Part 1: From the Mar Cantábrico to the Mar Mediterráneo

Bilbao was, and is, a wonderful and very livable city. It has a crime rate so low that muggings feature as front page news, a vibrant arts community, well designed and executed public transportation and charming neighborhoods. But oh, that soggy Cantabrian climate, with the endless days of rain and cold that were still firmly entrenched at the end of what the calendar called spring.
When we left Bilbao May 30, my feelings were bittersweet. We knew that we would miss the former, but took delight in abandoning the climate. Ellen was thinking of the delights of swimming in the warm Mediterranean and the rumors of pristine national parks we'd explore along the way as we packed, cleaned and said our goodbyes to people and places our hearts had become attached to. Tom loaded the packing crates...no, they just seemed as heavy as packing crates, they were still suitcases...in the rental car and we were off to our first stop, Hondarribia (B on the map).

Hondarribia is where Spain stops and France begins. It's a ancient walled city on the banks of the river Bidasoa which serves both as the border and an excellent natural harbor. It's fun to prowl around the top of the walls and imagine that it's the year 1638 and you are guarding the city from Louis XIII's French troops. When night descends you are delighted it's 2013 and you can take refuge in one of the excellent restaurants and enjoy pintxos and wine, rather  than heading to a drafty hall with warm ale and a smokey fire. (stock photos!)

 
The next day we were up and on the road early. We were headed to the Valle de Baztán (C) for a walk in the Señorío de Bértiz, a XIVth century holding with an extensive forest of beech (las hayas), oaks (los robles), chestnuts (las castañas), hazelnuts (las avellanas) and alder (los alisos). This is also the home of the Lamia, a mermaid-like creature that inhabits the waters of the river Bidasoa. They are said to have perished around the same time Christian hermitages were built on the banks of their beloved river; some say they were poisoned and others say they died of grief. They are still beloved by all and appear on many local heraldic devices.

The Basques are firmly in line with the "all men are created equal" doctrine and as a result, almost every family has their own heraldic device, proudly displayed on their home. No need to have one bestowed by some ridiculous foreign king; figure out what suits your family and go for it!
The day was not cooperative either weather-wise or Lamia-viewing wise, but we enjoyed the beautiful deciduous trees, newly in leaf, and the riot of green-all tints and hues. The paths were wide, well marked, and peacefully, rather than dramatically, beautiful. El Señorío de Bértiz lacked the rugged, wild beauty of a Yosemite or a Yellowstone; it was more like an enormous, well-kept city park.
Because the valleys of the border mountains, including the Pyrenees, run more or less in a north/south direction with few connecting roads between the valleys, we actually had to travel into France to get to our next destination in the Valle de Salazar. On our way to Cambo les Bains (E) for the night, we stopped in the French town of Espelette (D). Espelette, as any true gourmet will tell you, is a unique little spot due to the peppers they grow. The peppers are actually protected under a D.O.M. You can't call a pepper Espelette unless it's grown in the area around the town, even if you use seeds from an Espelette pepper. Is this brilliant marketing or pure hype?

Cute, isn't it?
The architecture is so different from Spain and the food was fantastique. Here's a link to a recipe for piperade, a magical amalgamation of peppers that shows you how to substitute cayenne for espelette peppers:
http://www.chow.com/recipes/10987-piperade
Ellen has some ground espelette pepper she'll gift to the first Blog reader that requests it!
Cambo les Bains itself was a bit strange. Once a well known treatment center for respiratory diseases, it has retained a focus on rehabilitation by offering lots of clinics and spas for unspecified conditions. Ellen thinks she might sign up the next time she get the vapors. Evidently people need lots of peace and quiet and good food to recover their health and that's what they find in Cambo. The parade seemed to be the biggest event except for the cherry festival in the next town. And, before you ask, we have no idea what the axes represent!

We drove down the Roncesvalles (F) valley through fog and drizzle so thick we strained to avoid a collision with numerous pilgrims just starting their trek on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. We passed the albergue where Tom had started his trip more than 2 months previously. At least there was no snow this time!

March 16, 2013

Our destination for the next 3 days was the town of Ochagavia (G) on the periphery of the Sierra de Abodi in the Salazar Valley (La Valle de Salazar). We hiked through the gorgeous Forest of Irati (Bosque de Irati), enjoying the sparkling waters of numerous lakes and streams and the the vast beech and yew forest. For some unknown reason, the water was green-not the green of algae, but green like dissolved minerals. Check out the color of the lake. The cold, wet winter and the delayed spring meant that we had continuing opportunities to enjoy spring wildflowers, too. Ellen started thinking this was her favorite spot in Spain.

We liked Ochagavia, too. It's an unprepossessing town somewhat focused on mountain sports, with the grey local stone used for buildings, roads and plazas and a small, rocky river, very clear, flowing through the middle of town. One might think that the colors would be monotonous, but they were actually very harmonious and peaceful.

It was just outside of Ochagavia we got our first views of the Pyrenees. Make sure you enlarge these to get a better sense of the scope and majesty of the mountains.

