Have you ever gone somewhere completely unfamiliar with only a general sense of your direction and no specific route or detailed map to guide you?  Such carefree meandering can either feed your exhilarating spirit of adventure and ultimately create deep feelings of accomplishment or overwhelm you with stress, confusion and anxiety as you end up thoroughly frustrated and lost.  In fact, you might find you experience a combination of all these reactions during the course of a single journey. Or someone in the car with you might be experiencing one set of feelings even as you are on the polar opposite end of the spectrum.  I mention it only because this was the exact situation that occurred throughout most of our trip, but certainly never more than on the return leg of the voyage.  

Mom is typically our navigator.  She absolutely adores maps so this makes her ideally suited for the role.  In fact, she spent many hours pouring over maps and discussing various routes while we were visiting our friends in Switzerland.  We enjoyed a number of dinner table conversations related to tunnels – which is the longest, which is under construction, which is the busiest this time of year, which one dumps us out in the best place, which have we previously traveled, etc.  This led to reminiscing about days gone by and all sorts of tunnel-related memories.  Eventually, as a result of our ruminating, we each had a decent mental map of where we were going and how we might get there.  Of course, our maps were less like a Philips atlas and more like the Miller Atlas. A “60,000 foot” view (so to speak), but it was a decent overall idea of the basic route.  Actually, in the end, this was probably the only thing that saved us from a complete misadventure.  

We bade our German friends farewell in the morning and made our way steadily across the Swiss countryside on Highway 19, snaking through the Alps from Brig to Domodóssola.  We decided to take a route that did not include a tunnel as the weather was finally sunny and beautiful and we wanted to see as much of the countryside as possible.  Also, both Mom and I have had multiple prior life experiences that include being stuck in tunnels in Europe and none of them are positive.  In fact, the last time I piloted a vehicle in Italy, I ended up reversing through a tunnel on the freeway! That said, this was our first time ever traversing the Swiss Alps without driving through some famous tunnel.  Which means, we spent our time precariously hanging on to the surface of the mountains rather than taking a direct (straighter and shorter) route through them.  

Sharing the narrow, twisty road with motorcyclists, tour busses, bicyclists and other motorcars was challenging enough, but when we started to encounter roller-skiers using their impressive thighs to power uphill in the sunny but freezing temperatures, I achieved an entirely new level of driving skill.  Probably this new skill level should be noted on my license and maybe even my resume.  I should also take a moment to point out that this particular carriageway does not have the comforting safety feature of a guard rail that I personally believe would be an excellent investment, if only for the tourists who admittedly do not have the same driving acumen as the locals.  I do not recall a time when, as the driver of the vehicle, I have actively wished for this specific restraint system more than on that one particular route.  Even if it only kept the Alpen cows from wandering across my path!! 

After a thrilling decent complete with waterfalls, cheese huts, fantastic wildflowers, wayward bovines and tiny picturesque villages, we popped out of the Alps into northern Italy.  It is at this precise moment that our adventure evolved into more of a “general-sense-of-direction” situation.  We planned to use the same tactic we had previously used on multiple occasions: identifying familiar destinations on the road signs and progressing forward by default.  Unfortunately, it turns out there is a great deal of difference in specificity between the 60,000-foot perspective and the actual, wheels-on-the-road level when it comes to navigating through northern Italy.  The towns listed on the map were not listed on the immediate road signs and vice versa.  In fact, we weren’t entirely confident of any harmony between our mental and physical maps. After a considerable distance, we might be fortunate to identify a familiar location by name which was usually enough to turn us around or to spur us on.  I reminded myself many times that the point of relocating to Europe was to “see more of the world” and that was exactly what we were accomplishing even if it was a little more granular than I had originally anticipated.  

I can not tell you much about where we were in northern Italy except to say that it was very lovely there.  We toured some farmland (likely on a private road) and wandered along a river (we were convinced it would take us closer to a lake) and through a variety of quaint small towns (each with so many traffic circles that it is a wonder we are not still there driving around in loops).  Somehow, miraculously, we arrived in Baveno and eventually, with our last remaining drop of luck, found the B&B we had reserved in the Italian villa overlooking Lake Maggiore.  We celebrated our accomplishments on the balcony overlooking the beautiful town and waters while Allita read to use about the historical significance of Palazzo Borromeo, visible on a tiny island in the distance.  All-in-all, the trip was “molto bello” and I felt like a modern-day Marco Polo audaciously and meticulously exploring a small part of our world.    

Photos by Allita Barefoot

It was primarily a lake trip.  We didn’t really intend for it to be a lake trip, but it certainly ended up that way. Our real goal was to spend three days visiting family friends who live on the Bodensee or Lake Constance in Switzerland before turning around and heading back to Barcelona.  Lake Constance (Bodensee) lies between Germany, Switzerland and Austria and we have visited our friends there in previous years (see Life on the Bodensee).  However, Allita has mostly flown into Switzerland and never explored any of the other lakes, of which there are many, so on this trip, we decided to do something new for her benefit.  We went lake hopping.  

Most of the lakes in this area can be attributed to the Alps.  Makes sense, right?  Huge chain of massive mountains and water runs downhill, so there should be streams, waterfalls, rivers and ultimately, lakes.  In fact, there are so many lakes that sometimes it’s difficult to remember just which one you are passing.  Because we have EU-only mobile phones, we were unable to use our cellular GPS devices in Switzerland, so our trip was conducted entirely old-school.  Thankfully, we had an excellent navigator (my mother) armed with an extraordinarily detailed map, so we were quite never as lost as we feared we were.  Additionally, the lack of computer-automated voice constantly chirping piloting instructions at me was a welcome relief and kept all of us on our toes reading road signs and looking diligently for street names and points-of-interest.  It was a game: the one who could spot the most useful information for the navigator gained the most points.  Usually it was Allita who, from the backseat was not hampered by other duties such as safe driving and had both greater freedom and flexibility for enhanced visual screening.  “I see a MASSIVE BRIDGE up ahead” or “I see ANOTHER lake in the distance!”, she would shout.  Mom would scan her map, identify the most likely name of said object and confirm that we were, indeed, headed in the correct direction.  This was particularly useful in Geneva when we drove through the city on some road we will surely never find again. Somehow, magically, we passed St. Pierre Cathedral, traveled immediately alongside the Rhône and over the Bel-Air bridge, past Pont des Bergues and straight to the Jardins Anglais crossing over the very bridge I wanted Allita to see (Pont du Mont Blanc).   We swept through town and finally stopped at the Geneva Water Fountain to catch our breath and marvel at our urban driving skills.  

What can I say?  I love Geneva.  I love to ride down the various quai (“docks” or water-front streets) that run alongside the massive lake.  To see things like Maison-Royale and other fabulous buildings, the various parks and beaches, the marinas and yacht clubs.  Why else do you drive to the lake, if not for the fabulous sights along the way?  Well, and the food, of course.  Lac Léman (Lake Geneva) is one of my very favorite places to visit.  We stopped for a short break to stretch our legs, share a small repast and absorb some culture in a tiny town named Thonon-les-Bains.  While there, Allita and I toured an old fishing museum dedicated to the history of fishing on the lake (Écomusée de la Pêche et du Lac) while Mom went people-watching at the Château de Ripaille park.  We enjoyed a miniature frozen treat on the walk back to the car.  I forgot how very small the scoops of ice cream and wafer cones can be in these villages.  Super cute and very refreshing!

 We spent our first night in a unique B&B overlooking the lake from the cosy town of Lugrin.  Our rooms were on the very top floor of the street-side building that took us nearly an hour to locate because of a gross lack of signage and ongoing construction.  However, the locals were extremely helpful and pointed us in the exact location.  The rest was fairly simple, except climbing four flights of stairs (no elevator!) with all the luggage!  Thankfully, although there was no air-conditioning, our rooms had doors that opened onto a front and rear balcony, allowing cool lake air to sweep across and throughout the suite and cool off the entire place.  Delicious!  

The next day, we woke early and took the scenic route, slowly winding our way through the mountains and valleys that always remind me of Heidi and Ricola commercials. We stopped in Grubenwald for an earlier-than-normal lunch at a typical Swiss chalet-style restaurant, Zum Schlössli. It was magnificent. We all ate too much. As we made our way , we passed the Thunersee, the Brienzersee, and the Sarnersee until we finally entered Lucerne. Mom’s very favorite place in all of the world.  What’s so fabulous about Lucerne, you might ask?  Well, really.  Have you been there?  It’s absolutely gorgeous and massive for the lakes in this area.  They don’t call it Vierwaldstättersee (Lake of Four Cantons) for nothing. 

