Eclipse

TUE 11 Aug 2026

To Madrid

I first learned about the 2026 solar eclipse some time in Spring, when my colleague Max mentioned making plans to go and see the eclipse with his family. I was intrigued by the prospect, I'd never seen a totality, so I decided to make my own plans. I ordered some solar glasses, trawled through a few dedicated solar eclipse fan sites, looked at location options and weather forecasts, and picked up the excellent Totality app.

I had plans up to the eclipse event ready well in advance of August. For eclipse viewing, I ultimately settled on the city of Burgos in Northern Spain, just off the line of totality. That location cost me a couple of seconds of totality, but the city was logistically much easier to reach than points on the line. I didn't book accommodations in advance, as I wasn't entirely sure where I'd end up on the day, but I was pretty confident I could figure something out.

The solar eclipse was scheduled for the middle of the week, the evening of Wednesday the 12th. I had made plans to spend the last two weeks of July in Finland, so I wasn't too keen on taking another full week off after my previous holiday. I also didn't want to extend my summer holiday to four weeks.

As such, the plan was to depart for Spain the day before the eclipse, Tuesday the 11th — my birthday. I rushed to Heathrow to catch a flight to Madrid at the end of the working day. Right from the bat this was going be a travel intensive trip.

Terminal 5, transits and things. I usually fly from Terminal 3 to Finland. The other Heathrow terminals remind me of that time I was at Heathrow when news came through that the Queen had died.

My flight to Madrid was an hour late on departure, so I had some time to kill. I picked up something to eat on the flight, read a book, arrived in Madrid well after midnight. Huge airport, shuttle train running in the middle of the night. I got a taxi from outside the terminal. Empty roads, road works, driver blasting through at great speed.

I stayed at Hotel Puerta América, a design hotel where a different famed architect was responsible for each floor. The security guard opened the door when I arrived after midnight. I had a room in the 11th floor. American sizing in the room, curious open design with an electrified drawdown curtain between bath-shower and bedroom. European touch: a can and a bidet. A bit noisy, next to a motorway, slept with plugs. In bed around 2AM.

WED 12

To Burgos

Great views over Madrid in the morning. A field of clay tennis courts right on the other side of the road. A rather underwhelming breakfast at the hotel, but many different kinds of charcuterie.

I had chosen the hotel due to its proximity to the Avenida de América avenue and the bus station nearby. I packed my things and walked some ten minutes to the station, with a good half an hour to spare for finding my bus. And I needed every minute. A very confusing bus station across three levels. I had a ticked to an ALSA bus, an irregular service of some kind, so there was little in terms of signage for it. Couldn't quite tell if "intercity" was for buses within one city, or across many cities. With five minutes to departure time, I spotted an info desk and got a platform number, 34. I found the platform and next door in bay 33 there was a bus with a "Burgos" sign on the windshield. The driver scanned my ticket and got a happy beep from the machine. I had the right bus. We embarked on time.

After Madrid's suburbs, we soon entered the region of Castile and Léon (Castilla y Léon). Great road infrastructure, wide multi-lane highways. Proper mountains North of Madrid. Giant black bull billboards. Great plains after the mountains. Round green shrubs in brown-yellow, pale earth. One hillside burnt dark grey, ashy spillover almost to the highway's edge. Not much else to report on the wildfires mentioned in the news across Europe. Giant windmills all along the valleys and ridges. Lots of industrial traffic.

Our bus driver, a middle-aged man with a doorman build, not only played 90s eurodance house music all along the route, but whistled on top! We arrived to Burgos a little behind schedule, around 2pm. We were delayed by maybe 20min on some traffic, possibly due to an accident. Wide lanes helped. Aggressive drivers on Burgos end. Charming old town Burgos with much narrower streets.

Relentless heat under the midday sun. I had booked a pricey room from the hotel "abba Burgos" on the way, and made my way there on foot as we arrived, passing the cathedral. At the hotel, I encountered some travel group in great matching eclipse adventure T-shirts, heading out on a bus later. After check-in I quickly headed out to find something to eat, and to slowly make my way to my eclipse watching spot. Some six hours to totality.

I found some postcards from a tourist shop near the cathedral. Poor image quality, I was hoping to customise them a bit, but didn't have the time in the end. Lots of tourists near the cathedral, maybe not unusual for the region in August. Not busy like Trafalgar Square, but still. Burgos is a major stop on the Camino de Santiago pilgrim route. I found the statue of El Cid, the town's most famous boy. 35 degrees said the nearby temperature display.

I stopped by a bakery, closing up for the day, picked up some nice stuffed croissant that were extremely messy to eat. The city quieted down significantly in the late afternoon away from tourists. I spotted multiple stores that sell nothing but fresh fruit and veg. Many independent stores had sign on the door saying they closed for eclipse viewing.

I made my way to the Mirador shopping centre near a major highway intersection. Quick refreshment there, Carrefour and some ice cream. Behind the shopping centre, I found a winding path up to the actual mirador, the lookout point that I had scouted weeks prior by way of Google Maps.

Eclipse

I arrived at the mirador 17:15 or so, a good two hours before first contact. There were a couple dozen people already there, with more trickling in. I quickly realized an umbrella-parasol would have been the way to go. Some folks were very well prepared with complex telephoto equipment all filtered up, camping chairs, tents, and more.

Worrisome haze in the horizon all around me. I first noticed it in the morning as we departed from Madrid. It might be just a normal summer heat effect, or perhaps something kicked up by the fires, but I was concerned it might blur or obscure the eclipse. Other than for the haze, the weather was perfect. Huge, clear skies all around. No sign of forest fires.

17:35. I put on a new layer of sun screen, tried to find some shade behind an info sign on top of the outlook. Trash and weather worn broken glass on the hill here and there. One group next to me was passing time playing cards. I sat in the awkward shade for a good while in something of a siesta, looking to conserve energy and water.