By now, we were excited that our next stop, Torla (H) was actually in the Pyrenees, in the Parque Nacional de Ordesa y Monte Perdido aka Ordesa National Park. Although we would be leaving the Basque Country and entering Cataluña, we were ready to move on and enjoy the high mountains. Ellen wondered: would we actually see snow close up?For the answer to that and other serious questions, see part 2 of this blog!

Part 2: From the Mar Cantábrico to the Mar Mediterráneo

We stayed in a beautiful small hotel in the town of Torla(H), right outside the Parque Nacional de Ordesa y Monte Perdido. What a view from the terrace of the hotel!

We walked into town at night and had fantastic dinners in small restaurants, kept the windows open  so we could hear the bubbling river while we slept, and spent too many daylight hours trying to register for a week of intensive Spanish classes at Lake Tahoe Community College. Are we gluttons for punishment or what?
During summer, it's not possible to drive a private car into the park, but this being late spring, there were fewer visitors. There's a main hiking trail that passes 5 or 6 waterfalls during the course of 8 km or so, or a 16 km round trip. Peanuts for Tom; a goodly hike for Ellen. As we gain altitude in our trip, we seem to be following spring. The leaves are shimmering and new, there are carpets of wildflowers, and the streams fling themselves down the mountainsides into foaming rivers. The trees are fir, beech and boxwood; the mountains are of eroded limestone karst; the valleys formed by both glaciers and rivers action. No, thinks Ellen, this is my favorite spot in Spain.

The day starts out partly cloudy and although there's no rain forecast, we know that the weather can change rapidly, and one of us (guess which one) starts to gaze nervously at the gathering dark clouds. Nonetheless, the waterfalls call to us and we press on. Each one seems more beautiful than the last.

We reach waterfall number 4 and pause for lunch.

Then it starts hailing, not just pellet-sized balls, but cannonballs as big as the last part of your thumb. We take shelter under a rock ledge until it passes, because after all, there's no rain forecast. We notice that the temperature is dropping pretty fast and we decide to leave waterfall number 5 and the glacial cirque of Soasa for "next time". We hot-foot it back through alternating hail and rain until we lose a hundred or so feet in altitude and then spend the rest of the hike dry and enjoying ourselves. The heavens don't actually open until we reach the hotel. Later, we talk to a couple who remained on the trail and see their pictures of several inches of hail. They think we made the right decision.

We left Torla(H) in the province of Navarra and headed for the town of Boí(I) on the outskirts of the Parc Nacional d'Aigüestortes i Estany de St. Maurici, in the Catalan Pyrenees.

There were small mountain towns off the L500, each one with it's own picturesque Romanesque church. There are 9 in total and collectively they are part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Wikipedia has some great information and photos at
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vall_de_Bo%C3%AD

Everywhere we traveled, the roads and highways were in excellent repair, although some very winding and steep. At the end of the road lies the highest ski slopes in the Pyrenees, Boí-Taüll, which still had snow on June 10 although the lifts were closed. In fact, the weather closed in and dumped several additional inches of snow while we were in Boí.

On the way to the slopes, we passed through several large and completely deserted resorts. We saw lots of empty holiday homes all through our trip, although this is where we started noticing many for sale and for rent signs. Along with the dozen or so businesses around our piso in Bilbao that failed during our stay, these became emblematic of the profound Spanish economic crisis.

We took 2 hikes in this park. The first, abbreviated by a snow field across the trail, ended at a high man-made reservoir. The bleak grey mountains reflected in the still water made it a very enchanting spot.

 

The second hike was through the magnificent water meadows that give the park it's name. Aigüestortes means 'twisting water' in Catalan and refers to the gin-clear river that runs through this section of the park, splitting to rush around small islands, trees and rocks, joining and splitting, until it must resemble an intricate french braid in an aerial photograph. Our hike ended at a small lake when the trail was overcome by a snow field. Magnificent! Ellen was certain this was her favorite spot in Spain and it might yet be!

As much as we loved the mountains, we needed a change of pace, so we repacked the car and headed off for Andorra(J) and the Mediterranean. We started to feel the call of home!

Part 3: From the Mar Cantábrico to the Mar Mediterráneo

The small country of Andorra(J): a place that Tom had always wanted to visit. Who would have known? We are in perfect position to make a detour through this mountainous and little-known principality and looked forward to an additional stamp on our passports. You have to be curious about a land-locked county of only 180 square miles that is ruled by co-princes, the Bishop of Urgell, Spain and the head of the French government. Yes, that's Prince Hollande, if you please. The language is Catalan and the euro is king. I mean prince. [I thought cardinals were known as princes of the church! wonder if they are jealous of the bishop!]
At least that's how it seemed. The fog was so thick it was like swimming through skim milk, but the entire country seemed like a series of enormous shopping malls separated by serial ski resorts, the first humming with activity and the later deserted. Andorra la Vella, the capital, had many small hidden parks and plazas, each with a sculpture or other work of art. Sadly, no passport control. The mountain roads are so sinuous that long tunnels have been built to make travel easier, but several of the tunnels were closed. Not many photo opportunities. Can't truthfully say there was much to recommend Andorra, but maybe we were getting a bit road weary.