Lucerne is a town made for walking.  There are bridges everywhere that cross back and forth over the Reuss (river) and some of them even have names!  We visited Spreuer Bridge and Chapel Bridge to name a couple.  Further, the tiny, winding streets of old Lucerne are really suitable only for pedestrians (although daring drivers in mini-vehicles are allowed!) who can easily and instantly stop and gawk at the amazing architecture and decorations sprinkled liberally around the town.  There are fascinating fountains, random sculptures, painted façades, elaborate signs, brick and stone work that is stunning and a wealth of other visual gems to see.  Also, there are plenty of clocks. The Swiss love their clocks! Suffice it to say, one single day in Lucerne is absolutely not enough time to spend there, but alas, it is all the time we had.  Still, we did park and we did walk and gawk and enjoy many of the city sights, smells and tastes before we made our way to Goldau for the night.  

Goldau is a lovely little burg snuggled in between Lake Lucerne, the Zügernsee, Lauerzersee and Lake Ägeri.  The biggest boast this town can make is the Natur- und Tierpark (Nature and Animal Park) located just outside of town.  Lynx, wolves and bears – oh my!  We stayed in an absolutely amazing B&B that was actually a private apartment attached to the equivalent of a Swiss mansion.  We had our own private entrance and parking plus our own private gardens that stretched from the front all the way around to the rear and included a lovely patio and huge grassy area.  If I weren’t exhausted, I’m sure I would have welcomed a game of football or frisbee as the location was just so perfect.  The icing on the cake was our hostess who brews her own beer!  Would we be so kind as to taste and offer our opinions on her ales?  A-B-S-O-L-U-T-E-L-Y!  I, personally, would never miss an opportunity to either 1. drink a beer or 2. offer my opinion about something.  She wanted BOTH and for FREE.  I mean, it was heaven.  With a lovely view of the Zügernsee from the front and a kitchen furnished with gourmet coffee and an espresso machine, I could have happily lived there for a month.  However, our agenda did not allow such dalliances.  The next day, we were scheduled to arrive in Rorschacherberg! Bodensee ho!

P.S. Allita totally trounced us on the navigational assistance game. We gave up tallying after she gained a massive lead. Also, I learned this is an excellent way to keep her interested in her surroundings while in the car for many hours! BONUS!!

“I’m a little baby in a barrel just taking everything in. I’m just so fortunate to do whatever I’m doing.” LaKeith Stanfield

https://www.imdb.com/name/nm3147751/bio

In mid-July we watched with some trepidation as news of increasing coronavirus cases in Spain began to spread.  Although the case numbers were higher, the percent positive of the total tested was relatively flat.  Scientists were cautioning politicians not to overreact. They perceived this to be a logical and even predicted increase in some populations of data.  However, local Catalan government officials jumped into action with revised quarantine requirements, social controls and a “recommendation” to stay home except in cases of urgent need.  We were advised that if you were stopped by police on the roadway, you could expect to be turned around and sent home if they decided your “need” wasn’t sufficient.  On the day we snuck out of Barcelona, the French government cautioned citizens against travel to Spain, particularly Catalonia and Aragon.  We fully anticipated our trip to be forcibly aborted by the powers that be – either at the rental car agency, police on the Spanish highway or agents at the French border.  We had resigned ourselves to expect failure.  Imagine how shocked and delighted we were at our success!  

Sidebar:  As someone who has spent a lifetime reviewing and analyzing scientific data, test results, investigations, protocols and reports, I am skeptical of everything.  I assume facts are fiction unless I am proven otherwise.  Heck, I took 3 O.T.C. home tests and got a blood test at the doctor’s office before I believed I was pregnant.  Never mind any ancillary evidence that might have supported the obvious outcome.  Make no assumptions and don’t jump to conclusions!  These are important lessons I have learned.  So, the decision we made to travel in the middle of a pandemic even as news of increasing case numbers was reported was not made lightly.  In fact, I spent two weeks pouring over every single source of information I could find and monitoring outlets for new data that might cause me to change our plans.  I never found conclusive evidence to confirm, at that time, we were on the cusp of a massive second wave and, therefore, at risk of imminent infection should we travel.  The reality is we are alive and, yes, there are dangers in this world.  If I live my life in fear of every single danger that exists, I will not truly be living.  If I live my life with complete disregard to danger, then I place myself at high risk and probably won’t be alive very long.  So, I try to make decisions that result in an outcome somewhere in the middle.  Somewhere between agoraphobia and hospitalization.   Looking back, the choice we made was a good one – the outcome was fantastic and the timing was excellent.  WINNER!!

On 21 July 2020, we loaded up the rental car and made our way toward Lyon, France.  After we successfully crossed the invisible border between Spain and France, we stopped for lunch in Fitou, France.  Fitou is basically nowhere.  Their wikipedia page (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fitou) literally has two sentences: one about the commune of Fitou and one about their wine (naturellement).  However, the view of the Mediterranean is absolutely lovely from the picnic area at the Aire de Fitou (rest stop) on the A9 and it made a lovely first stop for us to stretch our legs and take a breather.  

It was a long day in the car.  560 km of driving and a total of about 7 hours on the road because we hit the most nasty Stau (traffic jam) outside of Montpellier.  We were literally at a stand-still; parked on the autoroute for 20 minutes at a time, off and on, over the course of an hour.  We never saw an accident or any indication of the cause for the massive congestion.  It’s likely we will never know what happened to cause the delay.  Although it is interesting that later in the day, when I mentioned we had driven through traffic in Montpellier, a local scrunched his face as though he had a bad tasted in his mouth or was smelling something unpleasant.  Makes you wonder, right?  

Our destination for this first day of our adventure was a lovely little gîte rural (cottage or lodging) located on a working farm, including vineyard and orchard, in Chanos-Curson, France.  This little village is situated in the Rhône-Alpes region, obviously named for the Rhône river and the Alps, and is home to some of the most amazing farms and beautiful countryside.  We passed countless fields of bright, yellow sunflowers, hillsides covered in vines hanging heavy with grapes, and rows and rows of orchards filled with apricot, apple, pear, walnut and other trees often cordoned to large stakes in a traditional espalier design to allow for maximum productivity and ease of harvesting.  This area is also well known for its cheese and, of course, Côtes du Rhône wine!        

We found La Ferme des Denis quite by accident when Mom and I were first planning this trip.  In times past, we would routinely strike out in the car and drive as long and as far as we wanted.  Then we would stop for the night at some cute little pension or attractive auberge located in a tiny burg nestled along the route.   We never made reservations and seldom did much planning except to review a map so that we had a general idea of the names of the towns we might pass or places we might see.  The pandemic has created a situation where all of that is changed.  We can no longer be as carefree as we once were.  Who knows if there will be a pension even open and available?  Many have closed due to the pandemic and the resulting poor economy. Staying in a hotel means a big town or city near the major highway and makes it difficult to explore the country on rural routes. Plus, it compromises our social distancing as we would have to share public spaces (lobby, elevator, hallway) and be forced to eat in restaurants.  So, for this trip, we decided to plan in advance. We chose lodging that afforded us privacy and a variety of amenities but did not compromise our safety.  Additionally, we packed plenty cleaning and disinfection supplies so that we could be sure to sanitize all the surfaces we would routinely contact during our stay.  Therefore, we relied heavily on Air B&B to locate unique and personalized destinations.  One of these was an actual barrel.  

Denis and his wife had their barrel gîte made from the exact same wooden slates that are used to construct wine barrels in this region.  The little cottage is so unusual and precious tucked away behind the massive old farmhouse and sprawling courtyard that, at first, it looks like a toy.  However, it comes equipped with a full kitchen (refrigerator, freezer, microwave, stove, coffeemaker, etc.), dining table and chairs and a sofa that is easily made into a bed.  There is a raised platform in the rear where a permanent double bed is located and next to it is the full bathroom with shower.  The window in the rear is the only one that officially opens completely but with the front door open, there is sufficient breeze to freshen and cool the air.  Should it be unusually warm, there is also a little air conditioner that drains through a tiny tube to the outside.  Should it be unusually cold, there is a little heater and fan, plenty of thick, down comforters stored in the tiny closet and a heated towel rack in the bathroom.  It sounds much larger than it actually is.  Less than 30 feet from the front door to the back wall and 10-12 feet in diameter, it is bigger than our RV but not by much.  I could have lived in this cozy space for months, it was so perfect.   

