A Winter Delight

Today was good for me. 

We weren't even sure what we were going to do when I talked to Dave on the phone last night. Our original plan was to go cross-country skiing on the mountain, but the forecast called for a snowstorm. We toyed with the idea of just going down south and doing a normal hike, but we felt it would be a wasted opportunity. This was February and a chance to take advantage of snow. 

There was another issue. I haven't felt good lately. In fact, I've been sick in one form or another for nine months. I recently blogged about my new cancer diagnosis. Lately my stomach has been very tender and sore. We were concerned about falling while on the skis and hurting my stomach further (and believe me, I would fall!). 

We decided we would leave in the morning and beat the storm. And instead of skiing, we would go snowshoeing. Done deal! 

I felt under-prepared when Dave picked me up this morning. I only had on a few layers of clothing and was already feeling cold. And I forgot my snow boots. 

When we got to the rental shop they had already run out of snowshoes. I about spoke up and said that we could just go down south and go hiking. But Dave beat me to the punch: “We'll just get skis then.” It was the best decision we made all day. 

Physically, I felt great. No soreness today. That could all change, however, when I started chugging along a snowy trail, working all the muscles in my core. 

Thirty minutes later we arrived at the trailhead. The mountain was covered in a couple feet of snow, with a sprinkling on the pine trees. The weather was perfect. No cloud or snowstorm in sight. At that moment, we highly doubted the weatherman knew what he was talking about. 

We got out of the truck and I pulled over a sweatshirt and a LoftTek jacket. I took off my hiking boots and replaced them with the snow boots that came with the skis. Then we clipped the boots into the skis. I slipped on my gloves and beanie, grabbed my poles, and we were ready to go. 

This was a semi-popular trail for winter activities. It had been groomed and well packed. We glided along and I was surprised that I was doing so well. This was only my second time on skis. The first was last year and I think I fell at least 50 times. 

I followed the grooves left in the snow by previous skiers. This helped me move along with little worry of my skis becoming crossed or doing the splits. Our path moved forward slightly uphill. Everything seemed perfect. My stomach wasn't even hurting. 

Since my diagnosis I have had many ups and downs. When I am down I worry that I will never feel as well as I used to. But when I am up, I am planning so many treks and trips in my mind, looking forward to the day when I will finally be able to do them. 

Dave and I.

Dave has been instrumental in this forward-thinking. For a few years now we've went on several excursions together. Little by little they have grown in size and now we probably have at least a dozen different places we plan on going together. Last year we had a backpacking trip planned in the Snake Range in Nevada. At the last minute I had to cancel because I needed a bone-marrow biopsy. That was the same week I was diagnosed with cancer. I was pretty bummed. For nine months now I haven't been able to run or backpack, two things I love to do. I have been able to hike, but only on relatively flat surfaces that don't require a lot of exertion. 

The point I'm trying to get at is that these excursions with Dave have given me the motivation to stay positive. They have given me the determination to do whatever I can to recover to a level at least as high as what I was at before. I have learned that you can't take this life for granted. 

Today's adventure was a step in the right direction. 

By the time we arrived at our first resting point, I had biffed it twice. It was a downhill section and I panicked when I started going fast. I still have some work to do. But it was still a great improvement over last year. 

An iced-over Navajo Lake.

We stopped at a view point overlooking the frozen Navajo Lake. Unless you knew it was a body of water, you may not have recognized it. Instead of the deep-blue veneer like it has during summer, it had a monochromatic sheet of ice that blended with the surrounding snow-clad hills. 

We had a humorous moment when I unclipped my skis. I must have nudged my left ski forward because it effortlessly began to slide down the hill. Not just a little ways, but so far down we couldn't see it! Luckily it left a slight snake-track on the snow. I had to trudge down the hill with snow up to my knees to retrieve the ski. 

It was here that we were met by a group of skiers from the outdoor club at SUU. There were about a dozen of them and they were kind enough to take our picture. 

After guzzling down some water and eating a candy bar, we clipped on the skis again and continued our loop. By now a couple small clouds had formed in the sky. Nothing much. We still mocked the weather forecast that called for snow by 1 pm. 

Our time was filled with good conversation and scenery. Although I will admit that most of my scenery was focused downward as I concentrated on my skis. There was very little wind and the sun was happily shining, except for when it hid behind a cloud, which seemed to be happening more often.

