The rain has a rhythm here that I'm starting to know. It comes in from the west, taps the plane trees along the Paseo, then moves off towards the Peña Montañesa and leaves the cobbles steaming. I woke up at seven, listened to it drumming on the roof of the apartment, and almost rolled over. But I've got a plan to make, and rain is exactly the right weather for it.
See, I've been in Aínsa four days now. I've walked the Plaza Mayor under the arcades, I've sorted my padrón, I've stood in the Eco Museo thinking about bearded vultures. But the real reason I came to this corner of Aragón is up there, west of town: the Ordesa y Monte Perdido National Park. And the forecast for tomorrow, finally, is clear. So today, between showers, I'm doing the serious business of planning the big hike.
First, coffee. There's a place I've been meaning to try: La KoffeeCleta, a specialty coffee shop that also does bike hire. It's on the edge of the new town, near the bridges. I ordered a flat white and a slice of the local almond cake, and sat by the window watching the Ara river go from green to grey and back again. That coffee cost about three euros fifty, and the cake two euros. Not bad for a slow morning with a view of the mountains.
Now, the plan for Ordesa. The park is one of the great set-pieces of the Pyrenees, a huge glacial valley carved out under Monte Perdido, which at over three thousand metres is one of the highest peaks in the range. It's Spain's second-oldest national park, set up in 1918. But here's the thing: you can't just drive your car into the valley. There's a road, but in summer it's restricted, and the sensible way to do it is to leave the car at Torla, the village at the park entrance, and take the shuttle bus in. I've been told the shuttle runs from about 7.30 in the morning, right through the day, and costs around seven or eight euros return. It drops you at the Pradera de Ordesa, the flat meadow at the head of the valley, and that's where the trails start.
The classic route from the Pradera is the Faja de las Flores, a high path that clings to the side of the valley and gives you views down to the waterfall at the Circo de Soaso. It's a long day, about twenty kilometres and a serious amount of up and down, and it ends back at the Pradera. I've read that in late August the trail is clear, though you need to be careful with your footing. The other big option is the walk up to the Cola de Caballo, the horsetail waterfall, which is a shorter, more family-friendly affair along the valley bottom. I think I'm going to do the Faja de las Flores. I want the views from the top.
But here's the twist. I've also been reading about the other side of the park, the Ordesa canyon that takes you up over the mountains into the Pineta valley, past Monte Perdido itself. That's a multi-day traverse, and it involves staying in refuges. The Refugio de Góriz is the famous one, a big stone hut right at the foot of the peak. It's basic, dormitories and a boot room, but it's a proper mountaineering base. In summer you need to book ahead, I'm told, because it's busy. I checked the website this morning. Bunk and dinner and breakfast comes to about forty euros a night. That's the whole thing: a bed, a hot meal, and a packed lunch for the next day. Compared to the hotels down here in Aínsa, which are running at seventy-five to a hundred euros a night for a double in high season, it's a bargain.
So I'm going to do it. Two days in the park, one night at Góriz, and the shuttle back down. I've been checking the trail conditions on the park's official site, and there are no closures, just the usual warnings about steep drops and changing weather. I've got my boots, my rain jacket, a map that I bought at the Geopark visitor centre in Aínsa for about eight euros, and I've downloaded the route onto my phone as a backup. I'll pack light: a change of socks, a headtorch, a water filter, and a bit of extra food in case. I'm told the refuges are well-run, but you don't want to be the one who didn't bring enough.
The rain has stopped again, so I decide to take a walk along the Corredor Verde, the green corridor that follows the Ara river. It's a lovely path, flat and easy, perfect for families. There are interpretation panels about the river and the birds, and I sit on a bench for a while, watching a grey heron fishing in the shallows. A father and his daughter pass by, and he's explaining how the river flooded the town in the 80s, and how the banks were rebuilt after that. It's one of those moments that makes me love this country: the way daily life is woven into the landscape, and the way people know their own history.
