Travels with The Rayman

You can tell we’re winding down.  My blogs are short and sweet.  Today we drove to our next parador.  We are in love with paradors.  This one sits on a hill.  Cardona is the city is which it is located.  You can see far and wide.  It was a military installation that was begun in the 10th century.   iI’s architecture is a direct result of wars.  It is an ancient fortress that had been built to be a small city fortress.  Charlemagne stopped the Muslims here in the 6th century.  Quite unbelievable if you think at all about it.  Catalanyan lords lived in the castle through the middle ages and renaissance.  They were considered to be kings without titles because the fortress was completely impregnable and siege proof because of underground wells that couldn’t be contaminated.  And now it is a hotel.  Actually, it has been hotel since 1979.  The army used it as a depot after Franco went to meet his maker.  Finally, the government designated it a national monument and a tourist hotel.  And here we are installed on the top floor, right above the bar!!  A view from our room.

 

It is fabulous.  Of course it was also used as a church at certain points in time and Rayman found out that St. Ramon was the first patron saint of the place.  St. Ramon is reported to have been born caesarian and his mother died but he lived.  And so he went on to help women give birth to healthy babies.  I don’t think I am exaggerating here to say that his chest is puffed out a bit!!

Great way to spend our last “in the countryside” adventure of this trip.

We only got lost once while driving.  This may be an official record.

After driving for several hours we stopped at a “cafeteria” associated with a gas station and ordered coffee drinks, one fresh squeezed glass of OJ, and a croissant.  (spanish croissants don’t even come close, sorry, dear Allan).  As we’re sitting there an odor take over.  I said, “I must have stepped in something.”  Rayman added, “It smells like the toilet overflowed.”  “Let’s take our stuff outside.”  And we did.  Only to discover a truck of pigs parked right next to the cafeteria.  I made a video of the poor pigs.  More pigs in Spain.  This time a really bummer.

So, it’s time for wine.  Time to reflect and wait for dinner which doesn’t start seating until 8:15.  Ah, viva la Spain.

Driving to Barcelona, we spotted these.  Montserrat.

So, the last two days we’ve spent a bit of time being lost.  And we are starting to conclude that all further travel outside the U.S., Canada or Mexico must be done with a chaperon.  We need help, people.

It takes a tremendous amount of energy to do this travel stuff.  Couple that with language differences and by the end of the day you end up pretty well feeling like you just went through the wringer.  Twice,  Thrice.  Quatro times.  Our traveling companion ( for the week near Durango) Allan has a map for a brain.  Gifted with a keen sense of direction, he was amazing.  But…Rayman and the traveling princess are not blessed in that department.  And presented with two ways to go, we pretty much will pick the opposite of each other’s every time.

But I digress.

Last night we braved driving into to Barcelona to meet Ali, my cousin’s daughter, and her beau for dinner.  A tapas dinner.  OMG.  We narrowly escaped with our lives.  At one point I wanted to get out of the car to see if anyone had painted a bull’s eye on it when we weren’t looking.  One driver barreled across a roundabout and as you can tell by the name of the circle (roundabout), it means you go around it.  Not through it.  Multiple crashes almost materialized with not only our car but two others.  And then there was a motorcyclist who ran a red light.  Luckily I was asleep at the wheel.  Had I not been slow to cross the intersection, the motorcyclist would have been dangling from a tree.

Now this is interesting.  They just announced (I’m at the El Prat aeropuerto waiting to board our plane) that we should watch our screen for boarding instructions as they do not announce instructions.  Now that is a new one.  And I like it because it is relatively quiet for an airport.

That was a giant digression.

So, there we were, back in Barcelona, the city of the robbery.  We have resolved not to speak of THAT unpleasantness again.  But Barcelona has a variety of ways to fleece the tourist.  Firstly, the airport is a long way from the city.  So, if you take a taxi, it is 35 euros.  We stayed all night last night in a hotel that was about half way between the city and the airport.  We asked the lady at the check in desk at the hotel how much it would be to take a cab to the city.  30 euros.  Well, we had our zoom-zoom car.  How much would it be to park it?  18 euros.  Upon receiving that information, we decided to keep the car.  The hotel did not have a shuttle to the airport.  You could walk a couple of blocks and catch a local bus and the local bus would be 4 euro each to the airport.  But our flight was at the crack of dawn and we were not feeling safe about walking with our luggage to the bus stop to wait in the dark.

With the decision to keep the car, that meant we had to drive in.  Driving in Barcelona is difficult.  Everyone knows where they are going…except us.  Glenda was, of course, totally useless.  And anyway, we forgot to bring her.  And I left all the directions which I had written down based on an email from Ali.  That’s because the Rayman and I had a “disagreement” which I will tactfully leave unexplained.  Even with all that, we only got mildly lost.  There are degrees of lostness.

