After so many kilometres and mountains, we returned to Berga. Dad went to the workshop, Uncle Joan cut his hair, and Grandma forbade me from the sofa. How hard it is being a hairy dog at home!
🇪🇸 The final stretch to Berga
The sun came out again after the fog, and we ended up walking along a Chinese wall… in Spain! Among sharp rocks, ghost towns and impossible paths, it was a day of pure doggy adventure.
Rain doesn't understand timetables or roads, but I do: I follow the scent of adventure. Among the mist, one of the most beautiful villages in the country and a road that leads nowhere, I discovered that sometimes that's the best thing.
Amidst spitting lama's, posing photographers and tunnels leading from France to Spain, Dad and I experienced a high day. Literally: more than two thousand metres of pure adventure and mountain humour.