Denis and his family are absolutely lovely people.  He is the 19th generation to live on this farm and the main house itself was built in the 1400s.  They speak only French.  This was not a problem for me as French is one of the four languages I speak.  Mom took French in High School and Allita takes it now.  So, we were all able to fumble along quite nicely.  They invited us to enjoy their covered, outdoor pool and they gifted us a bottle of white wine from their vineyard.  After we got settled, we took a short drive into Tain-l’Hermitage, a nearby town of some significance in that it is big enough for a supermarché (supermarket).  We saw the Église Saint-Julien (church) and crossed the Rhône on the magnificent Passerelle Marc Seguin (bridge).  The river was massive but beautiful and there was at least one tour boat running with a few passengers.  Many people were out and about, walking and shopping and traversing the city, but very few, if any, wore facemarks or any other form of P.P.E.  After we finished our brief visit, we purchased some supplies for dinner and returned to the safety of our little barrel home.  

It rained all night long and the music of the rain on the curved metal roof of the barrel plus the cool air wafting through the open window was enough to ensure we all rested very well.  The next morning, we enjoyed petit déjeuner (breakfast) provided by Denis and his wife at the main house in the open-air kitchen off the courtyard.  He baked a special traditional bread in the outdoor oven and she offered us fresh preserves made from the fruits of their orchard plus some fresh squeezed apricot juice.  What a delicious start to the day!  All-in-all, our night in the barrel was an amazing opportunity and an excellent beginning for our adventure.  Yes, we too felt fortunate for our experience, Mr. Stanfield.    

The plan for this leg of the journey was to drive through Figures, hopefully find a place to park, and see the Dalí museum.  The building is famous architecturally in addition to being the final resting place of much of Dalí’s art and the man himself.  I had researched Figures online and determined it would be easy enough to park near the museum and possibly stretch our legs for a bit.  However, we soon discovered that Figures is a mass of tiny, one-way streets that twist, turn and, often, unexpectedly dead-end.  As I mentioned previously, the GPS is not able to keep up with your car when you are maneuvering through these tiny city streets so our phone maps were next to useless.  At one point, my mother, who is frustrated by Google Maps on a good day, threw up her hands in exasperation and cried “Even this stupid phone doesn’t know how to get there!”  To make matters worse, there is very little signage in Figures, so we were not able to rely on a blue or brown marker to point the way.  Finally, with all of us working diligently to translate and navigate, we somehow arrived at the museum!  We recognized the eggs on the roof immediately. The very same roof-top eggs we saw at Dalí’s home in Port Llegat (see Quirky Cadaqués).

Because of the pandemic, the museum was closed when we arrived so we decided to do a slow drive-by instead.   All of the photos I have of the museum were taken by Allita who hung out the rear passenger window, snapping shots like mad and shouting directions at me – “Pull over!, Stop a minute!, Go forward just a little!, Wait! Go back!”  I felt like I was driving through a photoshoot with Annie Leibovitz in the backseat. 

By now, we had gotten our fill of navigating downtown Figures, so we took the quickest exit towards Esponellà.  Actually, we took the quickest exit and hoped we were headed the right way.  It wasn’t for another hour that we decided all was well with our navigation.  Ha!

We made our way through the tiny towns of Navata, Pompià and Crespià on a winding country road that took us past fields of farms and ranches, ruins of structures (churches? castles?) from long-ago days, and over a multitude of creeks and streams at the base of the Pyrenees.  Finally, we crossed the river, El Fluvià, on a tiny one-lane bridge controlled by traffic light (thankfully) and arrived at Camping Esponellà, our destination for the next two nights. 

Camping Esponellà is another resort-style campground with a variety of fantastic activities including mini-golf, foosball, swimming pools, table tennis, a bar and a restaurant all situated right along the banks of the river.  Unfortunately, their proximity to the river also means mosquitos.  Many mosquitos.  However, they were a good deal less aggressive, persistent and annoying than their cousins in Arizona.  The Spanish have polite mosquitoes – why does this discovery not surprise me?  Still, we were able to set up our tent and get the car unpacked before the rain started.  This was quite a fortuitous accomplishment because when the rain came, it came in with a grand entrance.  In fact, it made quite the statement most of the night.  

We had planned for rain.  Well, ok, not exactly.  We saw only sunny skies for our trip when we left Barcelona, but Mom, who is our resident weather expert, reported in Platja d’Aro that there was a chance of rain for the next two days!  So, I drove us to a store on the way out of town and we procured a plastic drop cloth to fashion into a rain fly for the tent/canopy.  We actually bought two because the puny things were about 2mm thick and we did not expect one to last through a storm.  Needless-to-say, we were pleasantly surprised and delighted to discover that our 4m x 5m thin plastic sheet was quite suitable and did a fantastic job of keeping the tent and all occupants dry from any rain that tried to penetrate the roof. 

Thus, on our first night in Esponellà, I was able to sleep inside the tent, with all our belongings piled all around me on every possible plastic item we had (inflatable rafts, the shower curtain floor, one inflatable air mattress, etc.) so that all would remain as dry as possible.  Mom and Allita slept on a single inflatable twin mattress inside the back of the van.  See?  Renting a van WAS a good idea after all.  And yes, I did preen for a bit the next morning.  

The next day, Allita and I decided to make a trip to the Haribo factory in Banyoles.  How often does one have a chance to visit the place where Gummi Bears are made?  We left Mom at the campground, reading a book in a sliver of sunshine and talking to the mosquitos, and drove down another fabulous, winding country road through downtown Esponellà and Melianta until we reached the autoroute just outside Banyoles.  We missed our exit the first time, so we had the opportunity to do a Spanish u-turn, drive through four traffic circles, and then finally arrive.  The factory has considerable security restrictions, not all of them due to Covid-19.  Sadly, we were unable to take any photographs.  We were, however, able to make full use of the company store, where we applied our 20% discount coupon from the campground and made off with giant bags of candy like thieves in the night.  It was fabulous!  Further, we ate as much of our bounty as we dared in the car on the way back to Esponellà and nearly ended up making ourselves sick in the process. 

To ease off the sugar rush, we parked in the tiny medieval town and wandered around, exploring passageways and narrow paths that, on more than one occasion, took us into someone’s backyard!  Two resident chickens pointed out the folly of our ways and directed us toward the route back to the van.  Finally, we returned to the nearby campground, confessed our sins to GG, and eventually embarked on an afternoon foosball and mini-golf tournament.  Before the end of the evening, we swam in the not-heated-very-much-if-actually-at-all pool and enjoyed a lovely meal at the poolside restaurant.  All-in-all, it was an excellent venturesome day!  

We left Esponellà the following morning and slowly made our way back to Barcelona via Manresa.  The first leg of our return trip took us through Parc Natural de la Zona Volcànica de la Garrotxa.  Volcanic cones, lava flows, nature reserves, medieval castles, acres of farmland and the lovely Pyrennes filled our view for miles.  Also, we crossed the river, El Fluvià, so many times, it became a joke.  Every time we saw a bridge ahead, someone would shout “It’s El Fluvià” and we would all laugh ourselves silly. 

About mid-way, we passed through Vic, a mysteriously backwards town that I have long wanted to visit.  In the winter, Vic is almost continuously covered by fog.  Due to the geography of the area, the little town sits smack in the middle of a thermal inversion.  How cool is that?  Puns aside, Vic is interesting because it is one of the few, rare regions in Spain where the climate is not wholly Mediterranean.  Actually, I’m sure it’s interesting for many other reasons – probably some Roman, some religious, and some cultural or economic – but for me, it’s the creepy, persistent fog that makes Vic fascinating.  Regrettably, the fog is a winter treat only, so we didn’t spend any real time in Vic other than to pass through on our way to Manresa.  

We entered Manresa with very little idea where we were going and what we would do there.  I had researched the small town but had not decided on any particular place as our destination.  In fact, our plan was more shoot-from-the-hip than normal so we wandered a bit here and there before we finally discovered a parking spot suitable for the van.  Serendipitously, the spot we found was just at the base of the famous Collegiate Basilica of Santa Maria, or La Seu, which is also the principle monument of Manresa.  