1.  Mildly  2. Hopelessly 3. “We never got there” lost.

So we parked the car in a garage that ultimately cost 18 euro.  Price fixing at it’s finest.  And it’s not cheap given the exchange rate.
So, no more travel to Europe until and unless the dollar gets stronger.   We just felt used and abused.  Although, I guess money was saved by not doing the taxi to and fro.  But still.

Dinner was delightful.  The kids were great.  We had a great time.  I did not drink but one glass of wine since driving sober was a nightmare.  What would it be like a little tipsy?   As you can see from this text, we made it back to the hotel.

An aside.  Ali took us to the mall in the center of Barcelona that used to be a bull ring.  Beautiful building.  But when the Barcelonians decided to ban bullfighting the ring became a shopping center.  Here’s some pictures.   Top picture is the Rayman enjoying a tidbit in a beer bar in Barcelona.  The next two pictures are the bullring inside and out.

Now I must back up and say that the night before Barcelona, we had a completely different experience in the small town of Cardona, about an hour northwest of Barcelona.  We stayed in another parador that sat atop a tall hill.  Here are some pictures of the view and the place.

 

 

I told you about it in the previous post.  Neither one of us had ever slept in such an old building.  After dinner we took a stroll as I wanted to photograph the outside of it with the uplighting.  This is when we heard the beautiful music.  There was a choir singing behind one of the doors.  We don’t know why they were doing this, but it was beautiful and so befitting the setting.  The next morning we saw them all at breakfast.  With their instruments.

Armed with our instruments of mass confusion, Glenda and the maps, we jumped on the road and headed toward Barcelona.  We managed to get there with only two bad turns but we recovered quickly.  Not nearly as quickly as last night when we left the restaurant and headed back to our hotel.  It was dark, we were tired.  And we were hopelessly lost.  Rayman resorted to the iPhone to help us find our way out of the Port of Barcelona, past the train station that had no trains?, to a dead end road.  Oh, and down a one-way street the wrong way.  Before returning to the hotel, we also managed to have a tour of the zona commerciale, a drive by of a shuttered sports arena and the UPS regional distribution center.  It was about 11 p.m.  We returned to the world’s narrowest car park.  Our zoom-zoom barely fit inside the drive down to the bowels of the building, the underground car park.  And this driveway was 1.  steep.  2.  involved 3 sharp turns  3.  narrow as hell.  But because we had done it earlier in the day, it was easier.  That’s because when we were leaving the garage to do a dry run to the airport earlier in the afternoon, we started out only to be met by a small van coming in.  That’s right.  The going out and the coming in utilized the same driveway.  And given that there were only two cars down there to begin with, what were the chances we would be met by an oncoming car?   And the other thing was that the garage was guarded by a big swinging gate.  You had to be buzzed in.  And, as it turns out, you also needed to be buzzed out.  And the buzz box was mounted on the wall before the last turn.  We missed it.  So, Rayman got out and looked for it, pressed it, got buzzed, raced back to the zoom-zoom car, jumped in and I tried to get up the steep ramp past the gate… in reverse.  Well, that didn’t work.  So, there I am with the hand break on to keep us from rolling backward into the wall while I am simultaneously revving the engine, engaging the clutch and eventually lerching out of the hole in the ground to the street.  It wasn’t pretty.

After bidding fond adieus to our lovely friends, we jumped in the car, stepped on the peddle and zoomed off down the road toward the Pyrenees mountains.  Our destination was a parador located on a very long dead end road (about 10-12 miles).  While the parador was lovely and our dinner delicious, the drive was spectacular.

There were several ways to get to the parador.  We opted out for the route that took us to the south of France.  And so it was that we were driving along and mentioned that I needed to relieve myself.  We saw a sign that indicated services.  So we took that exit.  And we encountered an unmanned toll gate.  It wanted money.  Euros.  We didn’t have enough euros.  But there was a place to put your credit card.  So, Rayman inserted the credit card.  The machine did not like the card no matter how many and what direction we inserted it.  Oddly, there were no people queuing up behind us.  So, out of desperation, we pressed the big red bulbous button and someone came on in french.  The Rayman was impressive with his french.  He mentioned that he spoke very little french.  The lady switched to english.  After giving her all our credit card info, she said it was not accepted and she just buzzed us though.  Yahoo.  That is when we discovered that we were nowhere.  We turned left, went under the freeway and there was no on ramp.  We turned around and headed back and discovered there was no on ramp there either.  So we headed toward to river.  There was a beautiful river which the road followed but we didn’t see any services.  So, we headed up the hill back toward the direction we had come from sort of and came across a french village with a boulangerie.  OMG.  The croissants.  Best thing we had eaten since we arrived.  In France!!

