The posts will be opposite of the order of most blogs. Instead of the most recent entry being at the top, the most recent will be last so the journals can be read in the order they were written. There were 46 days in all. Once you finish reading all the posts on the first page, just click on the “Older Posts” link at the bottom of the page for the next page of posts (in chronological order.)

Our pictures and videos are grouped in albums by country, so every post for each country will have a link to the same album with all the pictures or videos from that country. The picture link will be at the top of the first post for each country and at the bottom for each subsequent post.  The video link is in the first and last post for each country.  *A note about the videos: They are best viewed in thier original small size, so click on the tiny “Google video” button to the right beneath the video screen, make sure “original size” is checked, then click play.

Back to similarities to Costa Rica/Latin America: almost all buildings have a stucco exterior and many seem to have a concrete structure (probably to be hurricane-proof.) The houses have low-pitch roofs. Many houses and buildings except for the big box stores and chain restaurants have pastel colors. The neighborhood near where we were staying is a mixture of Latin American-type houses – colorful pastels, arches, flat roofs, bars on windows! – with beach-type houses with “Florida blinds” and regular ugly ranches that you’d see almost anywhere in the country. I thought the barred windows were only found in places like third-world Latin America and the Philippines, but this is a bad neighborhood. There are lots of Spanish-language signs and Spanish-style architecture with Spanish tile roofs, probably due to the heavy Cuban influence. Large fountains are all over the place – in downtown Orlando through to Sanford. Small lakes are scattered about. The place we’re staying is even on a pond. My brother-in-law (whom we’re visiting) and his roomie bought remote-controlled boats. They raced them on the pond and ran into each other, so funny!

His house is truly unique, never seen anything like it. It’s open and airy with that Spanish influence again. You can see it in the multiple arches and high ceiling that is open above the kitchen through to the adjacent living room and dining room, giving the classic Latin feeling of a courtyard. There are lizards and fireants everywhere, even in parking lots. The sun is brighter and there are more birds flying around than up north, and there is sand, not soil.

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We flew to Barcelona today! We got very little sleep and I’m wiped out right now on the train to Latour de Carol, France. The plane ride was entertaining despite the lack of sleep. There was a rowdy group of Spaniards with seemingly boundless energy. They surprised a high school Spanish level 3 class with their cheers and bravos upon hearing that the class was going to visit Barcelona and Tarragona. A couple of good-looking young guys were part of the mix with middle-aged and young adults. The young Spaniards flirted with the American girls – the only real communication being body language & the occasional interpretation from their teacher. The Spaniards’ loud cheers made me miss Spain and remember what I loved so much about the Spaniards: their gleeful desire to show off their home and culture, their contagious and cheerful energy, and their need to share every experience with a group of friends and family (their social nature.) I remember the crazy, exaggerated stories the Freixa family would tell me when I stayed with them near Barcelona four years ago. It all made me wish we were spending some time in Barcelona – or at least Spain. But the purpose of this trip was to try the new and different, mostly staying out of cities. That means leaving Spain as soon as we arrive for the French Pyrenees. I’ll be out of my comfort zone in all the countries where I don’t speak the language!

My Spanish came in handy several times in the Barcelona Sants train station – and beforehand – particularly when we got our Eurail passes validated and confirmed our train time and platform. Too bad it won’t be useful the rest of the trip!

We sat on the wrong side of the airport train station – on purpose since it had an open bench – but a large, intimidating security guard came over and asked if we knew to use the other side. I said we did and brushed it off, but I realized I should have been more appreciative.

We ate real Spanish tortilla sandwiches, first time my husband had a real one. I had made them for him, but nothing compares to Spanish food in Spain! We also had plain, natural yogurt in a glass jar! It was good once I put the sugar in it that the cashier made sure to give me.

Riding over on the train from the airport to the Barcelona Sants train station (central), I was reminded how completely awful Europe can look. I had forgotten how ugly many of their city outskirts – and even their hearts – can be. The concrete tower apartment buildings with awful green shades that look like they fell apart a decade ago are all too common – with clothes hanging on all the balconies. It looks like the old communist block to me. I don’t know if I could survive in such a repulsive environment.

We’re now halfway through the foothills, I guess they’re called, and it’s much nicer than the city. Scenery is pretty! (though it’s raining.)

[Now writing much later in the evening]…The bus ride was exciting to say the least due to the sheer cliffs hanging off one side of the narrow road and a steep slope often with fences to catch falling debris on the other side. The driver was bold – going very fast even on curves when passing large trucks and other long buses. Rightfully reminded me of northern Spain bus ride in 2004 with the App group – similar mountain scenery – when we visited my favorite Spanish town, Molina Seca. It was also reminiscent of the crazy chicken bus drivers in Guatemalan mountains who seem forever determined to tip over their reused school buses. Even in the dense fog near the peak of the range before coming back down to the town of Puigcerda, no signs of slowing down!

We finally arrived at the charming little town of Latour de Querol(e)? as the Catalan spelling is – or Latour de Carol (French) or Latour de Querol (Castillian Spanish). I love visiting towns like these (villages, really) – ones with stone buildings that are older than you can imagine and yet they’re still inhabited. I like visiting because they are so entirely different from everything I am familiar with, but at the same time I would never want to live in a place like this (even for a short time.) I think I’d get depressed! Not enough activity, thought we did see several folks walking their dogs and one baby stroller. The streets are all brown/grey, not enough natural green to keep the spirits up.

