Not long after sunrise this morning I set off for the Montgó, referred to in the last post. I took the picture above as I walked away from town and through the sprinkling of white houses that you can just see nestling at the foot of the mountain.

I’d intended to do a five mile circular route I’d found online before I came here, about half way up, saving a trip to the top for another day. But I ended up lost. I’m not even sure the route I’d hoped to follow exists but you can’t really lose your bearings up there because you can always look down to the town and work out roughly where you are, and several trails are marked anyway. Except I did.

After walking for an hour or so, bewildered by an array of signposts at a junction of trails, and bearings lost because the view was shrouded by trees, a lovely Spanish woman appeared and came to my rescue, or so I thought. She was walking a dog the size of a horse and, by chance, had lived in Manchester for ten years. In perfect Mancunian Spanglish she asked me if I needed help.

She told me that she knew the mountain well while her dog tried to stand like a human by resting its front legs on my shoulders. Eventually we parted and I left them feeling better. I had dog spit all over me but I was on the right track.

But at another trail junction along the route she’d suggested there were only two options: going one way towards the summit, which was way too far, or back the way I’d just come, where I’d got lost.

I didn’t panic. I just got fed up and retraced my steps along the mile or so I’d come, eventually coming across an escape route that took me down to the wrong end of town.

My Montgó no go was disappointing but I’ll go better prepared next time. If anything it just goes to show that blog posts can sometimes be pretty boring. I took a few pictures though, had a free lunch and beer when I got back, and will rise again. And I suppose seven miles is better than the five I’d planned to do. Every cloud.

Oops

Just to cap my day of messing things up, this evening, Josie’s partner, Lauren, asked me the name of a hotel in Mysore, India (they’re heading there soon). I’ve a framed picture of it at home that she’d seen. It was where Pip and I had stayed after several tiring days of travelling around on our honeymoon in India in 1992. It’s a grand Victorian palace of a place, the Metropole Hotel.

A bit later Josie asked me the same question and I told her, not knowing what was going on, that Lauren had asked too, who I’ve now learnt had booked a room there after I’d told her the name, a surprise for Josie when they go travelling in India in February. Except it’s not anymore.

My school reports were right: ‘Andrew must try harder’, but I’ll always be proud that my natural aptitude for the ridiculous was formally recognised by the head of my school, which I have framed and in pride of place on a wall at home:

And on the theme of being ridiculous, getting lost and messing things up, what could be more so than this? The BBC website tells me that Sultan Ahmed Al Jaber, boss of the Abu Dhabi National Oil Company, is to lead the COP28 global climate talks in Dubai. I almost checked to see if it was April 1st. It’s not – but tomorrow’s Friday 13th.

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