Flag over Andorra la Vella

We left the snows of Andorra behind and made our way over many windy roads through Puigcerdá (K) toward the sea-side town of Cadaqués (O), which turned out to be a little bit of heaven. Perfect weather, beautiful clear water and excellent swimming, all in a town so picturesque it almost seemed like a movie set. The whitewashed houses with red tile roofs and colorful shutters are perched along narrow and steep cobblestone lanes that are not accessible by car, so we were grateful to leave the car parked and walk everywhere. We swam twice a day, ate delicious grilled local sardines, slept with the windows open and delighted in the blue, cloudless skies and clear turquoise water.

From 1930 until 1982, Salvador Dalí lived in Port Lligat, just outside of Cadaqués, in a home he and his wife/muse Gala designed.  We highly recommend the short tour and particularly liked the pool. (Stock photos, although photography is permitted in the house.) If you enlarge the photo, you can see that their chairs were more like thrones! Kinda goes with the bed decoration.

 

 We were looking forward to our next stop, the French seaside town of Collioure (N), where we planned to spend time with Yves and Dany, friends of our good friends Steve and Linda. They were gracious, warm and welcoming and walked us up and down the colorful streets of Collioure.

Artists as diverse as Andre Derain, Georges Braque, Matisse, Charles Rennie Mackintosh and Picasso all fell for the 'allure of Collioure'.  Yves and Dany took us to a locals bar where painters (even Picasso) settled their outstanding tabs with their artwork, now displayed on walls of the bar. In fact, art is a big part of the town. There are bronze picture frames mounted in various locations throughout the town and when you peer through the frame, you see the same view that Matisse, or Derain or an equally skilled artist painted. There are reproductions of famous paintings of Collioure hung at strategic spots throughout the town. 

 We enjoyed a weekly Farmers Market and noted the similarities between the Aptos and downtown Santa Cruz farmers markets and delighted in the very Frenchness of the food selections and the atmosphere. Note the red checked table cloth under the sausage! There was a pan of paella as large as a fountain, exotic sausage/herb combinations, and beautiful mushrooms. Ellen started to long for a kitchen that offered more possibilities than the microwave/hot kettle combo in most rental units.

But you don't have to be an artist to love Collioure, literary types love it too. The Spanish poet, Antonio Machado fled to Collioure during the Spanish Civil War and Patrick O'Brian of  the Master and Commander British Navy series called Collioure home.

We swam every day, ate fabulous French food, walked to our heart's content and made plans for a return visit to Collioure. 

The days were flying by now...only 2 days left before our departure from Barcelona. We decided to drive back into Spain so the Barcelona airport would be an easy trip. The descriptions of the seaside town of Calella de Palafrugell (P)seemed enchanting, but would we be disappointed? Not at all! The town was charming and full of sandy coves and bright clear water. Tom found a small and very curious octopus in the sand at the water's edge who wanted to explore his toes. And the humans were friendly too!

 On the outskirts of town, the beautiful gardens of the Jardi Botanic de Cap Roig and their stunning coastal vistas were a wonderful treat and put us in a relaxed state of mind for the 2 hour drive to the Barcelona airport.

And so, we return to our home, our real, honest-to-goodness nest, our terroir in Santa Cruz, after 5 months of living as Spaniards. If I ask myself how I feel about our trip, the strongest emotion is gratitude. I was able to experience so many different cultures, in 5 different (sometimes very different!) countries-Spain, Portugal, Morocco, Andorra and France, no small joy in and of itself. As Mark Twain said,

Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.
We are in metaphysical debt to our great and good friends David Fenimore and Amy Horne, who made this trip a reality and who were thumping great roomies in the bargain. Open another bottle David!

I am unspeakably grateful to have had the opportunity to experience another culture from the inside, not as a native certainly, but not as a tourist either. Maybe we were some kind of a hybrid of the two conditions. Maybe the best analogy is that of a fruit tree with successful grafts; our grafts onto the Spanish tree were unqualified successes.

I remember meeting an American couple outside my gym in Bilbao one day. They were visiting for 3 days, a pretty typical time span for tourists as most calculate that they can see the high points of Bilbao in that time: the Guggenheim and Belles Artes museums and the Casco Viejo. Who was I to tell them they'd be missing the bullring with the taxidermied bull heads or the bike ride along the river or the Thursday night jazz or the beautiful stained glass at the train station?

When they learned I had been in Bilbao for almost 5 months, they were astonished and asked, "What do you find to do during the day?" I'm sure that my response, which incorporated going to the gym, the dry cleaners, the library and the fruit store, didn't seem like much fun to tourists. But to me it was heaven learning to navigate life in a 'parallel universe' and in Spanish. So much the same, but so different. I already desperately miss the exchanges in the markets:

"¿Quien es la ultima?"

"Soy yo."

"Entonces, estoy detrás de ella."

And finally, I am sincerely grateful to all of you who read these blog posts, offered encouragement and/or suggestions or said how much you enjoyed them. Muchas gracias!

Hasta la próxima, amigos.