We had dinner at our hotel – L’Auberge Catalane. It was a proper French meal that Ive never experienced before. C and I now both know the true meaning of Fois gras, we tried and like a gelatin appetizer that involved olives AND anchovies (two things we would steer clear of if we weren’t traveling), and we have the best vanilla and raspberry icecream, chocolate pastry and apple tart ever in our lives! What a night. And on top of that, our hostess (hotel & restaurant) was very nice. We chatted a while, and she eventually offered her advice on where to go on the next leg of our trip when we’ll be based in Sete (on French Mediterranean.) She’s the only one who speaks English here.

At dinner -

• We were given a decorative glass bottle full of room-temperature water. You never see this in the US but I love it b/c I always ask for water with no ice, and half the time the server forgets.
• Everyone was talking so quietly they were practically whispering – hard to feel at ease.
• A couple brought their young daughter to dinner there – how could they torture her that way?! She must have been bored out of her mind – and to have to eat all that adult food?? – maybe the French start their kids at 5 with gourmet food!
• There were several courses – pre-appetizer (gelatin anchovie thing), bread, real appetizer (entree), meat, seafood (or one or the other), and dessert.
• After each course, they would take all the silverware & give new silverware catered to the dish (we’re not used to this b/c we never eat gourmet)

France Videos

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(starting Thursday April 17)

Ryan got in about 1:00 am from his flight to Dunellen. Amazingly, they scheduled him for a 9:00 am flight today! We got up with him and said our goodbyes at 0800; unfortunately he couldn’t take us to the airport because we had to be there at 1130. Jamie was able to take us down to the airport though. We ended up there very early, at 1030, but our flight to Philadelphia wasn’t until 1330. We took our time and got some food from Miami Subs before getting on the B-757. On the way out of Orlando, I got a cool picture of Ryan’s neighborhood and the Sanford airport. I saw the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel in daylight finally. The pilot slammed the plane onto the runway very nicely in Philly. The layover there was about two hours long, and we spent it walking from terminal C to A-West, eating, and talking on the phone. We boarded the 767-200ER at 1300 and took our seats in the back on the right side. We finally got off the ground after 12 other planes and headed east, with my last sight of the USA being a barrier island stuff with white houses. They ran out of the pasta dinner options, we were stuck with the BBQ beef, green beans, and mashed potatoes. There were also chips and salsa in the pack, which I thought, was pretty cool. Somewhere along the way it changed to …

…another restless hour of trying to sleep on the plane. I got maybe 20 minutes of sleep (so did B) before the rude awakening of lights and coffee jolted us awake. Around 0800 local time we broke out of the clouds right above Barcelona and made a wide sweeping turn over the city into the airport. I saw a couple new airlines like Clickair, Spanair, and Veuling. We disembarked from the rear of the plane into a bus that took us over to the terminal and customs. Customs was no problem and we bought a few snacks and waters before trying to find the train station. We both were amazed at how the Catalan language spoken here is a weird mix of Spanish and French. For example, ‘Exit’ in French is Sortie, Salida in Spanish, and Sortida in Catalan. Anyway, the pedestrian bridge to the train station rejected us due to construction, so we had to take a shuttle bus over. We got there just in time to watch the train’s marker lights leave the station, but we got a free ticket out of the deal. 30 minutes later, the next train took us to Barcelona Sants, the main (huge!) train terminal. We successfully validated our Eurail tickets thanks to B’s Spanish, but we were less successful touring the area around the station because our bags were so heavy, it was raining, and the area was not very appealing. We grabbed some food at the cafeteria that included a Spanish tortilla sandwich, a salad, straight unflavored yogurt, and juice for about 15 EUR.

Finally at 1210 we boarded the Rodalies regional train to Latour de Carol, France. The ride was uneventful until we had to get off at Ripoll and board buses because of track work. We were expecting this so it wasn’t a surprise. The ride on the bus was wild because the road was very narrow and curvy. It went over a high mountain pass where there were several inches of snow on the ground with more coming down. On the other side of the pass, we reached the town of Puigcerda where the bus dropped us off and headed back to Ripoll. This left us wondering how to get one more stop to Latour de Carol because we apparently just missed the bus there despite following everyone else. Conveniently, a thunderstorm rolled through just at the right time to match our mood. Despondent and completely exhausted, we decided that taking a taxi was probably the best option, if one ever showed up. A half hour later, two cabs showed up and we flagged one down. 15 EUR to Latour he said…deal! 10 minutes down a bumpy road and past a little white sign saying ‘France’, we were in the town and were dropped off right at the hotel.

We were kindly greeted by the owner of L’Auberge Catalane who spoke English, and in a few minutes we completely crashed in our TINY room #2. Eventually, the weather cleared up and we went for a short walk, spanning the entire town in about 10 minutes. At 2000, we had a very nice (but very expensive) dinner, at 25 EUR a pop, downstairs. Between the appetizer of some sort of gelatin with anchovies and olives, the ‘entrée’ of fois gras wrapped in ham, and my main dish of steak and pomme frites, it was a memorable meal. I can’t forget desert, which consisted of 100% legit raspberry ice cream, a fantastic fondent de chocolat, and a wafer thing. After dinner we spoke to the owner for a while about our trip. She wasn’t sure that Sete was worth five days, but we’ll find out. Bed late!