19:05. Approaching first contact. The crowds grew greater, a clear uptick in activity. I had to put even more sun screen on my face, as I was facing up to the sky frequently and my hat couldn't help much.

Memorable experience trying out my solar glasses for the first time: a perfect circle in the sky, surreal. A white fixed point in complete blackness. The solar glasses are really just a piece of solar filter material that aggressively cuts down on what light gets through. The only thing bright enough to pass is the Sun, although I did catch a reflection from some metallic surface in the distance through the glasses as well.

19:33. First contact. There it was, our Moon, out of nowhere. The Moon is not visible in the sky at all, when it's this close to the Sun. This makes the eclipse event even more spectacular: the occlusion comes from nowhere. But there it was, exactly on time, arriving from the lower right hand side. The solar glasses showed it taking a bite off the edge of the Sun's circle. The evening started to cool down a bit, the shaded side of the hill already coming down from the day's maximum.

20:03. Half-way through to second touch. The Sun made a PacMan shape. The air was clearly cooler even on the sunny side of the hill. Could be regular evening cooling as well, hard to be certain. Lots of solar glasses around now, one guy got a spare from fellow travellers: it pays to be sociable. I noticed slight floaters in the periphery of my vision, nothing too alarming, I occasionally have floaters, but given the activity, I was somehow more aware of them. I tried to be very careful with eye protection all the way through.

Cigarette smoke in the air, some weed, too. The crowds out in full, camping chairs all set up. Extremely spiky bramble type little shrubs on the hillside. The cemetery down in the valley looked peaceful. Curiously raised coffin style grave monuments in regular rows. The extension of the cemetery area barren, but lined with grand cypress trees and paved pathways.

The sun was a bit higher than I expected, which was good news: no need to be so high up, as long as the view West is clear. Music blaring, viewing parties in full swing. I realised the weed folks were the group right next to me. The overall vibe was as if the Sun was setting, not really out of the ordinary. I felt the sunny day on my lips, I was thirsty, and my butt had had enough of sitting on hillside gravel and them brambles. My neighbours had a sound alarm saying we were approaching totality.

20:15. A clear crescent: shiny, familiar Moon shape made by the Sun in the absolute blackness of the solar filter. "Feels like a sunset" from someone in the group behind me - it really did. A bright reflection through the solar glasses in the cemetery below, maybe a water feature? Drunken gaggle from a group down-hill, youths.

10 minutes to totality. Slightly cooler again, a breeze, feeling of the evening coming to a close, anticipation. Summer haze still everywhere around me, eery sight of dozens of windmills holding still in the distance. Sunset vibe getting stronger, it's been a long day: feels appropriate to the brain. I'm thirsty, I'm saving my very last bit of water. I could use the bathroom as well. Heat of the day is gone, face feels dry. Cars pull over and park along the highway down in the valley. David sends a report of the UK's 90-percenter eclipse.

2 minutes to totality. Still cooling air, getting too dark for shades. I'm wearing my sunglasses and switching to my solars when checking the Sun. Neighbours' alarm gives a 90 sec warning.

60 seconds to totality, the Sun is a thin bright sliver on the end of the Moon. Definitely too dark for shades. Watching the Sun disappear in the complete blackness of the filter, I miss the approach, the Sun withdrawing from the landscape, the creeping dark. Still concerned for my eyes, and as if waiting for something, I hear the crowds gasp and begin to cheer and clap. One last glance via solars to be sure that it's safe, and I remove my glasses.

TOTALITY: And suddenly the Sun is gone and night has fallen, like straight up actual night. A surreal, scary pale fire circle in the sky, just hanging there like in a horror film, a grotesk thing, inside out, not quite beautiful. A flaming veil beyond the sphere's edge, the corona. I am overwhelmed, swept, awestruck. In the sudden darkness, my eyes are drawn to the lights atop the windmills, blinking in sync in the horizon.

I could not process what was going on. I was not ready for the main event. Maybe it was the anticipation, the heat-oppress'd brain, a release of something, I don't know, but I went full Stendhal. I was holding back tears at the strangeness and confusion and the spectacle of it all.

And as suddenly as it started, so it was soon over. The crowd cheered and clapped at the start and end of the totality, saluting the Sun God. A red curtain was drawn over the hills like a feed on fast-forward, and the hidden day was revealed again.

The most bewildering minute and a half of my life.

I was well stirred for a good half an hour afterwards. Hands almost shaking, I typed up my experience to report back to David, waxing lyrical about my experience. An unbelievable spectacle, I was completely awestruck.

A partial eclipse, even 90%, is basically an odd sunset. A total eclipse is something else entirely, a rip in reality, a visitor from another dimension. The Sun is inside out and mad and just hangs there corona billowing in a false night like a glitch in a video game.

The effect is much more in the horror genre for me, quite different from the natural beauty of a landscape, say. Powerful, awesome and humbling. The eclipse is in some ways similar to a raging ocean. I didn't feel particularly small, though, it was just a different quality of experience, like I was a passenger in my own experience. I was simply not in control of what was happening in my reality, to an extreme degree. My mind was not able to handle what was going on, I was saturated by the experience. Like with a raging ocean swell, I was just holding on. I was somehow taken by surprise by events that I knew were going to happen.

"All shall love me and despair." — this feeling of abstract despair right at the beginning, when totality hit, is what I remember most vividly.

The Moon moved away little by little, allowing the Sun to reboot the day. The Sun climbed curiously back to the daily show, had a few moments of regular action, and then resolved into a gorgeous red sunset all blurred out by the ambient haze. The totality itself took place just above the bulk of the haze, perfectly placed for viewing.