The church sits on top of the tallest hill in the city and from the yard, you can easily see the famous Roman bridge, Pont Vell, with its peaked shape (one long arch in the center and several other arches in symmetry on either side), and the nearby medieval walls that once surrounded the city but now remain only in well-preserved sections.   It was breath-taking – both the hike up the never-ending staircase to the church base and the well-earned view from the grounds overlooking the old city. 

Next, we decided to embark on a walking tour of old town Manresa.  The city was celebrating their Festa Major so the streets were decorated with banners, flags, bows, streamers and a variety of other traditional ornaments.  In one small square, we discovered the perfect outdoor restaurant for a late lunch.  Finally, and with very little aplomb, we departed Manresa, completed the return trip to Barcelona and brought an end to our first 2020 summer adventure.  It wasn’t nearly as rough as I had feared and we all enjoyed a lovely week exploring the Spanish northeast.

Cadaqués is a typical Mediterranean post-card town with a multitude of white-walled buildings stacked precariously in uneven rows along a ragged coastline. A smattering of which sweep upwards into the hillsides filled with olive groves of all ages.  To get there, you either need a small yacht or a dependable vehicle unafraid to traverse the winding road painstakingly built along the rocky, steep terrain. There is only one main highway, GI-614, allowed to go into and out of Cadaqués.  There are other routes, but they don’t qualify as roads – more like lanes that often converge into single status in order to cross a bridge or round a sharp corner, of which there are many.  This is the nature of the Costa Brava – the wild coast.  The land appears to have pushed it’s way from the very center of the earth before it finally, gradually allowed life to grow upon its surface.  It is the epitome of wild.  It is random and rough and, at times, scary.  For this reason, the tiny city of Cadaqués is a hidden little gem that miraculously appears out of nowhere when you creep around the last corner and find your way suddenly in the main traffic circle.  It surprises you like that last little Russian doll nesting in the set.  Ta-da!  

To get to Cadaqués, we drove around the large, bustling yet beautiful city of Roses.  We actually spent plenty of time driving around Roses as we passed it on the way into Cadaqués and again, on the way out!  If you do decide to explore the Costa Brava from the oceanic perspective and are therefore in need of a respectable craft, Roses is the place for you!  Never have I seen such an outstanding collection of procurable sea-faring vessels all snuggled together in one place.  Some for sale, some for rent, some for trade, etc.  I imagine the options are as limitless as the supply.  In fact, the one single scenic overlook on the GI-614 headed towards Cadaqués provides an excellent view of the vast marina that is Roses.  Also, every now and then, you might see some actual roses growing in the orchards and vineyards along the way.  I presume, however, they are present to encourage bees more than sailors.  

Allita was able to successfully navigate us around the town of Cadaqués and to the Camping Cadaqués campground I had previously identified as a possible overnight location for us.  Sadly, this particular campground closed in March due to the pandemic and has not since re-opened.  Given the strict requirements for reopening such a business, it seems reasonable, if disappointing, that some might not afford a positive cost-benefit analysis.  So, we drove back into town and decided to explore our options.  

At this point, I will remind you that I had rented a van for this trip.  We were supposed to be camping and we needed the extra space in the event we had to sleep inside the vehicle, for whatever reason.  So we had a rather large minivan (which sounds like an oxymoron).  A van is not a typical Spanish vehicle.  One does not see many SUVs, minivans, trucks, or large, 4-door sedans driving around the Spanish countryside.  In these little towns, even the delivery vehicles appear to be skinnier designs that can barely carry two passengers and have magical, Mary-Poppins-esque cargo areas capable of transporting more goods that seem physically possible.  These are people who drive small, thin cars because they drive on small, narrow streets.  In some cases, they aren’t actually streets, they are more like paths that have been worn over time and are now part of the regular thoroughfare.  Many of them are paved, some are cobblestone or rock, and a few are just dirt.  Almost none of them have street signs that provide any sort of identification and you can forget using your GPS.  

So, here I was driving this robust van through the tiny, winding rastells of Cadaqués so we could “get a feel” for the place and “look around a little” (I’m quoting my mother, by the way) before we finally settled down for the night.  The van came equipped with a navigational assistance feature that I could not figure out how to disable.  This feature is accompanied by an in-dash camera system that displays the outside peripheral view and also has a digital outline of the vehicle that lights up using a color-coded scheme to warn you when you are approaching something the sensors can detect.  It could be a bush or a building.  It could be on any side of the vehicle as the system covers the entire perimeter!  The car can be in drive or in reverse.  As long as the vehicle is in gear, the system is functioning.  Also, the system will emit a loud “beep” to remind you of impending doom in case you missed the flashing, color-coded lights and the camera image.   The beeping becomes more insistent the closer you get to the object the sensor detects.  I confirmed this through repeated testing.  In fact, driving this van through downtown Cadaqués was a little like playing a video game inside the car.  There were frequently flashing lights and lots of beeping, and I was cursing while Mom and Allita laughed and pointed at things nearby.   Fortunately, there were no lost lives, but I surprised a number of people, including one waiter who popped out in front of me while I was trying to squeeze the van between his restaurant and the outdoor tables.  Honestly, I was on the road.  I swear it.  

[rastell: a street with a steep slope which is formed with pieces of slate stone placed in a vertical position] 

Finally, when I had experienced all the driving fun I possibly could, we adventitiously arrived back at our origin and I created a parking spot in front of a lovely-looking hotel.  We remain disappointed that we were unable to camp in Cadaqués because we now can not proclaim this a “camping trip”.  Still, in retrospect, I have to admit it was nice to spend one evening in a complete room with a semi-solid mattress and a tub in the bathroom (see Roughing It – Platja d’Aro for related details).  Not to mention the air conditioning.  The hotel manager was even kind enough to store our small cooler bag in her kitchen refrigerator overnight so that we didn’t immediately need ice.  Finally, the location of our hotel was also excellent and it included a private and secure parking lot.   In the end, I was delighted to walk a short way to the marina, locate a lovely restaurant right on the waterfront and enjoy some tapas and Tinto at the end of a very long day.   

Early the next morning, after a light breakfast, we walked through Cadaqués to the neighboring village of Port Lligat where Salvador Dalí had a beach home that is now a museum.  This was actually one of our main reasons for being in Cadaqués.  Yes, the Casa Blava is pretty and blue.  Yes, the Church of Saint Mary is large and lovely.  Yes, the marina is quite picturesque.  And, certainly, Dalí isn’t the only notable visitor to Cadaqués.  Pablo Picasso, Joan Miró and Walt Disney were also here – to name a few.  In fact, this little city is so quirky and unique, so like Dalí himself, that it seems appropriate it be linked to him in our minds.  One store we passed sold only pots – no seeds, plants, books on gardening, watering containers – nope, only pots. A local restaurant had repurposed old tractor parts as tables and chairs. They even have a statue of Dalí standing with his back to the marina and beach, looking up at the little town and smiling his strange smile.  It was a fantastic walk, up steep slopes, down rocky trails and through narrow alleys overlooking houses and yards.  We were able to see so much of Cadaqués that our walking tour felt almost personal – like we were sneaking through someone’s backyard – and, in a way, we were.  Every house was built up the hill so that each ended just as another started and they were stacked, literally, one on top of the other.  The best view of the city was found standing in the middle of an olive grove just as we popped over the top of the last hill. 

The first time we left Cadaqués was to travel to the point of Cap de Creus which is the eastern-most point of the Iberian peninsula.  Another good reason to be in this area.  This drive was not unlike the drive into Cadaqués although the road was more narrow, which is a feat I did not previously think possible.  Just as we came around one particularly perilous corner overhanging a shear drop-off, we met a massive RV!  To this day, I have no idea how we survived that moment.  Furthermore, I have no idea how either vehicle got through unscathed and continued forward as though nothing of any great significance had occurred.  Thankfully I returned to my corporal state quickly enough to resume management of the vehicle and pretend all was right with the world.  The inside of the van was eerily quiet until Mom announced “Well, we’re officially on vacation now!”.  She was making reference to a nearly identical experience we had on a trip we made many years ago to Portofino, Italy with my uncles, Larry and Jim.   Portofino, Italy is like Cadaqués in that it is also built on the side of a steep mountain that ends abruptly in the sea and possesses only one narrow road into and out of the town.  I met a city bus in a hairpin turn and we were in the inside lane with the mountain on one side and the bus on the other.  Just like the last time, I didn’t even slow down when I saw the RV – I just said a little prayer and hoped for the best.  Another once-in-a-lifetime experience that I have repeated.  Go figure.  