]]> http://serendipitoustraveler.wordpress.com/2008/05/31/fri-april-18th-flying-to-barcelona/feed/ 0 serendipitoustraveler http://serendipitoustraveler.wordpress.com/2008/05/30/sat-april-19th-train-to-thues-entre-valles-day-2/ http://serendipitoustraveler.wordpress.com/2008/05/30/sat-april-19th-train-to-thues-entre-valles-day-2/#comments Fri, 30 May 2008 16:13:50 +0000 serendipitoustraveler http://serendipitoustraveler.wordpress.com/?p=18 ]]> Breakfast was fit for kings! Water in fancy almost-wine glasses, croissants, chocolate-filled pastries, small rolls made of French baguette-type bread (soft, moist and fluffy on the inside, hard on the outside), and some other kind of folded flaky pastry in a real bread basket! Everything was so fancy – or old-fashioned – the glasses, saucers for our cereal bowls, and milk in a pitcher, not a jug or carton. They love chocolate here – chocolate in their pastries, chocolate cereal, and even chocolate powder for your cereal! We also had all-natural yogurt again with no sweetener added – but they gave us sugar cubes and packets. Even the cereal was in a “proper” glass container, not the original box.

• All this with the whole dining area to ourselves and a great view of the rocky, craggy mountain and boulder with very old wall, outside our window. The mountains have a crude beauty.
• As always in European countries, the hall light has a motion detector and is only on when needed. (Sometimes they have timers, which can be good but also problematic when they time out way too early, leaving you stuck on dark, narrow, winding stairs.)
• The town (Latour de Carol) has a church on the hill & the bell rings at 7 am and 8 am. Later the bell in the town of Olette rang at 7 pm.

Now it’s much later in the day (11 pm). What a day it was. We bought groceries, enough for all meals in Thues Caranca/Thues-Entre-Valle. We’re staying in a place that’s like a real apartment, what the French call a gite. A full kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom. It has all an apartment needs with rustic charm. The fireplace is really cool – completely open, VERY wide, and incredible old molten-black stone.

The people here are very nice. The people in this region – the Train de Jaune and Upper Tet Vally in Eastern Pyrenees – seem to be very proud of their home. Emily at Latour de Carol last night was happy to live there in the peace and quiet rather than Toulousse where she’s from, and she even pointed out that we’re seeing the REAL France by staying in small towns instead of just big cities. My thoughts exactly. Two others we met today in Olette, a town three towns east of Thues-Entre-Valle on the Train Jaune rail line, mentioned how they love where they live also because of the peace and quiet, the people are nicer than in the big city (especially Paris), and because of the natural beauty. One guy pointed out the Gorge de Caranca, where we will hopefully hike tomorrow!

The people of Olette are right – the people are nice around here! Did I mention that?? When we arrived, the lady who showed us around at our gite, Mas de Bordes, asked if we had our own food, etc. when Corey asked about dinner. We said we didn’t have any of our own food – not even for lunch and it was already lunchtime – and she offered us some of her own food! There is no restaurant in town and no market. We heard later that this kind of generosity, especially with food, is not uncommon in rural French lodgings. She told us when the closest market was open in nearby Olette and her brother Nemo found a train and bus schedule for us. When she handed me the pasta and veggies (onions, artichokes and broccoli), I didn’t see it was open on one en and spilled a good bit of it on the ground!

How embarrassing, in front of the whole crowd – the host’s son and family. Nemo’s dad who actually owns the place is gone for the weekend. Nemo and his family live in Toulouse – his British wife Gemma, toddler son and baby daughter. His two sisters live at the gite with their dad. It’s a small world – Gemma is a research biologist (as is Nemo) and spent some time in NC-RTP doing an interview with a company or university (she wasn’t clear where) and had even visited some part of the Outer Banks. The two of them had lived in Ithaca, NY for two years because Nemo (or both of them) was doing research there. The whole lot – toddler included – speaks very good English.

Not only did the folks at the gite help us out but a guy we met in Olette gave us a ride back to Thues-Entre-Valle after the train didn’t show up. His car wouldn’t start and C saw the opportunity to ask him about a taxi. He said a taxi would be expensive and offered to give us a ride if he could get his car started. He ended up getting some neighbors to jump it. His name was Guillermo Absorbe – currently lives in Olette but had originally lived in Toulouse. He’s into music – learning to dj and mix beats/music – especially hip-hop and drum and bass. I asked for his full name in case we hear him on the radio one day!

While we were waiting for Guillermo’s car to be jumped, we talked to a lady in the town who just came over to watch. She and her dog chatted with us the whole time. She was the third person to seem surprised we were from the US – probably because they don’t get many American visitors here. We’ve seen a lot of Brits and the lady said there are a lot around here.

People here seem to love dogs. We saw several people in Latour de Carol walking their dogs and logs of dogs in Olette as well.

The train ride over was gorgeous! We took many pictures and a few videos. There were crazy rock formations and cliffs. Again, a very rough kind of beauty. There were a ton of tunnels and a couple arch bridges.

Corey got to practice his French several times today and saved us on a couple occasions – like getting us out of Latour de Carol on the correct train at the right time, etc.

I’ve now seen tow guys peeing right beside the train at a quick stop. They really need more public bathrooms here. I’ve heard it’s a real problem in European cities which is why London created a program to educate the public on the locations of public bathrooms throughout the city.