Final threads of the day. The Moon still obscured parts of the setting Sun, or maybe it was an illusion. The solar filter was far too strong for the sunset.

It was busy on the hill during totality, maybe a couple hundred people, other nearby ridges well in use as well. Many stayed for the sunset, though certainly not all. The heat of the day did not really return, things stayed relatively cool in the evening. Eventually my thirst got the better of me and I had to head back out.

I had a quick breather at the Mirador shopping centre and then walked back to Burgos old town and the hotel. Slowly climbing down from literal and figurative heights as the evening fell, I ruminated on the nature of nature and what it means to experience and be moved by something you have witnessed.

The Sun is the beginning and the end. Why move on to other gods?

Maybe my experience was amplified by dehydration and sweat and secondhand weed smoke and sun screen in my eyes, and worry about ruining one's vision, tiredness from the climb and the journey, worry about crowds, a release of the planning mind, the climax of months of journey processing, etc. Doesn't matter: I was there, I know what I felt.

It was everything people said it would be. All the things people tried to describe, happened. And still the spectacle swept me. A total solar eclipse is mandatory viewing for all. I hope there's a great VR experience for those who can't travel to see one.

I stopped at pizzeria Tombola in the old town on the way back, the house special was fantastic. Small pizza boutique, the place was packed with a lengthy queue at 10:30pm, likely one of the busiest days in the history of the pizzeria.

I planned my next steps for the trip late into the night. Logistics were not on my side, but I still decided to push for French Riviera via Andorra, by land. A stop at Aix-en-Provence if possible. Doable in the days I have, if not for the post-eclipse transport mayhem.

I tried to find some kind of transportation out of Burgos. The best option I could find was a five hour late morning bus to Zaragoza. 😬

THU 13

To Zaragoza

A rushed breakfast at the hotel, another underwhelming one. Ceuta and relations with Morocco in the news. Overnight saw some online reports of the weather blocking the eclipse in parts of Spain, too, not far from where I was stationed. I was very lucky.

I quickly wrote up some postcards for Finland, rushed my things together, checked out from my overpriced room and rushed to the bus station. I had spotted the bright yellow mailbox-Dalek on arrival. I just made it to the bus, but had to immediately change my fresh shirt: poor planning there. We departed roughly on time, at 10:30.

Bus headed East, towards the Sun, past the fields and rural towns. Not quite full but, but a profitable run certainly. Magnificent mountains to the South, on our right, the Sierra de Cebollera natural park. Undulating hills of golden yellow and pale earthy colours, the land looking unafraid of the relentless Sun. One stretch of field already cut and waiting in neat rows to be processed.

Suddenly some dense forest as well, short trees and undergrowth. Leafy things and needled ones, too. And denser still, full on machete country, no visibility. Hillside road, into the valley. More eerily still huge windmills having a meeting on the ridge.

Green covered hills everywhere. Splotches of farmed land deep in the valley. Narrow roads, traffic standstill at a small town. Beautifully ruined buildings reclaimed by nature. The bus pulled to a stop and we picked up a passenger - it wasn't a direct bus after all.

Sunflower fields. Caves up in the limestone hills, as high up as a full apartment building is tall. The cave shrine of Tosantos on the Camino de Santiago. Home of a medieval hermit who helped the pilgrims back in the day. Tiny one-lane bridge over a stream. Affluent small town, good infrastructure. An elementary school, a class of excited kids out in the paved playground court, the teacher about to begin some game under the mid-day sun.

A flag of Colombia proudly on display by the road. Farmed land on the left, to our North, rising high up a pointed hill reaching over a thousand meters from sea level.

Halfway through to the city of Logroño. Man behind me, a black man with a melancholy, weathered face and the air of a farm worker, asks me in blurry Spanish if we are there yet. I don't fully understand the question, but people around me have the answer — some ways to go, still. A young man steps off, having ridden maybe 10 minutes: the bus as the life line of the region. A substantial bridge overhead, connecting to fields and to roads seemingly going nowhere. There's a highway effort underway nearby.

A small bus stop in the middle of nowhere with a bright yellow, comically rounded roof for a sun shade. A small town in the distance, tall steeples as prominent features. A group of bubbly teenagers climb aboard. Bus is filling up.

We pass closer to the tall, narrow chimneys on the edges of the town. Some chimneys were busy pushing smoke last night during the eclipse watch. Crafts industry, maybe, or food? Hams being smoked?

Sharp turn right, South, a detour deeper into the town. Santo Domingo, a pilgrim town? Teenagers on Duolingo, the chimes ringing in the gently bouncing bus. A small brick&stone shop on a side street in the town, proudly featuring a hotmail.com address on a sign. Proper streets, a city, bus weaving deep into the city centre. Many depart, including teenagers, some climb aboard. An older gentleman sits next to me. Eclipse posters on the side of the bus station. A young man towards the front of the bus connects an overhead wire: I hadn't noticed before that there are USB-A charging ports above the seats. Handy.

Back to the highway. These stops and detours add perhaps an hour to the overall journey. The road climbs the edge of a hill, offering great views to the South, more undulating hills full of a colourful pattern of things growing in neat rows. Rioja wine shrubs, the Internet informs me.

A mountain to the South with a great cross on top. Narrow, narrow roads in an old, old pilgrim town, driver carefully navigating. A well-maintained town, a bridge across a river running very low, barely there. Ciudad de Najera. I realise the ubiquitous "salon de juego", gaming hall, turns out to be a generic gambling establishment sign. Old local man with a proud mustache on a walkabout in town, shuffling along, using a walking stick to prop up a shopping back on his shoulder like a traveller of yore. A two-storey building on the edge of town, or rather one storey and another either going up or down, steel rebar poking up from concrete pillars like whiskers.