We enjoyed our visit to Cap de Creus.  Mom didn’t leave the car, but Allita and I got out and walked around the lighthouse, saw the official “eastern-most point” marker, took some photos and left.  We ate lunch and then hit the road to Figures.  This would be the last time we would leave Cadaqués and drive around Roses.  It would also be our last view of the Costa Brava as we made our way in-land to the official home of the Dalí museum (where the man himself is buried) and eventually through the Volcanic National Park to Esponella.  Thankfully, the roads evolved into highways with multiple, wide lanes and no cliffs. What a relief.  

On Monday, 29 June 2020, after I taxied down to the train station, retrieved the rental van and disinfected the entire interior of said van with Sanitol (a.k.a. Lysol) wipes, we loaded up all our bags and camping equipment with the help of our friendly concierge, Antonio, and began our journey up the Costa Brava.  I had printed some navigational instructions for Allita so she could assist me in the journey without getting “bored” (since iPads are verboten while traveling via car, bus or train).  She was working in harmony with Mom who was manning the map notebook – the kind of map that is ring-bound and has numbers on all four sides of the page so you know where to turn to next depending on which direction you’re going.  The plan was fairly simple: Go north. Follow the coast highway. See the Costa Brava.  Find a place to camp for the night.  Done!

We spent many hours driving up the coast.  The views were amazing.  We traveled through small beach towns with fantastic homes and businesses lined up right along the side of the highway which also traveled in parallel with the train tracks (Vilassar de Mar).  The road is on the west side of the train track and the beach is on the east side.  So in order to reach the beach, you have to find a parking spot (this is a big challenge) and then a passenger tunnel or bridge (boardwalk) in order to cross over the rails.  More often than not, the paths were tunnels marked with a little blue sign of a person descending a staircase.  That was an interesting discovery since it was not identified once during the hours of study of Spanish road signs I had previously undertaken.

I had actually done a tremendous amount of research prior to our trip.  I’m sure this comes as no real surprise to anyone reading this who also knows me well.  I like to gather as many details and facts as I can before I make a decision about any action I’m about to take.  I have not always been this fastidious.  However, prior life experiences have shown me that “Oh man! I can do better than that! Here, hold my beer!” is definitely not the best approach and something a bit more organized and deliberate generally has a better outcome.  All that said, I already had some ideas about where we might spend our first few nights.  Also, at this point, I would like to mention that navigating in Europe is much easier if you know the name of the town where you are headed.  Or, better yet, the names of various towns along your route.  This way, you can simply point your car toward the path marked by the sign with a town name you recognize and not worry about pesky details such as road numbers or global direction.  In the end, the signs will lead you to the place where you want to be.    

We finally stopped for lunch in Sant Pol de Mar.  We took the first exit into town.  The sign indicated the beach was nearby.  We drove through the little town a ways and Mom pointed out a parking lot sign.  I could not see how to drive the van into that particular lot until after we zipped past the entrance.  Dang!  I assured everyone that I would find another parking lot somewhere up ahead and we would make it to the beach easy as pie.  Yeah.  Famous last words.  I ended up navigating this huge mini-van down the narrow winding streets of this tiny little burg, swearing at the stupid “navigational assistance” system every time it beeped at me to warn that I was “too close” to something and was likely in danger of hitting it (by-the-way, this includes plants and humans as well as structures like cars or buildings).  The stupid thing was beeping like a video game.  Meanwhile, I felt like I was trying to drag a massive carry-on bag down the isle of the coach section of a 747 without hitting any of the seats on either side.  It was nearly impossible.  If ever I needed a glass of Tinto, it was certainly the moment when we popped out of downtown Sant Pol and eased into an actual parking spot.  I felt everyone in the car exhale.  Like we had been holding in our collective breath to “suck in” the sides of the car and squeeze through town.  Ha!  Unfortunately, by the time we finally found an actual parking spot, we had climbed the hill to the top of the town and the beach was a VERY long trek down a VERY steep hill, which wasn’t nearly as worrisome as the return trip.  After some mental calculations, we decided to pass on that particular location. However, you will be delighted to know, that within less than a mile, I found another suitable parking spot with an easy and only slightly downhill walk to the sandy coastline.  Yeah, that’s Costa Brava.  One minute you are at sea level and the next minute you are looking through the clouds to see Mother Earth.  No kidding.

After a leisurely lunch and some time in the sand, we packed up again and headed north to Tossa de Mar (the blue paradise).  At this point, the road had metamorphosised from a sunny, leisurely coastal highway to a winding mountainous trail with hairpin turns, narrow lanes and hair-raising cliffs.  It was fantastic!   I, of course, was not driving fast enough for my mother who learned to drive a Ford Mustang on roads identical to these in western North Carolina.  However, I was driving waaaaaay to quickly for Allita who was hanging her head out the window trying not to lose her lunch every time we made a corner.  Poor kid.  She’s from Arlington, Texas remember?  She prefers flat, fast highways.  I enjoyed the drive, regardless of the grousing from the audience, and made a point of stopping at every scenic overlook (marked by a sign with an image of an old-fashioned camera).  Driver’s privilege!  So I have lots of great pics taken from the scenic green route on Mom’s map notebook.  Thank God I used my phone so the GPS knows where we actually were.

We arrived in Platja d’Aro and thanks to Allita’s keen navigating, we found the campground and were able to secure a spot for two nights.  Camping Reimbau is a lovely resort campground in Platja d’Aro.  It’s near enough to the beach that we can easily walk and yet far enough away that we aren’t only focused on “beach”.  There are lots of ancillary activities including several pools, playground, table tennis, mini golf, exercise classes including an entire room dedicated to spinning (on bicycles, unfortunately), tennis courts, basketball courts, a bar and a restaurant.  There is also a shopping market, a store full of interesting African-influenced native creations, a laundry mat, and the requisite bath houses/showers hidden among the many camping sites.  The campground is hidden in a field very near a wild animal adventure park (?!) and what appears to be the ruins of an old castle.  That’s actually more common than you would believe here in Europe.  Pretty much every town has some old ruins somewhere.  

Camping in Spain is a thing.  By that, I mean, it is a very popular activity!  Many families camp and they have serious camping equipment that they set up and leave in their campsite for, what appears to be, long time periods.  Perhaps even the entire summer?!  Campsites are rented by the night, week, month and season.  Furthermore, there are campgrounds all over the place – on the coast, in the mountains, near cities. Wow!  When we arrived at Camping Reimbau in our overstuffed rental van and started to make camp using a bottom-less tent (a.k.a. canopy) with a plastic shower curtain for a floor, I’m sure the regulars were thinking “There goes the neighborhood!”.  Ha!  Still, we had not one single problem sleeping on inflatable mattresses in our little tent.  The store supplied us with ice and we were able to keep our coolers plenty cold.  We enjoyed a couple meals at the restaurant but for the most part, we made do with what we packed.  Eating our meals at the campsite and roughing it in the “resort” atmosphere, we made the Girl Scouts proud. 

We spent two days at the lovely Camping Reimbau.  We walked 2 km to the beach and discovered it nearly abandoned.  A large group of yoga moms and kiddos were just leaving as we arrived.  Except for a few small families spread many meters apart all down the beach, we were alone.  No worry about social distancing here!  (Later, Mom discovered that the beach didn’t officially open until the following day, thus explaining the lack of goers. Oh well!) The beach had more pebbles than actual sand and Allita discovered that it was impossible to build any kind of sustainable structure – other than a massive hole, into which she almost fell later, as we were leaving.  (Grace is not her middle name!)  All told, we stayed at the beach for about an hour.  Mom and I watched two men and a backhoe position signs all down the beach indicating where the First Aid and WC were and reminding people no cameras or dogs are allowed.  Cameras are not generally allowed on Spanish beaches because many of them are topless and some are nude.  I suppose they don’t really want to be seen on social media or in someone’s “travel blog”.  Another observation to make: most Europeans are comfortable with nudity.  In fact, one lady at the campground swimming pool was topless all day long.  That was a bit surprising to me but nobody else seemed to notice.  Even at the family beaches, it’s quite common to see people strip all the way down while they shower off the sand at the completely exposed beach shower.  They eventually redress in something simple and usually dry, but if you’re not prepared for it, you can absolutely get an eye full.  Incidentally, Allita finds this horrifying.  