I was falling more frequently now, but that was because there were more downhill sections. I was surprised that my stomach was not feeling sore. When we went uphill I could feel the fatigue that had been so common with me the last several months. But it was nothing too bad. In fact, it could probably be chalked up to the skiing (and being out of shape). After all, this is a sport that uses most of the muscles in your body. 

As we came to the halfway point, there was a long downhill section. Dave taught me to keep my skis pointed inward and to use my poles to slow me down. That worked most of the time, but I still kept biffing it. 

Another one bites the dust!

After one of my spills I got up and saw that Dave was talking to an older man with a long gray beard. His name was Bob Rasmussen and he used to live in Salt Lake City, but now lived down here. I think he must ski every day. He knew all the trails. 

As we talked, the skiers from the college began to pass. They were spread out now. Some seemed like pros, while others played it cautiously. At least three of them biffed it when they came around the corner and saw us. I don't blame them. I would have, too. I don't know if they psychologically faltered at the sight of another person, or if they were worried they would hit us. 

By this point the entire sky was full of clouds. We only had a couple more miles to the vehicle and I only wrecked once on that stretch, landing on my elbow. It hurt! 

When we arrived at the truck it was 12:56 and the first flakes were falling from the sky. I guess the weatherman was dead-on. 

Today we traveled a total of 6.1 miles. For me, that was good. I told Dave that next year we need to do a bigger trek that would be ten miles one-way. Maybe in the Tushars. 

We unclipped the skis and shed a couple layers of clothing. I was glad to be back. As I walked I felt light-headed. I worried that maybe I pushed myself too hard without realizing it because adrenaline had kicked in. If that was the case, then so be it. I was satisfied. ♠

 

One o'clock snow.

 

Big (and not so big) Bucks

Outdoor photography has a lot of therapeutic benefits.  For me there is an instant well-being that I can feel the second I go outside. And then to be searching for the beauty in nature, whether that be in a landscape or a wild animal . . . that brings a gratitude that is not only good for the body, but also for the soul.

Although I've got a long ways to go when it comes to editing, there is therapeutic benefit in that, also.  It is relaxing, a bit repetitive,  doesn't take a lot of thinking, but it has a way of soothing the mind. And when you can turn a mediocre image into a masterpiece, well, that's quite satisfying. 

The following photographs have been collected over the past couple years.  It's amazing how many big bucks you can see when you're not hunting them. It also helps if you seek them out during the rut. Hope you enjoy!

 

The Beautiful City of Girona

[Author's note: There are so many places, past and present, that I want to write about. The list is so long that some locations get neglected for years after my visit. That is the case for Girona. I went there in 2018 and am just now writing about it. Luckily, I have used many photos and journal entries and in my mind it feels as if it were yesterday.] 

The ride was only 38 minutes in train from Barcelona. Our hotel, the Hotel Condal, is very nice. We have a great view from the sixth floor where we can look over the city and see the tower of the cathedral. 

We find a grocery store and buy enough food to satisfy us for lunch and dinner. Across the street we buy a bar of bread from a panadería. Then we sit on a bench in a park and eat. We tear the bread into sections, then top it with chorizo, xató sauce and goat cheese. We chase it down with liquid yogurt. For dessert we eat Bollycaos, basically a hot dog bun with Nutella. How good it feels to be in Girona! 

I haven't been back in nearly 20 years. 

Basilica of Sant Feliu (left) and Cathedral of Santa Maria of Girona (right).

Girona is one of my favorite cities in all of Spain. It's colorful buildings along the river, the narrow streets and dominating cathedral make for a beautiful city. I am here with my daughter, Kaitlyn, anxious to show her a slice of heaven where I used to live. 

Girona is in the heart of Catalonia, an autonomous region in northern Spain that speaks its own language and has its own culture. Currently there is a strong movement among the Catalan people to break from Spain and be their own country. The Catalan Independence movement has been the impetus for protests and riots during the last year. One of the first things I noticed upon arriving in Girona were the large amount of flags, yellow ribbons and other symbols of the separatist movement. 

A view from the gardens of the cathedral.

