Oooooh, heaven is a place on earth
There is no such thing as summer without Rodellar.
Rodellar. To some, it’s just a tiny town (population < 50… yes, you read that right) in the Sierra de Guara. To me, it’s a little slice of paradise.
I’ve been going every summer for six years (and counting), and whether I’m there for a weekend or three weeks, there’s just something about this place that hits different.
Rodellar is at the end of the road. The literal end of the road. As you drive for kilometers down the HU-341, across narrow bridges and through olive groves, you finally reach the town where this path dead-ends.
Apart from its 49 inhabitants, you’ll find two campgrounds, a hotel, some apartments, the Kalandraka refuge and restaurant, and a bar. That’s about it. But walk down towards the canyon in either direction and you’re immediately surrounded by rock as far as the eye can see.
Endless rock and crystalline pozas—natural swimming holes replenished by the Surgencia spring, from which clear crisp water flows and fills the rivers of the Barranco de Mascún. No matter how dry the season, you’ll see water gurgling out of the spring, and it’s fresh and clean enough to drink directly from the source.
But enough about the water. Ever since I first stepped foot in this town, it just seemed magical to me. Which doesn’t make much sense once you hear about how my first trip to Rodellar went back in 2018.
It was our big summer trip. My then-boyfriend, César, and I went to camp and climb for three weeks, and it was a very Murphy’s Law experience. We had torrential downpours a few nights, meaning my little tent sans rain cover was utterly flooded multiple times (we had to tape garbage bags together for a makeshift tarp).
These storms ultimately jostled up the town’s drinking water enough to make it, erm, less than drinkable, sending a wave of stomach bugs throughout the campground. I was hit pretty hard, and it took me about a week to recover.
Tack on a nasty climbing fall, and you’ve got yourself a dream vacation! Nonetheless, I fell more in love with Rodellar than any of these events could’ve made me fall out of love with it, and I’ve come back for more year after year.
The next summer, I made the trip up with my friend Sergio and his trusty pup Flauta, and we stayed in his van for a week. I even got a $750 “Live Your Dream” grant from the American Alpine Club. My plan was to go back for revenge to a route, Juan y Fran se nos van, that had put me in my place the year before (I didn’t send it this year either, and I wasn’t even close).
In 2020, in the midst of the pandemic, I made un viaje exprés with a friend, Manu. We went for just a weekend and spent a lovely couple of days with a group from the climbing gym. It ended up being a bittersweet trip, as César and I had just broken up; he’d be moving out of our apartment the day I got back. I was on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, as many of my memories tied to the place were with him.
Since then, I’ve made plenty of new memories with my now-partner Dani. Our first trip to Rodellar together was lots of climbing, lots of sending (finally did Juan y Fran se nos van!), and lots of time spent with friends.
But there were also a few minor disasters sprinkled in. The day before we left, I sliced my thumb open while taking the tags off a new knife I had purchased for the trip. (A slice deep enough for stitches. I’ve still got a scar.)
Then, we found out my flatmate had Covid, so we had to semi-isolate ourselves for the majority of the two weeks we were there. And on the drive up, we realized the car’s lower engine cover had become detached in one of the corners. We were lucky enough to stumble upon a mechanic in the literal middle of nowhere who fastened it nice and tight with a zip-tie.
That didn’t deter us from heading back the next year! But when we arrived Friday evening after some five hours in the car, we realized Dani didn’t have cell service, which he needed to log onto his work computer. So Sunday night, we went to the nearby town of Alquézar for a few days where I hiked and read and he worked.
When we got back to the canyon, I spent the rest of the week trying my hardest route to date in Rodellar, Aquest any si, falling at the anchors time and time again. And finally, on my last try of the trip, I got the send.
This year’s visit was short but sweet, and it became more poignant to me than ever how special this place is to me. We spent four days (that went by much too fast) climbing and hiking, swimming and sunning, chatting and laughing and gossiping with friends. There was a poza every day and a sobremesa every night.
And as we drove out of town at the end of the trip this year, just like every year before, back to the city and work and the doldrums of reality, I had a feeling I’d be back the next.