We enjoyed nearly every single amenity that Camping Reimbau had to offer before we rolled out around noon on Wednesday, 1 July, wandered our way through the downtown streets of Platja d’Aro and did a little shopping before we hit the road again.  This time, we were headed to Cadaqués and Cap de Creus – the eastern-most point of the Iberian peninsula and nearby the summer home of Salvador Dalí (Port Lligat).   Onward – ho! 

On Sunday, 21 June 2020, Spain reopened with all health regions at a safety level 3. For the first time since the borders were closed on 16 March 2020, citizens are now able to travel domestically to almost* any location within Spain. The external border is also opened now to some few international travelers but with restrictions and a fair amount of controls. For us, this newly restored freedom is an opportunity to stretch our legs, spread our wings and head out on a new adventure! After 100 days of confinement, not only to Barcelona but to Pedrables, as lovely as it is, we are thrilled to finally be headed back on the road again.

To be honest, since late April, Mom and I have been tentatively exploring the idea of a quick trip somewhere. Brainstorming some ideas. Wishfully thinking aloud without putting too much hope into it or making any real commitment, emotional or financial. You see, we had such a lovely adventure planned for Spring break. Just in time for the Easter processions, we would fly to Seville and drive to Cádiz to see the Cathedral then on to Tarifa, the southern-most point of Europe. From Gibraltar, Allita and I would take a hovercraft to Cueta (an autonomous Spanish city in Africa!), return to the mainland and spend some time in a resort in Malagá, then on to the magnificent Alhambra in Granada and through the Sierra Nevadas to Almería. Finally, we would return to Barcelona by way of Alicante and Valencia, driving up the eastern coastline through Tarragona and Sitges. The grand tour of Spain! We were so excited. We had planned it for months and were ready to go. Flights booked, car and hotel reserved and suitcases packed! Then, BANG! The reality of the pandemic hit us with a slap in the face. Spain implemented the most draconian quarantine measures in all of Europe. We were grounded. Literally. Therefore, until recently we just weren’t emotionally ready to make new plans and start seriously thinking about traveling again. We were still licking our wounds from our last quashed adventure dreams. And, there was still a degree of fear pervasive in the atmosphere in Spain, in Barcelona and also, here, in Pedrables. No, we weren’t really planning – we were just “what-if-ing” and “suppose-ing”. Just enough musing to keep us sane, until we started to see light at the end of the tunnel.

Sometime in May, Mom and I realized that the quarantine situation here would eventually come to an end. The daily new case numbers in Spain were slowly but steadily decreasing and hospitals were becoming less burdened. We were getting this thing under control, so to speak, and there was a plan put forth by the government on how we might ease our way out of our lockdown. A plan for how we might begin to attempt to restore some freedom and get back to a different level of living. Maybe even travel again. So, after much discussion and consideration, Mom and I decided that the best, first, post-virus adventure for us would be a camping trip.

We are seasoned campers. In fact, we excel at camping. When Mom was injured in 2013, camping was our respite – it was a treat for Mom, Allita and I to pack up and go camping for a weekend. Granted, I had to do most of the work as Mom was still in a full leg brace and barely walked with the help of a hemi, and Allita had just turned 5. Still, the peace of Madera Canyon called to us and we relished our time outdoors, watching the birds, sitting in the cool shade, and just breathing the fresh, clean air.

We were starting to feel that same pull again – that same call from the outdoors. As it turns out, we came to Spain with a decent amount of camping supplies. Not that we ever planned to camp in a campground per se. We had actually been concerned that whatever apartment we rented would not be furnished, so we brought (and shipped) all the items we felt we might need to live, temporarily in an unfurnished apartment. Inflatable mattresses, collapsable bowls and cups, camping chairs, camping tables, linens, etc. Except for a tent, we had all we needed. Amazingly enough. It’s almost like this camping trip was fated – if you believe in that sort of thing.

So, we ordered a massive tent online on Amazon.es. We didn’t exactly know how big it would be when we bought it – that’s part of the adventure included in shopping in a foreign language – nor that it would come sans floor. But who needs a floor when you’re camping? Just another thing to try to keep clean. Now we didn’t have to worry about “tracking in” dirt and debris or taking our shoes off and putting them on again each time we can and went. Four walls and a roof and we were ready.

We started making lists and packing things into boxes for “when the time comes”. As more time passed and this day drew nearer, we looked into rental vehicles. Yes, you can rent an RV. Actually, there are lots of rental trailer and RV options. But did we actually need a traveling home? We have a tent (of sorts) and we have furniture. We only really need a car. Right? But, what if it rained? We should rent a van. Does CostCo rent vans? Yes indeed. Check that box.

The next part of the process was to plan the actual trip. Where would we go? Mom and I have been reading about Costa Brava for years. It’s literally just up the road. So, since we are driving and school is officially over (19 June was the last day of online classes), why shouldn’t we go up the coast? Let’s just drive. I did some research and found a fun place to spend a couple days and then messaged them for some details on when they will reopen. 25 June was their first day back in business. Ok, so our trip needed to start after 25 June. We could handle that.

Allita has also been learning about Salvador Dalí, the famous Catalan artist with the wild mustache. A bizarre little man who lived in Cadaqués near his family’s beach house but also owned property (now his official museum and where he is buried!) in Figueres (where he was born) about an hour west and inland. Cadaqués is very near the eastern-most point of the Iberian peninsula. That would be in keeping with our previous trip across the Iberian peninsula (western-most in Portugal, see Our View of Portugal) and future plans (southern-most in Tarifa, northern-most in Galicia). Mom wants to see the house in Cadaqués but I want to see the Dalí museum in Figures. So that is where we plan to depart from the coast and start inland and eventually our return.

Allita is a huge fan of all things ocean. It’s because of her love of the beach that we are taking the scenic coastal route. I am not a fan of sand and surf and Mom is ambivalent. But, because I want Allita to enjoy as much of this adventure as possible, I have agreed that the first three days will be seaside. We will wind our way along the coastal highway – keeping in mind that Costa Brava literally means wild or rough coast. The distance we travel the first day is quite short and should only take about an hour but will likely require 5-6 hours or longer given the curvaceous pathways and the tendency of my passengers to want to stop and “look”. Possibly we will also pause a bit now and again to play in the sand or check out a castle or two.

The last three days, however, will be in the mountains. I love the mountains and Mom was born in the mountains of North Carolina so she is also partial to that landscape. Thus, from Figueres, we will head to a little mountain campground I have discovered, where the owner is willing to hold a site for us without any deposit and only an email as our commitment (how refreshing!). Its located very near the river, El Fluvià, in the mountains and promises to be cool and lovely with fresh air and lots of outdoor activities. The route has us passing very near the Parc Natural de la Zona Volcànica de la Garrotxa (volcanic cones, lava flows, etc.) and the Santa Margarida Volcano, which is sadly extinct. Then, we will wander our way through more of the mountains and finally into Manresa to walk along the medieval street excavated under the city. How fun! Finally, we will drive through Sabadell and the mountain tunnel back to Pedrables.

So, now we have a plan and, once again, we are packed and ready to roll. I am literally counting down the hours until Monday 29 June. In true Willie Nelson style, “I can’t wait to be on the road again”!

* As of 28 June 2020, a few health regions have re-implemented lockdown status because of small outbreaks. Four regions in Aragon near the Catalonian border closed on 22 June due to an outbreak related to seasonal fruit pickers that resulted in 18 cases, some of which were in Catalonia. (news article)

Today is the summer solstice celebration, Sant Joan, in Barcelona.  According to the locals, this marks the longest day of the year.  The period of the most light, which is one of the reasons why they celebrate this occasion with fire.  They call Sant Joan’s eve (23 June) “Nit del Foc” or Fire Night. There are fireworks (petards), bonfires (fogueres) and occasionally a correfoc (see Festa Major- Day 3).  The locals drink Cava (sparkling wine) and eat Pan de Coca (sweet bread with cream or sweet dried fruits).  There is music, dancing and a variety of merriment all through the night.  Everyone warns us that we will not be sleeping much this evening.  For me personally, this is usually the time of year when I take a moment to reflect on the progress of the year to date and the status of my life.  It happens that my birthday is also around the time of the estival solstice.  Thus, the process of aging another year generally gives me pause and motivation to pontificate.   This year is no exception.  