We cross the River Onyar and enter the medieval section of Girona. We walk down the Rambla de la Llibertat where the street now becomes a pedestrian walkway. Stores with high-end designer clothing, pastry shops, and ice cream booths all dot the path. It all looks exactly how I remember it. 

The closer we get to the cathedral, the narrower the streets. Under our feet the cobblestones take on a steeper grade as we move uphill. Our final ascent to the Gothic cathedral includes climbing 89 steep steps. It is humbling to think that royalty for over a thousand years climbed these same stairs. 

Narrow street near cathedral.

Staircase leading to the Cathedral of Girona.

The Catedral de Santa Maria de Girona is the jewel of the city. I remember the last time I was here and we arrived just after dusk on a train from France. As we rolled into view of the city, the cathedral sat in all it's majesty on the hillside, glowing like a beacon. It gave me tingles. 

Like many of the cathedrals in Europe, it has a layered past. Once a primitive Christian church, it was conquered by the Muslims in 717 A.D. and converted into a mosque. Seventy years later the city was recaptured by Charlemagne. The church was restored in subsequent centuries and eventually a cloister and bell tower were added. In 1416 the church was redesigned and a large Gothic nave—the second largest in the world—was added. 

In spite of a few stained-glass windows, the cathedral is very dark inside. 

As with other cathedrals, there are many people buried under the floor and in the walls. Among them is Ramón Berenguer II, my direct ancestor. His stone sepulcher sits atop an archway in the nave for all to see. A detailed carving of the count lies atop the sepulcher. His grandmother, Ermesenda of Carcassonne, is buried in a chapel on the other side of the church. The cloister is also full of several tombs. Given that I love cemeteries, this is a wonderful place for me. I get a historical building and graveyard all in one visit! 

Tomb of Ramon Berenguer II in Girona Cathedral.

Several tombs in cloister of cathedral.

It is interesting how most Catholic cathedrals are just secular displays of history. Yes, when they were built they were given a lot of symbolism that told stories from the bible and their own history. But that teaching element is gone, at least for those who flock here now. There are many different chapels honoring many different people—including Jesus, Mary and many Saints. But there are so many that it becomes confusing as to what is the focus. The focus of the cathedral today is the architecture, the history, the majesty. 

When it rains, immense amounts of water fall on the roof of the cathedral that would saturate it if it were not diverted. In Gothic cathedrals there are systems of stone canals that collect the water and drain it through a creatively carved sculptures called gargoyles. 

On the Cathedral of Girona, all the gargoyles are of a decorative nature, or that of a monster or animal. That is, all except one. Near the Tower of Charlemagne is a sculpture of a witch. She wears a long vestment and bonnet covering her hair. In her hands she holds a scroll and parchment. Her mouth is eternally open to eschew the rain-water. 

According to legend she was a woman dedicated to the diabolical art of witchery, who, to display her hate of religion, would cast rocks at the cathedral. One day, by divine work, the witch was turned into stone and placed on the highest part of the church. She was placed face-down, perpetually looking at the ground, so she could never cast another spell. 

The witch of the Cathedral.

After visiting the cathedral, we take a walk on the old Roman walls. Built as a defense for the city, the walls were constructed in the first century A.D. and then reconstructed in the fourteen century. Today, half the circuit still remains, and has been fortified so that people can walk on top. 

The views from the Roman walls are probably the best in all the town. The cathedral dominates the horizon and the bell tower of the Basilica of Sant Feliu protrudes just below. Red-tiled rooftops spread across the landscape. There is a clear line of demarcation where the old city ends and the new begins.

Old Roman Wall that surrounds the city.

A view of the city from the wall shows the divide between the old city (in foreground),and the new section.

We enter through one of the towers near the cathedral and follow it to its end near the River Onyar. It is a peaceful walk and gives a unique perspective of the city and its history. 

After a brief stop at our hotel, we return to the street at dusk, just in time to observe the evening paseo. This is a marvelous scene that unfolds across Spain every night. Couples, families and friends dress up and go on walks. Fathers push strollers and lovers hold hands. 

We buy some ice cream and sit on a bench while watching pedestrians. We observe that there are big differences comparing Girona to Barcelona. There are fewer tourists and immigrants here. More Catalan is spoken and they dress more conservatively. 

Here there are Catalan flags draped everywhere, as well as yellow ribbons. The ribbons are in memory of the recent political prisoners in the fight for separation. The Catalan flags with a star represent Catalan Independence. 