I can see this experience teaching C and me some valuable lessons on self-sufficiency, conservation, and simplicity/minimalism. We’re making fires in the open fireplace at our gite, had to find groceries at the little mini market – getting there and back was most of the battle – cook for ourselves using a gas stove that you have to light with a match (another feature that would be considered old-fashioned in the US but still somewhat common in Europe.) We have to refrain from being too gluttonous so that the food we hand-carried from the next town over lasts our full 3 days and we have sufficient energy food for all our hiking. We deal with the cold and wind – layer, layer, layer! – with no heat other than the fire. I had to be careful not to go to bed with wet hair since it was so cold at night (not an issue in a heated house.) Hmmm…Reminds me of our family friend’s place called “Bear Den.”

We’ve also had to be humbled twice today by relying on the kindness of strangers, knowing we had no alternative other than to accept and no way to ever pay them back! It’s comforting to know those good samaritans exist and that they were around when we needed them, but it’s a very hard thing to accept! I have to think I’ll help out strangers in the future, maybe I have in the past, and I would have done the same if I were them. People in general must know (with a little life experience) that sometimes you have to give a little and sometimes you have to take a little. It’s just the way life is. It’s still a hard concept for me even if it’s common sense. It must at least be common sense for the good people around here.

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Today started early and we were downstairs for breakfast at 0700. Emily had a nice spread of breads, yogurt, fruit, and cereal laid out for us when we came down the stairs. She normally starts at 0800 but was kind enough to set it up early for us. We were out the door by 0800 and walked about 1 km along the main road towards the train station which is 2 km out of town. I realized that we needed to be on the parallel road down the hill next to the river, so we backtracked to town, but still made it to the train station by 0845. A Petite Train Jeune train was at the station, somewhat confirming my sketchy timetable showing a 0905 departure towards Villefranche. The ticket desk was closed until 0930, and people starting asking me questionsin French, so it started to get ugly, especially because the digital departure board didn’t show a 0905 TER train to Villefranche. Instead, it showed a 0934 bus that involved a 1 hour layover along the route. Discouraged, we weren’t sure what to do until the board changed, now showing the 0905 departure! I managed to ask the engineer if we could buy tickets on the train and tell the conductor we were getting off at Thues-Caranças in French before piling on. The train was on the move 5 minutes later, the 1908-built train straining up steep hill and through sharp curves. B and I hung out the window a lot of the time along with some other tourists, but we had half of the car to ourselves. The train dumped us off at the ‘station’ and I felt like we had entered another world. The land was dry and steep cliffs surrounded the valley. After a short, steep walk up from the station, we stumbled into the courtyard of what we thought was our destination, Mas de Bordes. We entered an open door and a younger guy named Nemo came out to greet us. We also met his sister who showed us our intriguing gîte, and also some pasta and vegetables to cook in the common area since we had nothing. We cooked and ate all of it (hungry!) then took a much needed nap until 1530. We later walked back down to the station and caught the 1614 train to Olette, a small town about 5 km away. We found the small grocery store there and spent 26 EUR on food for the whole time we will be at Mas. Back at the train station, we waited for two hours for a westbound, despite what we thought were 2 scheduled trains that never came. It was now 1900, we had food, but no way to get back to Thues because there were no more trains or buses. At about plan D, I noticed a younger guy down the road who looked to be having car trouble. I walked over to him and fortunately he knew some English. I told him our story and he said that if he could get his car started he could take us back to Thues. I helped push his car down the street (dumping camera and phone on the road in the process) to no avail. He ended up finding some locals to help jump start the car and in the meantime Beth and I talked to a very nice local lady who was very curious of what we thought of France. Two kids were shooting pellet guns nearby too. After 10-15 minutes, we were on the road, and the guy, Guillome Absorbé, talked about his aspirations to be a professional dummer/guitarist and affinity towards American rap…cool guy. He dropped us off in the village and we walked up the hill laden with groceries. We started a small fire in the fireplace and had leftovers from lunch for dinner.

France Pictures

As we were hiking, I couldn’t help but notice graffiti and Catalan translations on all of the French signs, something we saw yesterday on many of the Train Jaune signs as well as in Olette.  I know that the Catalan-speaking region in Spain, called Catalunya in Catalan (Cataluna in Castillian Spanish), has its own autonomous government and the Catalunans are very proud of their language and culture.  Once Franco died and the Spanish government was re-structured, the regions of Spain were allowed to reclaim their unique cultural identities and speak their unique languages and dialects (other than Castillian Spanish) for the first time in many, many decades.  The Catalunyans started speaking their language most of the time instead of Castillian Spanish, and re-made all of their signs so that Catalan was first and Castillian second (if at all.)  The Catalan-speaking region includes parts of Spain and France – mostly around the Eastern Pyrenees – but the French side does not allow the same autonomy for the Catalunyans.  French is mostly the only language on the signs, though we have occasionally seen Catalan second to French on some signs.  The Catalunyans are very proud of their language, so I’m not surprised to see graffiti on French-only signs that says things like “Orgull Cata” – Catalan Pride and “En Catala” – In Catalan, as well as the Catalan translations of French spray-painted on signs.  We even saw letters changed so that the sign had no French, only Catalan.  Catalan is a lot like French and Spanish mixed together, maybe with a little Portuguese mixed in, but you ask a linguist or a Catalunyan, and they will say it is NOT a mixture but indeed its own language formed as any other Romance language was.

