Boring pista to Llançà and then up to Sant Pere de Rodes. Buy bread etc in Llançà and see, from a distance, the only woman we have seen doing the GR11 (we know because she has the Prames book). Sandwiches round the back of Sant Pere. Sunny but chilly. Down, down, down to Port de la Selva. Find the closest camp site which is just a car-park by the beach with a bar and horrible toilets. Have beers and decide to head for the further away other camp-site. This proves to be a taste of civilization in all its over-populated , annoying glory. I ask myself what the fun is of camping so close to others that you can hear them fart never mind their tvs and voices. As we are amongst the 3 tents who have a special non-car enclosure, we manage to have a lovely nap and gather strength to walk to town for dinner. Disappointing paella (Dear Sandy, I can never eat paella after tasting yours, you are the best). Port de la Selva seems to be pretty but an annex of France. Roll home in spectacular wind. Sleep very well. Get up early for LAST DAY. Colin shaves for the occasion. Mixed feelings again.
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