Diversion from Lloret, with ruins and selective bravado

It was almost becoming a routine: I stay in the room guarding the territory while the five humans go down to the breakfast buffet as if there's no tomorrow. I think it's fine because someone has to watch the beds and the backpacks and besides, we had to get up a little earlier today, since they were going to kick us out of the room at eleven.

When they finally returned, they said that the atmosphere in the dining room was calmer than the day before: fewer people, fewer elbows, less fighting for the last suspicious croquette. Then the usual human ritual began. Backpacks, jackets, where are the keys? I was ready a while ago because I'm always ready. We went down, Tito Joan and Tito Antonio looked for the cars and we shared as best we could. Two cars, five humans and a perfectly organised dog.

We set off in the direction of Sabadell, but suddenly someone said "San Miguel del Fai" and I noticed that special tone, the tone of a beautiful detour. And indeed: that was a screen change. Mountains, forest, water, a place where even I lower my voice because everything smells old and mossy with history.

San Miguel del Fai is an old monastery hanging on the rock as if someone had left it there carefully propped up. It is set in a brutal environment, cliffs, waterfalls and a deep valley. We couldn't go in because it was closed, but it wasn't necessary either. Nature was wide open and without turnstiles, and I was reading the ground with my snout like someone reading a very long and very interesting book.

And then it happened: on the map Papi Edu saw something, down in the valley. A ruin, remains of an old hydroelectric power plant, or so he said with the face of a child who has just discovered a treasure. I nodded because where there are ruins there is adventure.

The brave ones, we decided to go down. That is, Papi Edu, Tito Joan, Tito Antonio and me. The other two stayed up. Tito Jordi with a more than credible excuse and Tito Héctor without a valid excuse. Let's say the path gave him respect, a lot of respect, so much respect that he stood still. I don't judge, well yes, but with affection.

The path was narrow and steep, the kind that makes humans talk less and breathe harder. I was in front, marking the line and encouraging with my tail. We went down quite a bit. A lot. So much that at some point Tito Joan and Tito Antonio said that very human thing of "it's almost there". Spoiler: it wasn't. But they surrendered with dignity and stayed waiting.

So in the end only Papi Edu and I, two professionals, continued. We reached the old power plant with walls half-eaten by time, rusty iron and a silence that tells stories even if they don't speak. I took a complete tour to make sure no one was using it. All correct.

We went up the other way, which was much easier, because the epic is very good but human knees have limits. We returned to the car happy and with that improvised excursion smile that comes out on its own.

Then we stopped for lunch at a restaurant, Olimpo, next to the Mollet to Moià road. A place of the old days, like a roadside inn, honest food and large plates. I behaved myself exemplarily although I still think that there should be a canine menu in these places.

And then the group began to dissolve. Farewells, hugs and everyone to their lair. The three of us – Papi Edu, Tito Joan and I – returned to Berga, where the granny was waiting for us. I went into the house with that feeling of a beautiful closure, a full day, nature, ruins, tired humans and a satisfied dog.

Not all adventures have to be distant or spectacular. Sometimes all it takes is a detour, a path and someone to say "look at that down there".