I think we’ve gotten into the swing of this lifestyle a lot more in just one short day.  We had a lot more time to enjoy the mountains today, I was able to cook dinner much faster, knowing how to light the gas stove and use non-teflon cookware with no oil, and C made a much better fire that burned hotter and actually kept us warm.  It’s great to sit by a hot fire in an open fireplace.  Cloves playing with the fire

Houses and yards around here tend to be messy and cluttered with junk.  C mentioned that the “campground”/meadow area they have here at the gite is so cluttered that he would consider it a hole in the States, but that somehow it looks or seems okay here.  Maybe it’s because everything is so old that it looks unkempt anyway.  Our hosts have a plethora of junk laying around in the yard/ruins/and field like rusted stoves, antique-looking machinery, a few old-style mattress springs, wood scattered about, and so on.  C also said that this junk collection and untidiness seems to be a trend in the countryside – no matter where you are or which country you’re in.

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Today started very late because we didn’t set the alarm clock. I looked over at the clock and it was 12:45, wow! However, it was cloudy and raining, not a good hiking day at all. We had a brief brunch and Nemo drew a map for us of the gorge trails. We struck out into the cold downpour around 1430, down the hill past the train station and only a couple hundred meters to the entrance to the Gorge Caranças. By this point we were cold and soaked from the knees down (thank goodness for waterproof parkas!). We made the decision to go ahead and do the 3-hour trail instead of the 1-hour trail which was a good idea because it started to clear up shortly after. The rail took us high up on the side of the canyon with specracular views of the extremely rugged gorge, and the ‘grooves’ for the trail on the other side. After crossing the river, the trail became very interesting. There was a water diversion station that sent water into a pipe that went inside of the mountain. The trail followed the pipe (as far as elevation goes) so it didn’t drop much along the whole gorge. Long slots, or ‘balcones’ were cut out of the sheer cliffs for the trail…not one for those scared of heights. The trail followed the tube downhill where it came out of the mountain and down to a hydroelectric station which power the railway line. In some p laces along the trail, horizontal shafts were cut through the rock to the main tunnel, and we could see the 3′ diameter tube in there, and hear the deep rumble of moving water. A light rain chased us back up to Mas de Bordes at 1900. I made a blistering fire while B made a nice dinner of pasta and vegetables. Afterwards, we wandered around the property a little bit before calling it quits and enjoying the fire before bed.

France Pictures

We’ve heard a lot of American music already – just like I did in Spain in 2004.  They played American alternative rock – like Cake and Greenday – and even country! – in the fancy restaurant at Auberge Catalan while we were eating breakfast (the last place I’d think we’d hear American music considering it was fine dining – but it was before normal hours.) And they even played American R&B and country at Mas de Bordes today!  They also love to blast the Buena Vista Social Club cd over and over – good “international” music as Nimo called it.  I have yet to hear any music in French.

We finally met the host today – Nimo’s dad Luc.  He got back home yesterday evening.  He made sure that all was well for us and chatted a couple times today.  Luc is quite different from his son – more light-hearted, has a loud, gritty voice, much more blunt.  Nimo is very soft-spoken, though not shy at all, and has a high voice, is carefully polite.  Both are very friendly and fun to talk to.

Luc seems to get a kick out of quitting our jobs and traveling for so long.  He says empathetically that traveling light by train and staying in gites/rural guest houses is the way to do it.  Really we’re staying in all of the above, including hotels and apartments, but mostly rural guest houses – what the French call gites, Spanish call agriturismo/casas rurales, and Italians call agriturismo(i).  Anyway, Luc seems to understand the travel bug – a kindred spirit.  I’m sure this amusing Frenchman has many-a-story to tell.

Luc helped build the stone structures that encase the free hot springs on his land that we visited today.  We saw two other groups of people just come and go as they pleased.  The springs are in the middle of the woods along this narrow path and you just come upon them – you know you’re near when you see steam and smell sulfur.  Bright blue/turquoise ground is a pretty good indication too.

You don’t have to pay or register anywhere or sign a disclaimer, ask the landowner for permission, or even check a thermometer to use these hot springs.  This is the same sense of freedom I felt in France over four years ago when there were no disclaimers involved in the para-skiing off of a cliff in a ski resort; you could just ski up to the operation and pay for a turn or watch.  No one to tell you to stay away from the cliff, no warning signs, you aren’t shooed away because you pose a threat to anyone’s safety by standing too close to the operation or the cliff.  Obviously they don’t have the same lawsuit crisis we have in the U.S.

Mountain weather is mountain weather no matter where you are.  We are having to remember how to dress and pack a day pack for fickle weather – one minute it’s sunny as can be with mostly blue sky, then 10 minutes later we’re socked in with ice pellets pummeling our ponchos – but only for 20 min., then sun again!  We went from hot, cold, hot, cold, to wet then drying in the sun, etc.  Good thing for layers and raincoats and hats.

There are little villages everywhere here, scattered all through the mountains.  One village WAY up the mountain across the valley is a legit town with five families (none with young children I was told.)  There is a road that somehow makes its way up there, along with a footpath, and the daily mail!  We walked through what we thought was an abandoned old village on the mountainside well above our gite, but someone actually lives there part-time, and Luc goes to church in what we thought were ruins!  Built in 875!!  There are high rock walls all through the woods in the vicinity of the village.  The only way to get there is a small footpath.