Overpass-roundabout, heavy highway infrastructure not seeing that much use. Towards Logroño again. Proper mountain ranges to the North and South. Unusual peak to the North, shaped a bit like a sphinx. Another detour to a town. A telemarketing call from the UK lands, a second this morning. Can't quite make out what is on offer.

A group of travellers on four motorcycles. Couples. One back-seater tapping her phone. More overpass roundabouts over the highway. We pull into Logroño, a larger settlement, around 12:40. They sure like a roundabout over where. Grand bus terminal. Many departures, many boarding as well. Change of driver? Young crowd outside, students?

Long interchange, on the road again at 12:53. East-Southeast towards Zaragoza. A young man who rushed to board the bus struggles with cables trying to charge his phone. The ports around seem to be busted. I suggest the port next to the one I'm using and he agrees to temporarily swap cables: I charge with his short cable while my longer cable reaches him in the next row.

Beautiful crumbling buildings by the road, brown and dirty orange, sandy white. Smaller road, scenic route alongside the wider highway. We'll be making stops in the towns again.

Predator birds circling in the warm air currents. Pretty sure I saw vultures yesterday. A solar farm, panels facing East, following the Sun. A huge treeless field, enormous sea of straw yellow. A group of windmills on a hilltop at some distance — I first identified them as crosses, of which there have been several on top of the mountains. Markers for pilgrims, perhaps. A roundabout in the middle of nowhere, with little traffic to show for it. Charming town mostly on a hill, Ausejo. We climb one of the hills and have a great view down to the valley to the Northeast.

Massive earthworks on the side of the road, channels drawn in the bank, covered with interleaved concrete elements to form orderly chutes for downfall, presumably. A fairly steep angle. Onto the narrow streets of another pilgrim town.

A pool on the edge of a settlement, fenced off, but with crowds around it enjoying. Nice and comfortable in the bus, AC on top form, not noticeable. Outside is 35C says the bus display up front.

Another solar farm, perfectly aligned to the Sun on sturdy pillars. Can't tell if able to follow the sun, probably. A substantial power station next to it with bulky transformers. And immediately after, a wind farm with two dozen smallish mills in neat rows. One of three arms in each painted black, maybe a visual warning to birds. Then a huge greenhouse operation. Mixed crop agriculture and green energy — nice going, Spain.

Another detour into the town of Calahorra. A prominent water tower. A grand retirement home in classic Spanish style of square base towers, a big cross on top, like a small cathedral or convent. Many come aboard from the town. 13:45 on the move again. 37C out. Well-maintained grand underpass roundabout with trees and grass. Bus almost full now.

A train track appears. Small city of Alfaro, bus station next to Plaza de Toros, a bull ring.

Windmill blades piled in neat supported stacks by the road, ready to be installed. The bus guns it down the slopes of the hills, maybe trying to catch time. I decided to book a connecting bus to Lleida on the way. I'm hoping that a scheduled exchange of 30min is enough even if this bus is delayed and I have to roam around confused at the station. Ears popping between uphill and downhill. And, of course, right on cue — some traffic on the way, construction rerouting.

A detour towards Tudela, why not. 14:35, 38C. Another swimming pool complex, with grilling infrastructure in one corner, a gentleman tending the fire. A small, but grand residential building at the end of a street, a fountain behind a barred gate. Another bus station, another bull ring.

An underused lot by the street, old side buildings, roof caved in and claimed by nature. Still beautiful. The whole city showing off it's summer dress. Final stop before Zaragoza? 14:45, 38C. Going to be very close, still an hour's drive.

A sea of windmills West of Zaragoza, with Siemens on the generator cover. Relatively smooth riding towards Zaragoza. Folks tucking into their travel sandwiches. A teenager takes a bite, clears crumbs from her shirt for a minute, takes another bite, clears crumbs for another minute, ... Tiny solar farm, amongst the windmills, one of the panel stands too tired to turn towards the sun. Many dozens of windmills all around, maybe a hundred or more.

I see some human-made looking lagoons and waterways. Checking the map I see hundreds of little offshoots from river Ebro flowing into Zaragoza.

15:15, still half an hour outside Zaragoza - we are officially late. Large warehouses all around, industrial development. A big city ahead.

Agreda Automobile, I'm thinking the bus I'm aiming for is a special hire, not a regular thing. 15:28, still 10min away. 39C. Huge highway infrastructure on the approach. Train track makes another appearance. If it weren't for the eclipse crowds, I'd probably be on a train.

We arrive at the station 15:40. I catch from a drivers' display on the way in that there's a bus for "Lérida" at 15:45 from bay 28. I venture a guess that Lérida is the same as Lleida (It is: Lleida is Catalan, Lérida is the traditional Spanish Castilian name.) and rush from the bus, sprinting a few bus lengths to the bus in bay 28, presenting my ticket. The driver, an older lady, gives me and my poor manners a highly unimpressed look. She has no English, or doesn't want to use it, but glancing at my ticket signals me in.

To Lleida/Lérida

There is no WC in this bus. After five hours in the previous bus and a refreshing sprint, back into the chair for maybe another two. This bus is only a third full, feels unofficial, though the young men on board seem like regulars. Big city: more diverse crowds in the streets, too.

Zaragoza, viewed in passing, is indeed a big city. 700k population. Spectacle architecture, a cathedral, by the river Ebro we cross on the way to the North side of the city. A vast park and an equally vast American style multi-lane highway. Tall, ornate standalone chimneys, wide as a house at the base.

Empty square lot with nothing, but a crane standing smack in the middle of it. A billboard on a siding shows the apartment building that will appear. The train track comes about again, we go under it. Outside the city ring road now, due East, by way of a handful of roundabouts. Charger ports around me are busted.

