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Wednesday 23 June 2010

Dolmen del Pedra Gentil


It was an utterly unexpected sight.  Not that I had any preconception of what I might see.  By the time we had arrived at this particular height, deep and entirely lost in the hills of Montseny National Park in Catalunia, the sun was beginning to drop, the shadows were lengthening, the scent of the pines intoxicating, and the husband, busy at the wheel of a Ford Transit suited to the motorway and not to mountain tracks, was cursing profusely, and I was beginning to wonder if we might be stranded in the wilderness for the  night.  Unnerving to say the least, because the lower hills were shrouded in fingers of mist that crept in between the trees, and I had spent an pleasant hour earlier that day reading up on some of the local legends.  Add to that the fact that the local police force were heavily armed and scouring the forest for signs of ETA terrorists,  I was more than a little nervous.

The neolithic dolmen looks out over a thickly wooded valley and is reputed to have been the meeting place of witches since time immemorial.  Local legends include sightings of demonic creatures, and the raising of terrible thunderstorms by witches wanting to keep the uninitiated away from witnessing their diabolic and bloody rites.  It is also said that local witch-hunters would execute witches at this site.

If nothing else, the legends amplify the accepted history that these mysterious stone structures are associated with death and burial, and provide a good deal of material for local story-tellers.  I have to say, I felt just as spooked by the silence of the place as I was impressed by its antiquity, and the sheer beauty of the surrounding mountains.  We were lost when we found this, but it would have been well worth a trek out to see anyway.

Wednesday 9 June 2010

The Queen Vic



I thought this was an amazing view of one of the world's largest liners - possibly the world's largest liner, I don't know, I'm not too up on things nautical - just outside my front room window.  I guess I'm pretty privileged with this view, although I'm not in a luxury flat but in one of the early shared ownership developments.

It's one of the joys of living in Gibraltar.  Such a small place, perhaps insignificant in many ways.  No G8 or G10, or however many there are, summits here I don't imagine.  No World Cup, few if any history-shattering events.  But the sun shines for most of the year.  The people that live here tend to be genuinely friendly, caring people.  Children can play outdoors pretty safely and the elderly tend to have family around them.  You don't have to pay for health care if you can't afford it, and a trip to the beach is only a walk away.

I may point out the flaws, and if I do so, it's because I want things to get better.  Gibraltarians deserve the best.  There's probably more talent, more skills, more facilities and more heart per square metre crammed onto this small mountain than anywhere else in Europe.  And that's why I feel rather more privileged than the fortunate few who can afford to lumber the ocean on a glorified tub, consuming resources and squandering money that might be better spent feeding a small African village for a few months than on sun oil and sea-sickness tablets.

So cheers to the Queen Vic for knocking home a few truths for me!