Plaça del Vi.

A fresh food market in Girona.

The next day we are at it again, this time with a full day to explore the city. We go to a food market for breakfast. I buy a large rectangular croissant with chocolate filling. Kaitlyn buys a drinkable yogurt from the grocery store. 

There is a street market selling sunglasses for as much as 100 €!

We cross the River Onyar via the Pont de les Peixateries, a red metal bridge built by Gustav Eiffel before he built the Eiffel Tower. On both sides of the river are beautiful pastel-painted buildings, their reflections shimmering in the water. In the distance the cathedral towers above everything else. 

The River Onyar.

Our first stop is the Jewish Quarter, affectionately referred to as El Call. One of these days I will write more extensively on the Jews and their history in Spain. Suffice to say here that they lived in their own neighborhood, were very educated, and were eventually driven out with the Spanish Inquisition. 

El Call has some of the narrowest streets in all of Girona. It is a fascinating place to be. Woven into these narrow alleyways are meandering staircases and hidden archways. 

There is an interesting museum with a star of David on the patio. Of interest to me were some of the old headstones with Hebrew inscriptions that had been removed from the cemetery. 

A narrow alleyway in the Jewish Quarter.

The Jewish Quarter is known as El Call.

After lunch we stop at an archeological museum housed in a former convent. They have several Roman tombs, which I think are very fascinating. They also display artifacts from all the major eras, including the Bronze Age. 

Sant Pere de Galligants, an archeological museum in an old monastery.

On our next destination we come upon a rally for Catalan Independence. This is located on a small side-street and if you didn't happen upon it, you'd never know it was there. Most of the participants are young, but there is support from all ages. 

One speaker pontificates with energy the fight against Spanish injustice. This whole town is united in their battle against the State. There are signs everywhere denouncing political prisoners. Catalan flags of independence drape from the balconies. Old men wear yellow ribbons on their lapels. 

Candid shot during the street rally.

Symbols of Catalan separatism drape the balconies.

By now, evening is arriving again. We have spent plenty of time in the historical tourist section, but now we make our way over the bridge and into the newer section of the city where everyday people call their home. 

On the Pont de les Peixateries.

We come to Devesa Park, a large woodland with massive trees, alongside the River Ter. As a pleasant surprise, we come across several games of petanca. You know you're with the locals when you find a petanca match. 

Petanca is the Spanish and French version of horseshoes. I've never played it, but I understand the gist. A small ball called a boliche is tossed onto the court, and then the objective is to get as close as you can with your own bigger metallic ball called a bola. Spaniards are pretty good at this game. They can get pretty close and often they will knock another players bola out of range. 

It appears as if it is a league night. Each team is wearing matching shirts. A man stands inside a red hoop that is placed on the ground. With his bola in his right hand, he holds it palm-down and bends his knees slightly as his gaze is fixed upon the boliche on the other side of the court. Then, with the finesse of a dancer, he tosses the ball and it lands within inches of the boliche. 

Petanca in Devesa Park.

We continue our walk through the park. Tall trees tower over us, creating a canopy of branches. On the other end of the wooded park is a music festival. As we get closer we can hear the rhythm of flamenco and pop music. 

We quickly join a lively crowd that is dancing to the music. On stage are the performers, the lead singer dressed like a gipsy. Families are there: mothers, fathers, kids of all ages. The beat is catchy. Fathers are dancing with sons and mothers are moving to the beat with babies in their arms. 

The atmosphere is fun, but we soon learn that this is the final song of the night. We are disappointed, but grateful to have at least seen part of it. 

This is our final evening on the streets of Girona. Tomorrow will be our last day, but will be spending it with friends. 

Panorama of Girona from the Roman Walls.

One of the many legends coming out of Girona is that of the flies of Saint Narcís. 

During a siege in the year 1286, the French attacked Girona and ransacked many of the churches. In the church of St. Feliu, they tore open the tomb of Saint Narcís, hoping to desecrate his body. To their surprise, out of the tomb flew thousands of large flies. The insects began to furiously attack the French soldiers, forcing them to retreat back to their own country, thus saving the city. 

In two days, we go to France, also. But I doubt we'll be chased by flies. ♠

The River Onyar at night from the Pont de Pedra.