No problema, it okay. No auto,” says the local guy, trying to be helpful and reassuring. I search for a smirk or snicker between him and his buddy, but there is none. He must be earnest.
Why wouldn’t he be? We’re in Xerta, a town on the River Ebre in Spain, following a Via Verde (rail trail) which has been rerouted through Xerta’s Plaza Major and old quarter streets to bring touring bicyclists and their wallets past its many cafes, shops and historic buildings.
We have arrived, unwittingly, during their Running of the Bulls Festival. We know this because we’ve cycled past numerous billboards announcing the event by picturing gargantuan, fiercely-muscled bulls with horns longer than Japanese Katana swords, massive heads caught mid-sweep attempting to impale the idiots running before them through narrow cobblestone streets.
Our route along a quiet side street is now blocked by a steel barricade with a “No hay entrada” sign attached, which needs no translation. No entry is no entry, except buddy is saying it’s all good, the sign is to keep cars out, and we should just pedal past it into Xerta’s city centre.
Is this part of the bull-running course, are cars prohibited so the bulls don’t crash into them, will we be trampled or impaled first? Are we being set-up to become part of Xerta’s bull-running folklore?
My wife and I pedal past the sign anyway, hearts in our mouths and on full alert.
We arrive un-gored at the packed central plaza surrounded by people and grandstands. There are kids, aged maybe eight to 14 years old, everywhere, including on the platforms of flatbed trucks moving parade-like into the square. Behind strong wooden barricades are a dozen frightened and confused Holstein calves. We learn the terrified calves will be released in moments and the chosen kids will chase them through the streets.
We assumed a traditional running of the bulls would follow later in the festival. We didn’t remain to watch the kids and calves, and as we continued pedaling toward Tortosa and the Ebre River Delta, I silently hoped the real bulls would get a shot at the adults that organized the cruel calf-chasing event.
Tortosa is a working town of 33,000 people which has continually re-invented itself for centuries. Julius Caesar conquered its original Iberian residents and transformed Tortosa into a Roman municipiun or town. The Moors took over next, then the Spanish re-conquered the area. An effort by the Moors to regain control in 1149 was defeated largely by heroic local Iberian women who joined the fight. Tortosa rebuilt again after serious damage was inflicted during the Spanish Civil War of 1939 to become a regional agricultural and manufacturing force.
I silently hoped the real bulls would get a shot at the adults that organized the cruel calf-chasing event
The 350-square-kilometre Ebre Delta, the fourth largest on the Mediterranean, manages to combine a productive agricultural area, blossoming manufacturing base, and a wetland ecosystem of National Parks. Rice plantations, olive, orange and almond orchards are everywhere interspersed by wheat fields, all drained and/or irrigated continually to take advantage of the delta’s perfect growing climate. The rice and wheat are milled locally, and forest products from the nearby mountains are also locally processed.
Manufacturing in the area includes the world’s third-largest producer of pentaerythritol, a chemical used in the production of explosives, plastics, paints, appliances, and cosmetics, plus flame retardants and laxatives – a comical mixture for sure, but apparently hugely profitable. Since 2022, a European conglomerate named Kronospan has invested 600€ million Euros in an engineered wood-product based production facility in Tortosa.
The Ebre Delta also contains more than 1000 kilometres of cycle lanes and paths – an astonishing number. As we pedal through the delta—river and nature preserves to the left, farms of all varieties on the right, factories in the distance along the bench between mountains and sea, and ancient castles, cathedrals and infrastructure hundreds of years old behind us—it is impossible not to see the area as a microcosm of our collective future.
Prioritizing of natural ecosystems and wealth-production seem in balance at the moment, except that in reality the Ebre River dumps 2.2 billion microplastics into the sea each year, an amount still considered low-to-intermediate for a river of that volume. There are so many agricultural pesticides in the Ebre that its water is beyond processing for drinking.
Yet Tortosa is a community adjacent to Africa and the Middle East in which 19 percent are foreigners living in harmony, and the average age is just 43.4 years, both strong positives for the future. As itinerants, we can only cross our fingers and hope for the best for all.
Purchasing our bus tickets to Tarragona, a touristy port city an hour north toward Barcelona, brings a smile. On our seniors’ tickets we are identified as Jubilats (Catalon) and Jubilados (Spanish), both derived from the Latin word for rejoicing. What a wonderfully more positive identifier than “seniors”.
Our train passes Tarragona’s harbor, a surprisingly large, busy and multifaceted port for a city of 136,000. Container ships are off-loading at the end of the pier, regular ships and tankers dock closer to the shore, a huge harbor of recreational sailboats and cruisers is next to the beach, and tucked in between is an enclave of superyachts.
“Look,” I exclaimed in excitement, “I bet those are seized Russian oligarch’s boats.” A sharp elbow in the ribs from my wife was a quick and unspoken order to shut up.
The gate to the superyacht docks was open, so we entered. Walking past these behemoths was a stroll into a fantasy world. Gold and chrome polished a mile deep, swoopy lines and every conceivable communication antenna in the world, swimming pools and helicopter pads – there is simply nothing that defines “mine’s bigger than yours” so blatantly and ludicrously than a superyacht.
They were spectacular, and all flagged in jurisdictions like Bikini, Guyana, and Liberia. As stern-faced crew members watched us from the yachts, I eventually abandoned my search for the Valerie (now renamed Meridian A), a ship NBC News confirmed in 2022 was seized from Sergi Chemezov, chief of Russia’s ROSTEC, by Spain and impounded in Tarragona.
No matter how you go—backpacking, biking, by train or plane—the experiences and stories can be endless, and none will be about attractions that need a ticket to enter. The paths we explore, the people we meet, and the observations we make ensure travelling will always be an adventure.
Last in a series. Catch up from the beginning here.