I talked to Nimo’s sister today (can’t remember her name), and she confirmed my understanding of the Catalunya region.  Only the older generation still speaks Catalan on the French side of the Pyrenees.  The Catalunyans did not receive the same autonomy as they did on the Spanish side, and some are still upset about that.  If Catalan is spoken by members of a household on the French side, it’s mostly just in the home.  French Catalunya was taken from Spain in the 17th century.  There was a Catalunyan revolt in nearby Villfranche a couple decades afterward, but I don’t know if there were others.  Obviously the French won.

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It’s my birthday! I don’t feel any different, and that’s a good thing. We got up a little earlier, 0930, and had breakfast outside in the courtyard while the owner, Luc, was having breakfast with his two daughters , and his son’s family at the table beside the driveway. We talked to Nemo for a while, about this job as a plant pathologist, and American politics. He brought up the politics, and I eventually mentioned my interest in what Europeans think of what is going on in the US since it is such a big election. He was very aware of our politics, and was obvious in his dislike for Bush, big surprise. Later, he drew up a map of another good 3-hour hike, and we headed out shortly after. The trail left directly out of the back of Mas de Bordes and went up the hillside towards an abandoned village that we could see from Mas. It was a very dry area compared to the gorge. There were a few houses in the village, one of which is lived in periodically, and a chapel built in 875 AD! The tower was used to send smoke signals back in the day. We had a nice lunch in the shadow of the tower and watched the rain roll through the valley, towards us. We were heading back down the mountain when it started raining w/ ice pellets mixed in, very interesting. Down almost to the railroad were the hot springs/baths we were looking for. Once the sketchy guy left, we had the place to ourselves. The water is between 37 and 47 degrees C according to the ownder of Mas de Bordes, who helped build the stone baths, and it was definitely hot! The rain stopped as soon as we got there, which was appreciated. There was a distinct sulfur smell and green slime growing in the bottom of the pools. A young French couple appeared and we left so they could have it to themselves.On the way back we stumbled across some horses standing on the trail, eating. That explains all the horse crap everywhere. Anyway, they weren’t moving and didn’t look too happy either, so we cut through the woods and got back on the trail below a switchback. As soon as we got back to Mas, it started the rain/ice pellet mixture again but we were content to get the fire started and eat dinner…very similar to last night. While getting firewood, we heard puppies in a bocx near the pile. Sure enough, there were two puppies in there with their mom squealing over the best position to get milk. We dried clothes in front of the fire all evening since our hand-washed laundry was not dryinhg upstairs in the room. I’m getting used to this journal-writing by the fire, but tomorrow we head out.

France Pictures

The owner of our B&B, Casa Penalolen, is very nice, unlike most waiters in this country.  It seems the owners and managers of these small guest houses care a lot more about getting good business, so they try hard to be pleasant and helpful.

The Irishman is very proud of his heritage and made that point repeatedly.  He came across as a little arrogant – he was quite loud and made absolutely no effort to speak any French – though he was mostly friendly to us.  His rambunctious character was a stark contrast to the French mild demeanor and soft voices.

I definitely don’t feel at home surrounded by people talking so quietly and gracefully in restaurants.  The French are generally too subdued for my taste – though there are always exceptions like Luc, the owner of Mas de Bordes.  I miss the energetic and loud Spaniards…looking forward to Italy for that!

The Irishman, C and I stood out in the restaurant.  As a matter of fact, 3 girls in the French family sitting next to us could not stop staring at Corey and me – me in particular.  They would talk, look over at us, turn around and look, and at one point stared at us for a good minute or two solid (or at me, since Corey’s back was to them and I was facing them.)  It got to the point that I honestly thought something was behind me and turned around to check.  I never noticed the parents saying anything to the girls, like “that’s rude, don’t do that.”  The worst one was the oldest, looked closest to our age.

This town of Villefranche has incredibly old structures.  I can’t imagine the beginnings of the town and ramparts back in 1089?  Something like that.  The town itself is too small for more than a couple hours, but the fort has a great view of the village and surrounding mountains.  There is even a subterranean stairway that seems to go on forever connecting the fort to its village below.  Most interesting though is what’s just outside of town – the complex caves!

