Monday 2nd September

Waving a fond farewell to Torla we turned our vans south as we followed the river Ara down the valley, we were heading for the N260. A road supposed to be the prettiest in Europe and recommended to us by Grahame who had ridden on it a couple of years ago on a motorbike. It took us to the town of Ainsa-Sobarbe at the confluence of the Ara and Cinca rivers. We had a quick coffee in the square amongst the remains of a re-enactment the night before of the Christians expelling the Moors and then it was on to La Pobla de Segur over the crazy mountain road that is the N260. It was a very pretty road, twisting its way higher and higher through valleys and forests. Eventually it became too scenic for Wendy and so we took a left on to a road that turned out to be equally ‘scenic’.

Wendy’s knuckles were still white when we turned into the sleepy campsite of Camping Collegats. During July and August, this place is a hive of activity with a range of mountain and water sports organised from here; now it felt very end-of termish, but the two chaps running it were very friendly and spoke good English too.

While Wendy’s knuckles recovered from the journey and her knee recovered from yesterday’s ‘stroll’. Lesley, Andy, and I took the dogs along the river to the village of Pobla. It took a while to find a place for the dogs to swim as it was in full spate, along the way were warnings that the level could increase at any time as it is part of a large hydroelectric scheme.

Pobla was pretty, pretty ordinary. As we left the village on our way back to the campsite we came across the remains of an old hydroelectric plant with a range of interpretive board explaining how the area was heavily bombed by Castro during the Civil War and how the hydroelectric company built air raid shelters, both at the plant and at their workers homes so that they could keep producing electricity for the Republican cause.

Back in the day, the main industry in the area was logging and locals would strap the tree trunks together into rafts and steer them down stream to the railways. Every year they commemorate the practice with a raft race and we came across one of the competitors by the riverside.

After a quick swim in the campsite’s bracing pool, we spent the rest of the evening making the most of the bar and our last night in Spain.