We stop at a station, probably to let passengers use the toilets: the driver calls out, but nobody responds. I understand the call, and I would need to go soon enough, but I decide to try my luck. We continue.

Abandoned building, gracefully reclaimed by the landscape. Car marts for auto parts. A few fanciful apartment buildings, almost Gaudí-esque organic things jutting out of the side of the building, creating shaded little gardens on the ground floor.

Another black bull billboard atop a hill. Ruined civil war fortification with a chapel on the hill, a small town below. Alfajarin. Hills, bare and treeless, somewhat unusual compared to those I've seen previously.

En route to Lleida (Lérida). Beautiful buildings, little mansionettes, a gated neighbourhood with walls around private yards.

The river Ebro comes close to the road to say goodbye before turning South, away from our route. We continue East, the Sun now to our right and well on its way behind us. 16:33, no temperature reading available on this bus. Mid-thirties outside, pleasant enough inside.

Climbing up and down some hills now, splendid views over the valley to the South. We stop in the middle of nowhere and pick up a passenger. Small ruin next to a high tech office building, in the middle of nowhere. We continue along on a small road instead of crossing over to make use of the highway. 16:45, and hour and change to go.

Vast, near treeless plains now. Mobile signal falls for the first time on this trip. I bite the bullet and book a bus from Lleida to Andorra la Vella, 19:45. Might we make it? With almost two hours of buffer? We drop someone off in a small, grey concrete town, Bujalaroz, and continue towards Lleida.

A field full of crops, as tall as a man. Not sure about the crop, maize-like greenery, maybe a fuel plant. Extensive sprinkler system. Old river bend, almost fully dried up, but growing green. On time for a 6pm arrival to Lleida. Probably is maize.

Gorgeous old motorbike with a sidecar passes us by at an intersection. Not fully occupied. Heading towards Zaragoza. We escape small roads for a moment.

Curious sprinkler system for irrigation: a very long arm on wheels, a fixed point on one end, arranged in semicircle patterns on the hilltop? A small town preparing for or packing away a small festival. A group, perhaps a family, struggling with an oversized rolled-up tarp, trying to get it in or out of a small trailer. A platform and some seating and rows of fairy lights.

Now on top of a plateau. Sandy, flat vista, savannah like, with other similar plateaus in the distance. Excellent road again, infra in good keep. A ruined fortification.

Strange soil: sandy, almost deserted grounds, light brown sunburnt highlights, pale shrubs, and suddenly some golden wheat. Abandoned gas station with an abandoned car all graffiti'ed up. Like a scene from a film or a game. Vast plains as far as the eye can see. Approaching the edge of the plateau, we head down on an 8% incline. Ears popping again. Stone sheds and other buildings here and there. My mind is on the civil war. A relatively grand multi-story building on the highest peak nearby, San Simon. A tunnel.

A curious valley, a river at the base of it, the Cinca. Soon we leave behind Aragon region, entering Catalonia. A tile-making factory, earthworks. Industrial heartlands. A steel fabrication store with a large-scale artwork, a steel monument in the corner of the yard. A construction consulting shop with oversized solar panels all over the roof, installed at awkward angles. But what La Liga side might these Catalonian kids support? Proper fruit bearing trees by the side of the road.

In the city now, Lleida. Beautiful boulevards on both sides of a river, Rio Ségre. Beautiful statue of some rebel leaders of old. We arrive to Lleida a few minutes after 6pm, roughly on schedule. Proper city, strong Barcelona vibes in the commercial centre. Discount Barcelona. Grand combined station for bus and train. 39C.

Station bathroom is a public good and not in great shape. Bring your own toilet roll kind of setup. I have time to kill, so I stroll around the station and nearby area. Lots of idling going on about the station, loose groupings of men sitting in the shade. I consider a restaurant, but opt for a small market by the road. Can't find much that I'm keen to eat, but an ice cream sandwich is a good fit for the weather.

Back to the station. A display on the wall shows departing buses. Andorra la Vella is not there. One bus is mentioned at the right departure time, it's headed for Farga de Moles, under an ALSA logo. Turns out this is the last town on the Spanish side before Andorra. Directionally correct.

FdM bus wasn't where indicated. I asked an ALSA bus driver at the designated platform, and he schooled me on bus etiquette, indicating at the paper signs placed in the windscreen of each bus. High tech. I walked back to the station proper and approached a guy at the info desk: he had good info. Platform 13 on the far end of the station. A bus connection scheduled to depart at 19:45 showed as departing at 8pm on the display.

A modern 20-seater minibus in Andorra plates appeared at 19:45. The driver immediately hoofed towards the station for a bathroom break. Waiting, I wolfed down my supermarket salad. On return the driver accepted my ticket. The four of us travellers climbed on board, and we departed at five to the hour. I hope no-one was waiting to get in. But maybe this is all just cunning scheduling. Dimmed windows in the minibus added texture to the sunset. And the phone charger worked, too.

The driver guns it. We are flying towards Andorra. A good two hour drive still. Aiming head on at the Pyrenees now. Right there on the horizon, can't miss 'em. Nice ceramics factory. A small plane flies right over us. A series of wooden stacks by the road, a beekeeper's spread. The Castle of Montsonis, a grand settlement on the hillside, strategic placement at the turn where the valley opens up. Serra del Montsec nature reserve in the distance. Aiguabarreig Segre-Noguera Pallaresa national park, a gorgeous valley. I catch myself hoping the heavy-footed driver doesn't bring us down one of these cliffs.

A cut in the hills to flatten the way, brown sandstone type material mined at a steep offset angle to the road. The angle probably helps stabilise the cliff. Some bounces baked in to a very long straight stretch of road: these don't do much to slow down our driver. Twilight, soon dark, which at this speed proves interesting. A brief tunnel and another grand view of a lake on the other side of it, Pantà de Rialb. Bassella. Cypress-lined narrow rest stop by the road overlooking the water. Motorist heaven. A mountain bowl and an affluent river valley inside.

