heart to insist on our preference of Terminal 1! We were now very late!

What we didn't need was a 55 minute wait for the hotel shuttle as darkness fell and the prospect of sitting outside with a cool drink receded! But the overnight stay was satisfactory, and the shuttle back in the morning was as comfortable and reliable as ever. It wasn't such a doddle at the airport as last time, but then Ruth was then in the wheelchair. It was Bob's turn for the nuisance neighbours. He won a group of giggling Spanish young women - possibly a hen party! An easy flight, though - a pick-up by Dave, and we were soon eating a Sunday roast created by Neil and Maggie - our house-sitters!

Stop Press

We were lucky! Today a splinter group has closed the main route to France: AP7 leading to A9. We know that bit of motorway pretty well after 12 consecutive years.

And just for the record:
Greyrocks is largely agnostic on Catalan independence - other than deploring the heavy-handed Franco-esque actions of police and judiciary!