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Today was a short travel day, going from Thues-entre-Valle to Villefranche-de-Conflent…some long names! Anyway, we got up at 0800 and scrambled to get packed, fed, cleaned up, and paid up, before catching the train at 1010. We said our goodbyes to Luc and the gray cat, and made it down to the station about 10 minutes before the train came. 30 bumpy kilometers later we were in Villefranche where the Petite Train Jeune interchanges with the real railway. I checked out the bathroom but to my dismay, it only had urinals and showers… We walked all of about 5 minutes and found Casa Penalolen with no problem. The owner, Mireille, greeted us but it was a bit awkward with the French/English. She showed us to our nice, comfortable room where we relaxed for a while. It is a far cry from Mas de Bordes! I later talked for some time with Mireille about what to do around here, and I practiced some French with her. She also showed me the same Budget Travel magazine we have that turned us on to this region. It has a picture of Mireille and her husband, Esteban (from Chile). We headed over to the town around 1330 and had lunch at Le Patio. I had what basically amounted to two salads and B and fish kabobs. Next, we bought two 6 EUR tickets to Fort Liberia at the ‘back gate’ of the town then made the steep hike up to the fort. There was a self-guided tour of the inside and outside of the fort, built in the 18^th century. I was most impressed with the commanding view of the three valleys from up there and the long, narrow staircases into the depths of the fort. We left the fort for the town via the incredibly long ‘souterrain’ tunnel, a staircase with a 180-meter vertical drop, completely inside the mountain between the fort and the town. I felt bad for the panting people going up to the fort that way! We wandered around the narrow streets of Villefranche for two hours until the restaurants opened for dinner at 1900. There was a guy walking a dog and a ferret through town! We found a nice looking restaurant called Le Relais. I had a pizza (not the margherita I was expecting) and helped B with her salmon appetizer and huge portion of beef strips. Bizarrely, the couple eating at the table behind me (the first English speakers we have run across, from Ireland) are also staying at Casa Penalolen! Between talking to the Irish/English couple and eating my pizza with my hands instead of knife and fork, the French teenagers across the aisle were constantly entertained. By now, it was 2100 and we retreated to the Casa just before dark.

France Pictures

We had some time to kill yesterday before dinner.  Again – Villefranche is very small – so by this time we had already walked around its two streets and couple back alleys twice over.  We found a bench to relax on and just watched the people walk and drive by – quite entertaining in a foreign place.  Everything is a novelty: the cars (we tried to pay attention to makes and models of the cars around and find any we had not heard of); the dress (always something new in bizarre European fashion); the hair (most women here, we noticed, have very short, often “boy-short” hair, and many have distasteful bright blond highlights – it looks like their darker-than-blond hair is a canvas and they just splashed blond paint on it); the dogs – mostly small, yappy dogs.

English words stolen from French:

avant-garde – avant = before
apres (as in apres-ski) – after
entrepreneur – similar in French
casserole – most of our casseroles came from the French
parfait – another yummy food the French gave us
foie-gras – fattened lamb liver (foie=liver; gras=fat)
ballet
rondez-vous – similar in French? / is formal you of a sort of meeting
deja-vu – “to see again” (deja- again; vu-see)
promenade – to walk (a walking area in French & English also)
military coup – “couper” is to cut
a la carte – individual selection on a menu (same in French & English)
*as opposed to a French menu, where you get 3-4 courses included in your order.     Equivalent in US is a main dish that comes with a soup/salad & maybe a side or     two.
Entree – main course in English, appetizer in French
a la – in the form of/the way of

Back to journal:
C asked the owner of Casa Penalolen if he could find out what happened in the PA primary yesterday, and she let him read a CNN article on the internet on her personal computer.  She was already up on the news, just like Nimo at Mas de Bordes had followed the American political situation and primary elections.  He had said that the French follow American politics, but many are not aware of the complexity of American laws and political views due to the diversity of the 50 states.  He and his wife had lived in NY state for two years and said that many French people, for example, would not know that NY has more stringent environmental laws than France!  The implication as he explained further was that the French generally only understand American politics on a cursory level – assuming that all Americans are neo-conservatives who support Bush and the Iraq war.  On that note, Mirielle was relieved to hear the we like Obama.  She supports Obama like most of France.  She said Clinton seems angry and puts out her claws, making a clawing motion with her hands (hilarious!) – it’s as if she dislikes Clinton as much as she dislikes McCain.

Obama lost PA by 10%, losing only 6 delegates overall to Clinton, leaving him with a total of 144 more delegates (regular and super) than her.  She can only win if the superdelegates vote against the popular vote and in her favor.  Obama wasn’t expected to win PA, but he pulled it off with a narrower margin than the polls had said weeks ago.

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Breakfast this morning at 0800 downstairs at the dining room table, and oddly enough, with the same couple we met last night. Mireille had a very nice array of peaches, yogurt, breads, and orange juice. We struck out on the grande rondonnée (hike) of the day around 0930, and grabbed some bread, chocolate, and cacahuetes (peanuts) for a lunch of sorts. We found a trail that looked to be in the right spot along the city walls, but it was very overgrown. It went up to an aqueduct and then over (finally) to the real trail. This trail took us all the way to the top of the mountain on the south side of the village and then down a forest road on the other side, which was much more barren and dry. We missed the left turn at the ‘dolmen’ marked on the map and lost some time. If I knew ‘dolmen’ translated to ‘strangely stacked boulders’, we would have been ok. Anyway, we descended into the valley again, and pulled into the village of Cornellia-de-Conflent and had lunch in front of the 11^th century church. I was amused with all the tiny cars tearing through the small square, and stray cats wandering around. Part II of the hike started with the poncho coming out for about 3 minutes before the sun came back out and it got plain hot. We ascended the other side of the valley on an old Roman mining road (not much more than a depression in the ground now). The ground was dry and hot, almost like a desert. The trail went to a cool overlook of the villages and caves of the Conflent region. B chased little blue and light green butterflies around with her camera on the broad summit. We hoofed it does the mountain and made it over to the Grand Canallettes cave entrance by 1700. 15 EUR got us in and it was money well spent. I haven’t been in many caves before, but this was truly awe-inspiring. I’ll let the pictures tell that story. Sun burnt and tired, we still had an hour and a half before the restaurants opened at 1930. We had a snack of sorts (a croque-monsieur for me and a veg. Plate for B) at a bar/snack shop on the east side of town. Next, we bought a French magazine and read it on ‘our bench’ until the church tower struck 1930. We ate dinner at Casa de la Nine, a true gastronomique French restaurant run by a British couple. I had a Salade Catalane and B had some backed eggplant thing that was excellent. The grand finale was a choco-misu dessert presented as a work of civil engineering…amazing. That was my birthday present! We had an interesting conversation with the owner, Rick, since we were his only customers all night. We made it back to the Casa shortly after nightfall.