We got lost in the village of about 300 people, and headed back down the hill to the river.  And with trial and error, we finally found an on-ramp miles and miles down the road.  We clamored onto the toll road and continued on our way…until Rayman asked me to look at the GPS on the phone which I did and that is when we discovered we had missed our turn toward Spain.  So, off the toll road we went and paid $14 euro for the privilege of getting lost and this is when we discovered there was no way to get back on at the same off ramp.  Again.  History repeats itself.   “Luckily” the bill was so high, we could insert paper money and get change.  Unlike the previous encounter with an unmanned machine.

Interesting comments were uttered like, “Where the hell are we?”
“Look, the river is pretty.  If we have to be lost, this is a pretty place to be lost.”
“God, damn it, we’re losing time here.”
“We never would have seen this if we hadn’t messed up.”
“Take this road, I think this will lead to the freeway.”
“ Oh, great, we’re passing over the freeway and we can’t get on.”
“I’m sick of being lost.  What’s wrong with us?”
“Get a grip.”

And on and on.

We finally made our way back to the Espagne” sign and turned toward the mountains.  And then the trip took on a whole new feel.  The mountains were spectacular.  We made very bad time because I was at the wheel and I kept stopping for photos which didn’t even come close to capturing the magnitude of the vistas.  Oh, and we were in search of a money machine so that we could get more euros.   And I had packed two absolutely horrible sandwiches for lunch that we tried to eat.  Too darn dry.

The french side of the mountains are sheer with switchbacks.  7% grades were common.  And then there was a tunnel at the summit which was miles long.  And it dropped us about 1200 feet in elevation so that when we emerged on the spanish side, it was more sloping and completely green.  Almost looked like a rain forest.  And not far from there is where we turned right and headed up a canyon to spend the night at the lonely parador.

We ordered “a leg of lamb” to split for dinner.  The leg of lamb was from a baby lamb.  I have never seen such a small leg.  It was superb.  But small.  And we shared a mint flan than was about 2 inches square with raspberries and chocolate shavings.  Wonderful.  Oh, and we shared a duck salad.  We were hungry and it hit the spot.

Then we walked the stairs to our room and settled in for the night.

Well, it’s been a ride.  And today the last full day in Basque country.  It went so fast.  As usual.  I’m being boring.  Vacations are always like that especially when you’re having a great time.

So, after a leisurely breakfast, Rayman and I decided to take a walk.  On our walk we visited a lizard of unnatural beauty.

We visited mom horse and her colt.

Stopped in to visit some sheep.  See FB.  It’s a video and you know my success rate sucks.

We talked to some true free range chickens.   That’s a video.  Drats.

My, oh, my.  What a great place for walking.  No wonder all those families were out for a stroll on this walking path (for those on the central coast, it’s like Bob Jones Trail only longer).  The kids like me love this kind of thing!!

When we returned it was lunch time and by that I mean 1:30.  We grabbed the clothes off the line as rain was coming.

Okay, I need to interrupt myself at this point.  Two observations.  One is that I pity the poor motorist that encounters mechanical problems or a flat tire because while the infrastructure is great, it does lack one thing.  Shoulders.  The roads don’t have shoulders.  There is no place to pull over.  Anywhere.  Okay.  Almost nowhere.  Don’t know how they cope with that.  And because there are no shoulders, it is also very difficult to turn around if one needed to turn around.  It is for all practical purposes impossible.  So, Spain is without shoulders.  Who knew?  However, they do have a plethora of roundabouts.  So, if you miss a turn or need to make a turn, you can always hold out for a roundabout.  You may go miles out of your way.  But there will be a roundabout right around the bend.

The other observations is that the weather changes on a dime.  We hung out our clothes and took them back in within about an hour because rain was coming.  And the wind.  It too starts and stops on a dime.  One time is was calm when we left for an outing.  We came back.  Plastic lawn chairs were littering the lawn.  The patio umbrella was prone.  A potted plant had blown over.  And the cows were gone!!

We went to lunch as I mentioned earlier.  We arrived and stood in the entrance of the restaurant.  People kept running up and down the stairs.  I thought the bano must be upstairs.  Wrong.  The main dining room was there.  Why people ran up and down remains a mystery.  Anyway, we had not called for reservations so the lady told us to come back at 2:30 which we did.  And had lunch.  Here’s a shot of those stairs.  And Janis.

But I digress in a new and interesting way.

Rayman was banging on all cylinders today.  When Terry got up this morning, Rayman asked him how he was.  “Absolutely wonderful.”, Terry responded.  Rayman, without missing a beat retorted, “Well, we’ll take care of that.”  Then, when we were having coffee while waiting for our table at the restaurant, Terry was “reading” a Basque newspaper.  Soon we were all joining in trying to translate or figure out what the stories were about.  There was a picture of this guy who had jumped in the air holding a ball.  The question before the group was, what sport was this guy playing?”  Allan had his phone with a translation app.  You hover over the words and it translates for you and that how it was figured out that the guy in the air was playing handball.  At this point, Terry asked, “What in the world is handball?”  Rayman immediately replied, “You don’t want to know.”  Snickers around.  Then Allan googled something and found out this.  “The Spanish national handball team is the national handball team of Spain”.  Shocking news.  We had a great time.  Here’s Mr. Funnybones himself.  Looks like the Barcelona police station but it in fact was the restaurant “foyer”.