Lunch. I go back to the old town, up the steep cobbled street, and into Restaurante Sanchez, which has been a fixture here since forever. I've eaten there before, and I know the menu today features a seasonal option: artichokes with a local ham, then a slow-cooked lamb that falls apart. The whole thing, with a glass of the local Somontano wine and a coffee after, comes to about twenty-five euros. That's a proper lunch, not a tapas stop. And I sit for a while in the sobremesa, just letting the meal settle and watching the rain start again on the Plaza Mayor through the window.
The afternoon is spent in the museum of traditional trades, the Museo de Oficios y Artes Tradicionales, which is tucked into a stone house in the old town. I pay the three euros entrance and wander through rooms full of the tools of the old Pyrenean life: wicker baskets, shepherds' crooks, a blacksmith's anvil. There's a room that recreates a traditional kitchen, and another with a loom. It's a small museum, but it's a reminder that this place wasn't always a tourist town. For centuries, the people of Aínsa were shepherds and farmers, and the wealth of the valley was measured in wool and wheat, not in hotel bookings. The Expoferia in September, which I'm already looking forward to, still celebrates that: the livestock fair that brings the farmers down from the high pastures to trade and to show off their animals.
I think about this as I walk back to the apartment. The rain has washed the air clean, and the mountains, when they appear between the clouds, look sharp and close. I check my bank account on my phone. I've been tracking my spending carefully, and this slow day, with the coffee, the museum, the lunch, and the map, has come to about forty euros. The apartment is costing me around sixty euros a night, alone, which is the price you pay for a small, self-catering place in the centre of a village like this. If I were staying in a hostel, it would be more like forty-five, but I wanted the kitchen and the space for the week. It's a good reminder that living in a place like this, even short-term, isn't cheap, but it's not outrageous either. It's a matter of choices.
And now, the evening. I take a short drive out of town, up the road towards the port of the mountain, to a spot I've discovered where you can see the Peña Montañesa, the massive limestone wall that guards the valley, silhouetted against the last light. It's about twenty minutes away, and there are a few cars parked at the side of the road, passengers out with cameras. The clouds are breaking up, and the sun, low in the west, lights up the cliffs in gold. I sit on the bonnet of my car and just watch. I think about the bearded vultures that nest in these cliffs, and how the Ecomuseo's work has helped bring them back from the edge. It's a wild landscape, and I feel lucky to be in it.
Back in Aínsa, I have a simple dinner at a tapas bar in the new town, La Carrasca Tapas. I order a few pinchos: a Spanish omelette, a slice of tortilla, a skewer of lamb, and a glass of the local wine. It comes to about fifteen euros, and I sit at a table outside, under the cover, listening to the rain on the awning. The streets are quiet tonight, a Thursday, this late in August, the last week before the schools go back. A couple walks by with their dog, and the bar owner, an older man with a big moustache, is arguing good-naturedly with the cook about football. It's the kind of evening that makes you slow down.
I get back to the apartment around ten. I spread out my map on the table, and I trace the route I'll take tomorrow, from the Pradera de Ordesa up through the Faja de las Flores, down to the Cola de Caballo, and then up to Góriz. I write out a few notes for the trail: times, distances, the key junctions. I check the weather forecast one more time. Clear in the morning, cloud building in the afternoon, maybe a shower. The refuges take cash, so I pull out some euros. I put my boots by the door, ready.
Tomorrow, I'll be up before the sun. I've got my shuttle ticket booked, a place in the refuge reserved, and the map in my head. The rain outside has stopped, and the moon is out, bright over the Plaza Mayor. There's a stillness to this place after rain that I'm beginning to love. I find the sound of the river, constant and low, and I fall asleep to it, with the plan made and the promise of the mountains ahead.
That's all from Aínsa for today. Everything I've talked about, and where to sort it, is in the episode notes. Until the next one, take care.