Picturesque small town of Oliana. Amazing natural park mountains around it. A climbers' cliff. An even greater lake at the next opening. A series of tunnels at the foot of majestic mountains just as daylight fades away completely. Long tunnel, hundreds of meters.

Lone lights in the darkness of the valleys. At 21:45 we cross the border to Andorra. There's a substantial police presence at the entrance, cars and a dozen uniformed folks, but our minibus in Andorra plates barely slows down. I shared my passport info when booking the ticket, but nobody checks my papers.

Andorra

My UK mobile operator Three welcomes me to Andorra with a whole new deal, which isn't all that great compared to the one I had on the Spanish side. A rugged looking man my age, probably a local, asks to be dropped off before the station, the driver obliges. Good infra all around. We pass a football pitch where a game is on at 10PM. A car haven, this place. A sizeable bus station. An item in a nearby trash bin catches my eye: a leather handbag. I don't investigate.

Curious place, Andorra central park. A canyon hideaway for the somewhat affluent. Some night life, restaurants, hotels, shops. A river runs through, giving shape to the rest of the settlement. Man-made banks the length of the city, the river runs shallow, fast, a bubbling stream. Houses and settlements in terraces on the mountain, winding roads. River walkways on both sides, joining up with the park. An elaborate roof scaffold for a medium scale festival building going up or coming down. A DJ at a restaurant terrace, folks outside, older, younger, everyone at ease. The city is definitely cooler than the baking Spanish towns.

Check in at a hotel near the central park, a quick late night meal from Asian youth culture themed Smash Burgers. Gelaterias are quite busy at 11pm. I head back along the river, on the South side. Someone's put a red star in the sky. It is dark enough that the mountain cocoon isn't visible at all, and so the cliff marker just floats there in empty space high above the city.

I'd spotted a nice late night venue in the middle of the park, La Petite Forêt; the little forest, in the little park. Atmospheric in the evening, colourful and full of textures. Maximalist. Foliage in the ceiling, bold colours and dark spicy vibes all around. Upscale: I'm underdressed in shorts, sneaks and travel-worn T-shirt. A group of four stare me down as I enter. Place isn't busy. Kind waitress is sympathetic to my dessert quest and I get to sit down and very much enjoy my late night treats. The park's ducks quacking in the night.

FRI 14

To Toulouse

Andorra la Vella, the "old" or "city of" Andorra, depending on your preferred etymology. Andorra la Bella, goes the popular variation, the city beautiful. Nothing about the city-country feels particularly beautiful in the old manner.

My hotel, Mercure, is serviceable but gloomy, feels more dated than aged. Still a somewhat lacking breakfast. I try the Linden tea, a Spanish specialty, a floral herbal tea like chamomile.

Andorra looks even more compact in daylight. The walls of the valley are high up indeed. I head out for a stroll: the famed Dalí sculpture, a little drab. A brief tour of the commercial streets: usual high end shops plus decent food courts and the like. Lots of pharmacies and hairdressers and beauty things. A huge parking lot next to the park, full on a Friday morning. I pass on the duty free alcohol and cigarettes. Food is cheap, but, say, technology isn't really. They don't make many things here in Andorra, there isn't anything local to go for. There's branded cycling gear available at the tourist info. Puzzle store has nothing Andorra themed. Folks out in the streets already, groups brunching with their dogs. Distinctive ".ad" domain names feature in local advertising.

Warm, not hot in the morning sun. City feels comfortable, relaxed, somewhat affluent. Could be interesting if the city wasn't dominated by motorists. I suddenly draw parallels to Switzerland and Geneva. Andorra is like an insular, compressed Geneva in a deep valley. Ski resort town vibe, as well. I hear there's a nice spa in the area. Not much French going on: Spanish, Catalan mainly.

"Andorra Olympic committee" says the building next to the surprisingly shabby bus station building. Somewhat more effective signage here. Another minibus for us heading for Toulouse, some 20 of us. "No food in the car", the driver says multiple times. A father says farewell to his teenage son, hugging him while he's already seated and strapped in — not cool. I notice the public artworks near the museum just as we depart.

Construction cranes high up on the sides of the mountain. Cyclists in full kit riding on the narrow outer edge of the road. A funicular. Ski slopes, with elevators, in summer fallow.

Power transmission lines boldy leaping across the ridge of the mountain, only to then make a long-hanging stretch across the valley. White and red baubles signalling the boundaries. The cliffs are humbling in their steepness, almost vertical next to the road. Heavy duty metal mesh nets for catching rockfall.

Picturesque town, great infra, ski resort energy. Robust-looking stone buildings. A checkpoint before a tunnel, just before the French border. A long tunnel, we spend a good while in there. Still on the Andorran side, busy border town of El Pas de la Casa. Just before French border, driver exits with our passenger list. We pick up an extra passenger.

On the French side, a customs bureau under construction. Wonderful views of the Pyrenees. We follow the edge of the mountains, slowly descending from our high altitude. Ears popping. Tall road markers on both sides, presumably for the nights and winter conditions. Perilous sharp turns, even crazy local drivers slow down. Three welcomes me to France via BYTEL. Cows in small groups halfway up the mountain side, which admittedly looks more climbable than the Andorran bowl. More power lines criss-crossing the valley. Needle turns on the road. A makeshift parking lot in one of the eyes.

Suddenly, shade from leafy trees. We have come low enough to have proper foliage. Some motorists; it's a beautiful day to wind up the mountain. We coast downhill. A railway track appears. Mobile cell station half-way up the mountain on the other side of the valley. A local woman in a worn T-shirt doing the climb on a regular bicycle. Four-lane highway begins. Quite a bit of traffic both ways.