France Pictures

The French like some foods cold that Americans don’t usually eat cold: cold cous-cous, sautéed vegetables, coffee, and even cold crème brulee!  They also like creamy, heavy sauces and cheeses.  I tried this dessert that tastes like a bowl of sour cream with a few almond slices in the middle and some honey to mix in with it – awful!!  Their sauces come on meat and seafood, and their creams, sweet OR salty, come on pastries.    Everyone likes their sauces, but they seem to have sauce on everything!  Vegetables come in a thick coating of oil, as in most of western Europe, and are cooked until they are absolute mush (even worse than southern country-cooked veggies!)

Though they eat a lot of creamy food, the French seem to have less sugar in foods like yogurt.  We’ve had a lot of natural yogurt, without added sugar or with just a little sugar, and it’s really tasty!  I’ve never had the chance to try something like that in the US (how sad.)  I hope to find natural yogurt in a health food store in the States…and I’ll just add a little sugar.  I need to figure out how much sugar is in the average American yogurt and use less than that (hopefully a lot less.)  The perfect proportion for us seems to be this French Dannon yogurt that is about the size of American Dannon.  It has 91% yogurt and 9% sugar.  There is also less salt or no salt on nuts, trail mix, and fries.

We ate at La Casa de la Nine yesterday – the place I had read about in the magazine article that tipped us off about this area (La Cerdanya and surrounds.)  The British owner explained the meaning of gastronomique to us – basically the finest gourmet – in some cases incorrectly used to mean the finest dish they have on the menu.  Part of the concept is being cutting edge, adding something different or being creative as well as complex.  The food was divine, we agreed, everything from their salad dressing to their choco-misu (chocolate tiramisu) with a small tropical fruit we had never seen before.

We enjoyed the benefits of staying in such small towns, and now that we’re in bustling Sete, we appreciate it even more.  Though it’s not loud at night here at least.  At La Casa de la Nine, we were the only customers all 1.5 hours they were open .  It’s common practice there to have such a short window of opening hours from 7:30 to 9:00.  The owner gave us a lot of attention, needless to say.  We chatted quite a bit and it turns out he had actually been to Raleigh once.  The B&B (Casa Penalolen) owner gave us personalized attention too.  The front door to the B&B was left open for us when we got back at 9:30.  The place was so small, the owner knew we were still gone.  We’re getting all this extra attention and enjoying general lack of crowds thanks to traveling in the off-season too, but it’s a double-whammy since we’re staying in small villages.  Another perk is that almost every food product in these rural areas is local – in stores and restaurants alike.

We went on a wonderful hike yesterday for about 6.5 hours in the mountains around Villefranche and connecting Villefranche with nearby Corneilla.  It’s so nice to be able to walk to the next town, especially when it has a 12th century church in it and it’s surrounded by such gorgeous scenery!  I love being able to see where I’m going and where I’ve come from most of the time since the back side of the mountains has gradual slopes and high meadows whereas the northern sides are steep.  The towns are so compact and in such narrow valleys that you can see whole towns from the mountaintops.  On the backside of one of the mountains, we saw an amazing variety of butterflies; Nimo and wife had told us that the Pyrenees have the greatest diversity of butterflies in the world!  I got pictures of a couple species – bright green and tiny blue.

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This morning we had another refreshing breakfast of bread, yogurt, and kiwi, and a local apple juice. We talked to Esteban in French and Spanish, trying to ask questions about French words, pretty interesting. Mireille was in Perpignan so we missed her. We hopped on the 1108 regional train to Perpignan but it only went as far as Ille-sur-Tet and we had to get a bus the rest of the way. Once at the train station in Perpignan, we immediately jumped onto a regional train to Narbonne just as the doors were closing, very close! This was a local train stopping at every station, but did 80-90 mph between. It was a very scenic run along the coastal marshes with old buildings scattered about. In Narbonne, we had about 30 minutes before the next train to Sete, so we went to the .50 EUR bathroom and got some sandwiches for a snack. The 50-minute train ride to Sete was uneventful. Just outside of the station was the ‘Canal Lateral’, which we crossed to enter the town. The tree lined streets, majestic buildings, and canals lined with parked boats make this a truly unique place. We found the hotel and had to call the owner on my cell phone because the office is closed from 1300-1700, and of course we arrived at 1430. The call actually worked, and the owner let us in and showed us to our room. We relaxed in the room until 1800, and then went out in search of dinner spots. We went down to the centre ville and back but there were mostly snack shops and bars. We ended up eating at a place near to the hotel called La Fourchette (The Fork). It was ok (moyenne), we both had omelets, but the price wasn’t too bad at 35 EUR total. We left at 2130 and had an entertaining conversation, part English, and part French, with the hotel owner about local restaurants. He used the Internet and a dictionary to help explain what he was talking about, like the word octopus, which he could only think of as ‘fruit of the sea’!

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