The Pump, the Pass and the Steep Bit at the End

The accommodation was not what it seemed to be

When I arrived at the hotel in Argelès-sur-Mer, the first impression was a bit dull. To be fair, it’s a cheap two-star, and it gave the distinct impression that some of the guests weren’t guests so much as residents.

Cosy, and a little run down. The people were friendly and welcoming.

Looking back, I was being a snob on arrival, mostly for lack of experience with places like it.

A day and a night later I had to admit it was a damn fine place. No noise, no dirt, no heat problems, no wifi problems. Nothing.

Together with a beach two streets away, that’s a very good deal — for anyone who arrives with low expectations. Which I now do, deliberately.

The plan

The plan for the day was easy: coffee, slow start, leave around ten, because the next stop wasn’t far. Wonder House was waiting a bit over a hundred kilometers south.

Address into the beloved Beeline, bags strapped on, heading south again.

Mountainous border crossing

Shorter than the days before, and in hindsight the more interesting for it.

I crossed into Spain through Le Perthus, one of those places that doesn’t look exciting and somehow is. Hammered into the mountainside, apartment blocks stacked left and right of the road up to the border.

Quite a view.

New friends on the road

On the other side, the next surprise.

As in France, I was still working out how gas stations function by visiting them whenever the mood took me. At the first stop the pump refused to cooperate. No prepayment, so that wasn’t it.

I asked a guy standing next to his motorcycle. He explained it. The problem, inevitably, was me.

Coming back from paying, I found him inspecting my bike, and realised we were riding the same one. His was a bit newer, a 2025, and we ended up talking travel, gear and bike things.

We parted ways with me promising to visit him near Málaga on the way to Portugal, which is now on my route.

High five at Wonder House

The last stop of the day was Wonder House itself, up in the hills — the kind of place where being misdirected is a genuinely bad idea. The streets are steep, and turning around is an undertaking.

I was misdirected twice, and arrived at the gate very sweaty. A couple of minutes later I was high-fiving a mate of mine, which made up for it.