We pass by Vallée d'Ax, Ax-les-Thermes, a thermal spa site. More settlements. A roadside picnic, roadside fruit market. Busy road, many going towards Andorra, or past it towards Barcelona. Complex cave systems, grottos, in this area. We pass close to one situated high up the mountain. A sizeable building site next to a train station, Ussat les Bains.

I doze off for a moment, and when I wake, we have left the Pyrenees range behind us. A toll gate over a four lane highway. Flat stretch of land, great farmland here. Windmills.

We arrive to Toulouse airport at 3pm, ahead of schedule. Poney Club, a curious mini-festival at the airport parking lot. It is warm, 36C. Many depart from our bus.

French railway having some trouble — or perhaps causing some trouble. The train I was aiming for is cancelled. I book a pair of tickets from different operators to try and get to Marseille via Narbonne. Dog carriage for the second leg? 15:10 we are back on the road for Toulouse's main railway station, Gare Matabiau.

Gorgeous canals on approach to the city centre. Wide canal boats retrofitted as event venues. Sides of the canal lanscaped to leafy green. We follow the canals and travel radially around the city centre. Many trees, varied buildings, some quality urban infrastructure. An elegant city. Last minute traffic jam due to construction. An older gentleman on a bicycle causing traffic mayhem riding across the construction site. We arrive to our station destination at 15:30.

To Aix

Station toilets at Matabiau have a dedicated operator-cleaner, a euro's charge gains access. They also have some products on sale for those in need. Gate is effective, I pay contactless and use the facilities. Nice way to solve the problem, though charging is always a constraint for some with genuine need.

An older man plays an intense piece on the station piano. There's an ad on the wall for a Ravel festival, but I can't say the piece is Ravel. It's on the modern end, sure. Station's private security in bright orange shirts, a gathering in busy departure hall. Two policemen pass by, one of them armed to the teeth carrying an automatic firearm. Old man finishes his piece, gets applause. At a glance, the piano is not in great shape, but the old man got a decent sound out of it. A young man steps up to play Chopin's "Revolutionary". Flubs it. Amazing.

Station is very busy, lots of young folks here and there. Lots of folks with what seems like hiking gear. Festival crowd? Station assistant in a reflective vest keeping company for a little girl. Train for Narbonne is a short local one, the three carriages fill up quickly. Folks get creative with their luggage storage.

We depart on time, 16:15. French countryside, not all that much to see. We pass Castelnaudary at 5pm. Train quiets down to a whisper, save for a baby, and runs at great speed through the boardgame lands towards Carcassonne. The colours in the countryside remind me of paintings of this area. Shades of green and dark in the foliage. Iconic buildings, that orange tile roof at a particular angle, and the earthen grey finish. Hello again Pyrenees, to the South. A superbly appointed château, vineyards all around it. We arrive on time to Narbonne, 17:53.

Small station busy with people. A small woman with a giant suitcase, I help her with her luggage. Sweltering heat, still, scant shade in the open this late in the day. Train to Marseille arrives, it's a Renfe service, high speed AVE all the way from Madrid. Smooth, quiet ride. Arrives ahead of time to Montpellier, 19:45. I realise that there's a shuttle service from Aix-en-Provence TGV, so I should be able to get to Aix tonight. Just alight before Marseille (21:14) and go.

We pass by Nîmes, home of denim, "serge de Nîmes". Then Avignon, on the Rhône. A gentleman with one shoe, reeking of cigarettes, climbs aboard. Darkness falls before Aix-en-Provence TGV station. No ticket control at any point, on this train or the previous one.

Rushing through the TGV station at "Aix", I catch the first shuttle bus towards city centre. I follow the lead of the person in front of me and tap contactless for the payment. I just might have time to have something to eat at Aix.

Bus pulls in to the station just before 11pm, I rush to La Mer, and have an excellent late seafood dinner. I misjudge the size of the city and the distances, and slowly make my way from the old town to my shabby hotel West off city centre. I pass by a complicated harness-trampoline setup where small kids can safely bounce around under parental control. It's busy with families at midnight, the slightly cooler time of the day.

SAT 15

Aix-en-Provence

I wake late, debating whether to head down for breakfast or not. The room is the worst so far, but the breakfast makes up for it. I feast on some pancakes and things, and round things off with a giant boat-shaped madeleine. I gather they are supposed to be smaller, but this citrus-y sponge cake is excellent and combined with a winning cup of tea I find myself in a good mood. Proust gives an approving nod from the next table.

I depart just before noon, checking out and leaving my bag with concierge. My first stop of the day is very close and I begin my Cézanne journey at the right place, Bastide du Jas de Bouffan. A bastide is a type of country house, and this one is where Paul Cézanne grew up with his parents and two sisters. The building is beautiful from the outside and bare and empty and old on the inside, but the curators have made a nice exhibit of it. I enter via the info-shop and grab the self-guided audio tour. There isn't that much to see, but the guide brings to life Cézanne's story. The expanded attic window, intended to let more light into Cézanne's studio, is an interesting detail on the façade.

The gardens are the highlight. The curators have placed prints in the garden to show where Cézanne painted some of his works. View from the front gate, lined by tall oaks on either side and a fountain in the distance, is superb to this day. I think about having a little bastide of my own one day.

The audio guide plays Debussy as an underlay, and so I play more Debussy from my phone on my headphones for the rest of the day.

I pick up a number of things from the gift shop. Cézanne is above average material for branded goods, I feel. But I'm biased, of course. I rush out to catch a nearby local bus to the atelier in the woods, L'Atelier des Lauves.

Given I was some ways away from city centre, figuring out the local transportation was a must. The bus system in Aix turned out to be very convenient, I get by with just contactless card payments. The lines criss-cross the city centre.