I have to say that 2020 started off exceptionally well for us.  You will remember that we celebrated New Year’s Day with the start of our Greek adventure (See a Greek New Year).  It was colder and wetter than we expected, but we still managed to enjoy all the sights we wanted to see in Athens and every moment of our time there together.  The weather in Barcelona in January was chilly but sunny with only periodic rain and we were frequently able to stroll around outdoors and explore the neighborhood.  One trip through Pedrables, we stopped at a nursery and purchased many plants, including lettuce, that would become a vital part of our patio garden in the coming months.  On the same trip, we shared a picnic lunch near the lovely local monastery and enjoyed ice cream treats on the walk back home.  Allita and I discovered a Mr. Park playground with trampolines just around the corner from the house.  She practiced several times until she managed to repeatedly perform a complete flip and land on her feet.  Ta Da! We spent one entire Saturday visiting the Hospital of Saint Paul (Hospital de la Santa Creu i Sant Pau) and then walked on to the Sagrada Familia and had another picnic lunch.  Another Saturday, we spent hours at Montjuic completing an exciting scavenger hunt that took us all over the hilltop fortress and through the gardens. We took a weekend trip to Lisbon in late February (see Our View of Portugal).  A few days later, we celebrated Sant Medir with the locals and Allita followed the parade, collecting as much candy as her bag could hold.  In another few days, Allita and I took a ski trip to Andorra (see Let’s Go Skiing).  Looking back, I suppose that’s about the time our year started to go a little off-track.  

13 March 2020 started like any other day.  We ate breakfast.  Allita and I walked together to school.  At 4pm, Mom left the apartment to collect Allita from school and walk together back home – a process that normally takes about an hour.  By all appearances, it was a “normal” Thursday.  Around 4:15pm, I received an email from the school that all students needed to collect their books and personal items and prepare for the school to shut down for an undetermined period.  That was the day when we first became aware of the immediate impact of SARS-CoV-2.  We had been following the spread of the virus and were aware of its presence on the planet, but it still felt surreal. Something we could hear about but not directly associated. Like the creature from the 1958 movie, “The Blob”, the virus was this growing, destructive and evil presence that was spreading, out-of-control all over the world. Suddenly it was here.  In our town.  I, of course, was unaware of the last-minute email from the school and poor Mom and Allita had to lug home 50 pounds of books and chattel that Allita had acquired and stored in her desk and locker.  Thankfully most of their 2km walk was downhill; although I did start to worry after a couple hours.   

The next day, we were somewhat more informed, now having read and translated most of the local and national newspapers.  While Spain wasn’t formally initiating their official quarantine measures until Monday, 17 March, Catalonia was not to be outdone by the government and had decided to immediately and completely close all businesses, restaurants, bars, hotels, banks, etc. except pharmacies, grocery stores and hospitals effective Friday, 14 March.  Although, businesses open that day were allowed to remain so until midnight.  No wonder our mid-day play date with a school friend at Jardins de ca n’Altimira, a local hilly park with lots of fun bridges, was crowd-free and our choices for afternoon tea were so incredibly limited!  We walked home down Mejor de Sarriá and saw lines of masked customers standing 2 meters apart outside the pharmacy.  We tapped on the window of our favorite local German restaurant, BestWurst, to see if they were open and if we could purchase some dinner.  Little did we realize that this would be our last time eating restaurant food until 7 May!  Nor could we have guessed that this day would be our last day OUTSIDE as a family strolling around on terra firma until 26 May!  

So, if first quarter 2020 started off with a bang and ended with a fizzle, then second quarter 2020 started off with a moan and ended with a sigh.  There were some highlights worth mentioning from the second quarter: Allita’s school did an AMAZING job with online education.  Classes were held daily from 10am until 5pm with a brief morning break and an hour off for lunch.  Looking back, we all believe she processed more work and probably learned more during this remote educational period than she did while on campus.  Every night, at 8pm, our entire family listened for the church bells and made our way to our little balcony where we joined all of our neighbors in applauding the healthcare and essential workers who were tirelessly and selflessly fighting the brave fight against this invisible foe.  We clapped, cheered and waved.  We sang and chatted – leaning over our balustrade to see their happy faces and “visit” from the required social distance.  We learned to be creative in finding ways to be physically active indoors without bothering the neighbors with our boisterousness and heavy-stepping feet.  For example, I re-discovered how to successfully hula hoop and, eventually, became the family champion of Twister.  Not to mention all the mini-golf we played!  My Castellano improved enough that I could successfully order an entire meal from the nearby burger restaurant and, after some initial surprises (“ummm, what is this?”), I became accomplished at online grocery ordering and delivery.  So proficient, in fact, that I doubt I will utilize any other method for the near future.  Lugging heavy carts of food home over cobblestone sidewalks after spending an hour social-distanced grocery shopping while wearing PPE is not a desirable task, I promise you.  We practiced our art skills, our music skills, our gardening skills, our lingual skills, our gaming skills, our teamwork skills, our communication skills, and so much more.  Finally, and perhaps, most importantly, we discovered that we have the strength, patience, kindness and love to be able to live together in a confident space with only one tiny balcony for weeks on end without any serious drama or emotional damage.  That actually came as a bit of a surprise.  

All-in-all, 2020 has not precisely been the year I had envisioned.  The country is reopening now.  Life is beginning anew.  There are changes, yes.  Differences in how we behave (2 meters apart) and how we dress (masks and gloves), but we are slowly, gradually coming out of our shells, stretching our legs and rediscovering the world around us.  I have hope that the remainder of 2020 will be better than the first half.  We ate at an outdoor restaurant this week.  I went shopping in the mall yesterday morning.  We are making travel plans again.  So, we had a bump in the road.  More like a middle-of-the-intersection pileup actually.  But we all survived.  Why spend valuable time looking backwards and pointing fingers or lamenting over what could have or should have been?  Life is far to short and precious to focus on the negative.  As my grandmother used to say “there’s no sense in crying over spilled milk”.  

What do my mid-year reflections tell me? Every day has something good about it.  Even the worst day you’ve had all year.  Even in a year filled with global death and multiple disasters (fires, famines, plagues, earthquakes, etc.)  Even in a year when many of your plans were quashed and your entire life was turned upside-down and inside-out. There is always happiness somewhere to be found and always something for which you should be grateful. 

And what will I be celebrating during our Sant Joan holiday festivities?  The joy of living, of course.  Every single day.  Every single minute.  Because, as 2020 has reminded us, the alternative is so much worse.  

Hidden deep in the Pyrenees is the sixth-smallest nation in Europe and the 16th smallest in the world, the tiny principality of Andorra. Andorra is a lovely realm snuggled between France and Spain, who both share its diarchy and control access to this Disney-like world. Famous for ski resorts, which take up nearly a quarter of the entire country, shopping, hiking and financing (tax haven), Andorra is a favorite destination for Barcelonans. Thus it came as no surprise, when I stopped at the Sarrià travel agency one morning on the way home from dropping Allita at school, that the friendly agent recommended Grandvalira as the best destination for our ski trip. Allita had never gone snow skiing, although I am an old hand at the sport, having learned as a child in Vernon (yes, with the Bunnies as Dad was a member!) and honed my skills in the Alps during my high school years. So, this was going to be a grand adventure for the two of us. Mom agreed to stay home and cat-sit while we road the ski bus with a variety of other tourists (Americans, Canadians, Russians, Japanese) and locals for nearly 4 hours, stopping only once for dinner along the route.

Once we finally located our bus, which the chipper travel agent assured me would be much easier to find than it actually was, we met our energetic and optimistic guide and settled in for the long haul. The trip up on Friday evening was mostly uneventful until it started to snow. Just as we entered Andorra, the bus driver was forced to pull over to the side of the road and put chains on the massive tires. Fortunately, many of the male passengers volunteered to assist him and after what felt like eternity but was likely only a half hour, we were finally on our way again. At this juncture, Allita and I were barely hanging on to wakefulness. We are not routinely active after 11pm, so we were both a great deal less than mentally alert. Suffice it to say, this situation presented us with our first disaster: we departed the bus with our luggage at the WRONG hotel. From the paperwork, I knew our hotel was in Andorra la Vella. However, unbeknownst to me, the bus had plans to stop at 3 hotels, all in Andorra la Vella. So, when the announcement came, we assumed this was our stop and groggily departed. We only realized our colossal error when we tried to check in to the hotel only to discover we didn’t have a reservation. To make matters worse, with the heavy snowfall in progress, taxis were not available and the bus driver was unable to return and retrieve us. Allita and I were resigned to sleeping in the front lobby when the most fabulous miracle occurred: a hotel employee working the front desk volunteered to walk to her house, retrieve her car and drive us across the snow-covered village to our correct hotel. The only catch was, we had to wait until well past midnight, when her shift was ended. I nearly cried in relief. Time passed fairly quickly and before you know it, we were trudging through the snow and slush, me dragging our suitcase and Allita chatting freely and incessantly with the poor, kind-hearted receptionist who was surely having second thoughts. I helped her use her navigation system and we finally made our way to our actual hotel, checked in and crashed, face-first into our beds. The guide had waited for us in the hotel lobby so she could remind us, ever cheerfully, that the bus would depart at 8am for Grandvalira.