The atelier isn't particularly busy, but I am informed I have to wait an hour and a half to visit inside. I opt for the gardens instead and have a stroll. I do continue the audio guide I picked up at the Jas, which covers the studio as well. The inside will have to wait for another visit.

The guide material mentions that Cézanne often went to the top of the nearby hill to paint and I decide to follow suit. It's a decent trek in the early afternoon heat, but fairly soon I make it to what these days is called the Painter's Garden. And there it is, the iconic view of Cézanne's mountain, Mont Sainte-Victoire. I am chuffed to be there. I ask a fellow traveller to take my photo and reciprocate.

To Nice

Very pleased with the day, I decide to make one more stop before heading out. I grab another bus downtown, and make my way to Musée Grenet, the town's main gallery affair. There's a nice sculpture section, where a contemporary textile artist has had the opportunity to re-imagine some of the works. The combinations are tasteful and to the experience's advantage. The painting section is a far cry from what major museums have to offer, but has some local colour, of course. There's a nice temporary exhibition on The Beatles, explored through Paul McCartney's own photography and other documents exploring the Beatlemania in particular.

I head out and grab another bus to my hotel to grab my bag. I decide to head out towards Nice and book a long distance bus. There's one direct link that would work nicely timing wise, so I grab a quick Uber to reach the departure point in time — the local bus option would have been cutting it a little close. Our bus arrives and departs on time. It's headed for the airport, not Nice Old Town, but I reckon there should be connections available to all the coast destinations.

All the train options, going via Marseille, etc., looked a little sketchy, particularly as there is apparently some strike action afoot, so a direct bus works very well.

We get swiftly on our way, and are soon treated to fantastic views of Mt Saint Victoire from the South. We pass North of another grand mountain topped in white stone. Beautiful Provençal countryside in the evening sun. Uniform appearance in buildings: that same roof pattern and earthen wall colours everywhere. And those Cézanne greens again in the foliage. The bus says it's 35C outside and the AC is certainly working overtime.

We pass an old-timey Saint Tropez sign on the way. Maybe one day there for the luxe option. On approach to Cannes, a helicopter flies overhead. Directionally Nice airport to Saint Tropez seemed likely for the route.

Main route to Cannes, Le Cannet, was very busy, car-first even. We didn't reach into Cannes proper, continuing quickly towards Nice aeroport, around 20:10 or so. We soon passed Antibes to the East.

At this point we hadn't really seen the Mediterranean yet, but that changes soon enough. We arrive at Nice airport just in time for the sunset.

I rush to a local bus, one that runs infrequently even on a Saturday night. Rushing is a bit of a theme for this trip. The bus arrives and is absolutely rammed with people trying to get to the beach for the night. Standing room only, if that.

Eventually, we make it to Old Town. I alight with my bags, find my hotel. A middle-aged man is at the desk receiving instructions from a woman, maybe his first night shift about to begin. I check in, room is fine. I venture out to grab something to eat, find a simple Thai restaurant with seating outside and sit down to enjoy the meal and some people watching. All kinds of folks out and about, holiday-makers mostly, I estimate.

Back to the hotel. I wash up and change into my only clean shirt. I walk the edge of the beach West, passing the English promenade, the classic buildings. The sea is dark, featureless. Planes landing and departing from Nice airport easy to spot by their lights in the distance across the bay. I find a place to have a drink and catch my breath from the weeks' travelling. Madrid to Nice in four days, by land, with stops at Andorra and Aix-en-Provence — crazy plan.

SUN 16

Back to London

Tolerable breakfast at the hotel. I'd booked a late flight, so I leave my bag again and head out for a walkabout in Nice. I stop by Galeries Lafayette next door, the local Selfridge's.

I'd picked up an illustrated magazine from the station store at Narbonne, a collection of articles and a visual short story, in French of course. I enjoyed making my way through it with my phone as a dictionary, so I venture out to find something else to read.

I come across a magazine kiosk outside a park, with an older woman and man engaged in conversation while smoking. I hover around long enough that they wrap up their chat. The woman looks at me closely with an elegant expression, but becomes very friendly once I pick up a few magazines to purchase. I manage to make a bit of small talk with her in French.

I continu through the Old Town and busy narrow streets full of tourists, all the way to the beach. Noon, beach is in good occupancy, lots of folks whizzing by on the cycling lane on the side of the promenade. I sit down in partial shade to watch the sea. It's a pebble beach, not a sandy one; water shoes needed for swim swim. I get up and walk along the promenade, banking into the market behind the main road. A statue of Jacques Chirac. A plaque dedicating the street after the United States.

Back at the hotel, I grabbed my bag and rebalanced things one last time, and headed to the airport. Google suggested using the tram, which happened to go underground near where I was. I decided to give the tram a go. An older lady with a full paper bag loses her balance in the carriage, and her bag rips open, spilling the groceries. I swiftly offer her a plastic bag from the side pocket of my own bag, and she accept gratefully. Not long after, an older man makes a huge fuss about climbing aboard the tram, holding the door and slowly moving in a bunch of plastic bags before finally entering himself and letting the door close.

I arrive early at Nice airport, well in advance of my late afternoon flight, but I have lots of things to read with me. I check in my bag and head for departures. I noticed there's a helicopter terminal right after the security check. Later on I hear a vaguely familiar voice and turn my head to spot Björn Wahlroos, a Finnish businessman of some renown - he's probably not flying coach.

I was hoping to have the evening to myself before heading back to work the following day, but no such luck. My flight is delayed by a couple of hours, one of two delayed London-bound flights departing that afternoon. A very popular route, just a two-hour flight. Eventually we get on our way and land soon enough at London City airport.

Nice and warmish in London, too. Not quite French Riviera, but I'm happy to be home.