The next morning dawned bright and early. After a continental hotel breakfast with plenty of java, we joined our compadres at the bus stop and waited and waited and waited for the ski bus. Turns out, the driver overslept and he was an hour late to retrieve us. This adventure was not to be the smooth, organized experience I had envisioned. In the interim, Allita and I made a ball from snow and ice and played soccer (football) with our new friends. Then, she and a nice Russian couple used the snow on the back of some nearby motorcycles to construct snow men, snow birds, and a variety of other snow creatures until the belated bus rolled up. We collected other enthusiasts from the remaining hotels and made our way from Andorra la Vella to the massive ski resort of Grandvalira. The guide got us suited up with rental gear and handed us our ski lift tickets. Then, she escorted us to the ski school where Allita’s class started in 15 minutes! As anticipated, we were the last to arrive but the instructor, who only spoke Spanish and Catalan (yikes!), was patient and welcomed Allita helpfully to class. While she learned all about skiing, I took some time to remind my body and brain how to coordinate and “warmed up” on the slopes gradually until I was finally in my comfort zone.

We met at 1pm and shared a late lunch, which was a massive array of food because we were both starving and, at that point, willing and excited to eat everything in our view. Then, Allita, who has the amazing skill of finding a playground at any location in the world, played outside in the snow for about an hour while I enjoyed more coffee (vital caffeine!). We skied together for another few hours until we both got tired and decided to return to the main village. Allita is a natural skier and really enjoys racing downhill, giggling as she flies over hill and vale. She didn’t fall even once! Although she later admitted that she had fallen several times during ski school. I was so proud of her, and secretly delighted that she was having as much fun as I was. This was sure to be a fantastic weekend after all!

We both slept on the bus ride back to Andorra la Vella. I think I passed exhausted somewhere on the last slope downhill. We slept more when we got back to the room because dinner wasn’t for another 2 hours (9 pm!). It was a welcome nap and we both rose feeling refreshed and hungry. Dinner was a community affair. Apparently, all the hotel guests were skiers in our group and we were sufficient in number to fill half the restaurant. We ate like royalty with plates served directly from the kitchen, one multi-course meal, no menu. Soup, salad, roasted chicken, veggies, bread, custard and coffee. Allita, being the youngest and probably cutest, was offered the best selections of each of the courses and made the most of this culinary opportunity. We waddled back to our rooms after a brief post-dinner walk around the hotel and neighborhood and fell into a deep sleep.

The plan for day two was very similar to day one. Rise early, meet the bus, ski all day, ride the bus back to Barcelona. The main difference being that we would check out of the hotel after breakfast and store our luggage in the bus while we skied all day. Allita and I diligently hung our wet ski clothes strategically around the room so they would be dry and warm the next morning. I laid out everything we would need and we were prepared for an early start. Little did I know how early our start would be. Around 1am, I heard the noise that every mother can hear even when in a deep sleep, rooms away from the source. It’s not a pleasant sound and it warns of an equally unpleasant bodily function that is either in process or imminent. Without going into great detail, suffice it to say that Allita woke with violently ill and did not recover until nearly 5am. I spent my evening cleaning and cleaning and cleaning. Then, finally, packing. It was obvious to me that we were not going to be spending the following day skiing as planned. In fact, I was worried just how we would be spending the following day since our options were considerably limited. No car rental agencies are open on Sundays. In fact, most businesses are not open on Sundays. Hotels and ski resorts not withstanding. I connected with the guide at breakfast (I went for coffee and left Allita sleeping in the room) and we discussed options. Thankfully this was not her first rodeo and she arranged for us to return our rental gear and spend the rest of the day hanging around the little ski village and sleeping on the bus as needed until our return trip home.

Sunday ended up being a fairly decent day – although it started horribly. We rested for a long time on the bus, after we made our returns and I got more coffee, and, just after noon, we decided to wander around the town. Allita played in the snow, made a snow angel and threw snowballs into the river. We found a nice outdoor cafe with comfortable chairs where I could nurse coffee and water long enough for us to make the most of their wifi and soak up some sunshine. She remained sick all day but not unpleasantly so. The ride home was not without a little drama but thankfully the bus driver was able to make some accommodations and we were afforded the very front row seats which apparently are less sensitive to the twisting and turning of the tiny mountain roads. Also, it put us closer to the giant tv screen (movie) and the front windshield which were equally distracting. All-in-all, we accomplished our goal of skiing. Not as frequently as we might have liked but we did it. Will we go back? I’m not certain we will revisit Andorra but we will absolutely give skiing a second go next winter if we have the opportunity. After all, if at first you don’t succeed…..

I’ve got two places I like to be. Portugal is one. – Sir Cliff Richard

On 20 February, 2020, we decided to take a quick weekend get-away trip to Lisbon, Portugal. I’ve always wanted to visit Portugal and Mom and Allita were game, so off we flew. We had a nice, albeit short, flight and, since we gained an hour, we had some time to walk around and explore the area near our hotel before calling it a night.

As usual, I had researched the neighborhood and plotted a path, of sorts, that we could take to explore Parque Eduardo VII, where Allita was able to play in the grass and join other visitors rolling down the hills! We visited the Estufa Fria and saw the Pavilhão Carlos Lopes. Lisbon is a very hilly berg and our perch, atop one such hill, afforded us a lovely view of the city from the park where we ambled around stretching our legs and enjoying some sunshine and fresh air.

The next morning, bright and early, we walked to a prearranged location to meet a tour bus, which turned out to be more van than bus, and started our whirlwind day-tour of three nearby cities. This was our first time ever taking such an excursion so it was quite the adventure and we were all three filled with a variety of emotions from apprehension to excitement.

We rode in our van with five other tourists, guided by a local lady who was also the van driver. We left Lisbon early and drove straight to the Portuguese Riviera to the municipality of Sintra. Home of the famous, Pena Palace, located on the very tip top of the Sintra mountains. The palace was abandoned by Queen Amélia, the last queen of Portugal, who left it with all the original furnishings intact. It’s constructed in a mixture of styles: Gothic, Moorish and Renaissance and is considered one of the 7 wonders of Portugal.

From there, we traveled to Cape Roca, the western-most point of Europe! That was fun and it was very exciting to see the Atlantic Ocean again after so many years. The point was quite windy but there was a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts so we rejoined our tour guide / driver and shared a warm snack before moving on to the next stop.

Finally, we ended up in Cascais – an absolutely lovely little beach town with many private beaches hidden among winding streets full of little shops and hotels. We enjoyed the sand and surf, as well as some much-deserved hand-made ice cream before we returned to Lisbon, exhausted but highly satisfied.

The next morning, we slept late and enjoyed breakfast at the hotel. It was our last full day in Lisbon so, once again, I planned out a long, hearty tour route that included as many sights and different modes of transportation as possible! We started the day with a walk down the Avenida da Liberdade to the Foz Palace, the Praça Dom Pedro IV in Rossio Square, and then to the Elevador de Santa Justa. Remember how I said Lisbon is a hilly berg? Yeah, well, they have a ton of stairs and more than one elevator to get you from one level to another as you traverse the city. At the top of the elevator is the BellaVista restaurant (aptly named) and we enjoyed a fabulous view of the city all around us from the platform on top of the lift.

Next, we took the famous 28E yellow tram car around the Castelo de Sâo Jorge and then we walked to the Praça de Comérico. We had the opportunity to enjoy some free, African-inspired dancing and singing while we wandered the plaza. Then, we took the 15E yellow tram car to Belém. We saw the Praça de Império and the famous Torre de Belém. Somehow, I let Mom and Allita talk me into riding a Tuk-Tuk back to the metro station. What an adventure!

We took the subway back to the airport the following morning and caught our return flight to Barcelona. One interesting observation we made in both Lisbon and Belém were the Harry Potter-themed statues that appear to be doing their own tour of Europe this year. Who knew? Portugal is a magical place indeed!