Now I am not exaggerating when I say that Janis has saved our bacon all week and Allan has not been far behind.  These two linguists did most of the talking, if you get my drift.  Lord knows how many mistakes would have been made if they had not been there helping us out.  (An aside.  Basque is completely different than spanish.  I will show you what I mean in a minute.)  And I am also not exaggerating when I say that Janis and Allan spent a lot of time while we were waiting for our table tackling the Basque menu.  Papers were dug up.  Pens were found.  Translation software was used.  Notes were taken.  No stone went unturned in the quest to decipher the code presented on the menu.  But when it came time to order, I couldn’t figure out which set of words were veal, fish, or fowl.  So I did the only thing I could do.  I sucked my lips together in the center and did my fish impersonation.  The funny thing is, the waitress knew what I meant!!  And then Rayman went into a small panic when wine was ordered and he didn’t hear riojas.  He heart tinga which is basque for riojas.  He seemed upset.  And I learned that if you ask for pimonton (spelling suspect), you could get pepper.  The spanish do not put pepper on the table.  The food is almost bland because of lack of pepper and spice.  And thank you Allan for looking that up!!  Here’s the name of the restaurant.  Spanish on top.  Basque underneath.

Other things happened.  A big party (25 peolple?) presented itself midway through our lunch.  And I volunteered to take a picture.  I was applauded after I counted down, “Uno, dos, tres.”  Snap.  Rayman muttered something about taking away the microphone.  I have no earthly idea what that was about.  This is the table before they arrived.  And that’s my fish dish.

I also don’t think I am overstating anything when I tell you that they could have rolled me out of the place.  A huge tuna salad, a big piece of perfectly cooked hake on potatoes, bread, cake, vino.  All for about $12 euros/person.  Didn’t eat another thing.  I hope I am not betraying anyone’s trust when I mention that a late snack was enjoyed by the others.  We had a lot of leftover chicken.  And ham.   Although I did make an exception for the cause of politeness to polish off the port.

And this is a mask and geranium by the garage of our villa.  Seems entirely suitable to end this portion of this trip with it.

Artwork at the train station.

After flitting all over Barcelona, it was time to hit the trail.  We had booked the high speed train from Barcelona to Madrid, the capital of Espana.  Having taken the high speed TGV t rains in France, we could not resist the thrill of the ride again.

Really, people.  What is all the fuss about in CA re: the high speed train.  It is the only way to go.  Our trip averaged about 300km and that is fast.  No time at all to get from say, LA to SF if we had this service.  And all other modern countries have them.  And Europe is comprised of different countries and yet they still figure out a way politically to provide this service to their citizens.  The farmers in the dell (read San Joaquin valley) are doing everything they can to stop this form of modernity.  Heck they have horses to ride.  Who needs high speed rail?

But I digress.

So, no sooner had we embarked on our train trip then my eyes closed and I slept through most of the trip.  Tried as I might, I could not stay awake.  It was disappointing.  But in my defense, Ali and Bernat kept us going at a wild pace (probably just regular pace by their standards).  And we were up late, late, late at night.  And the apartment we rented was located on a narrow street populated by brick buildings about 5 stories high with cobblestone streets.  On the first floor, there were commercial establishments including bars and restaurants.  So, all night long…noisy revelers reveled.  And we took to tossing and turning in our bed.  So, that train just lulled me to sleep like a baby.  It was a good, delicious sleep.  But by all accounts from the Rayman, I missed some beautiful countryside.  When you leave the city, the landscape emerges and it has a similar look to CA.  Except the trees are different.  Not so many oaks.  Or conifers.  Lots of rolling hills.  Mountains are to the north and we did glimpse snow in the distance.

The trip took a couple of hours.  I think.

I guess I’m getting old because I find much more enjoyment in the countryside.  The cities are teeming.  But it is harder to connect with people.  Thank goodness for Ali and Bernat.  I told them they should start a tourism company.  They gave us an excellent tour.  Fun.  Interesting.  Delicious.  We never would have seen or done half the things we did were it not for them.  In fact, we would never have found that apartment.  We’d still be looking for it.  And the most wonderful of all is that Bernat grew up in Barcelona and Ali is a history teacher, so we got a lot of information that is not in a guide book.  Bueno.  Muy bueno.

Really, if it hadn’t have been for that good looking son of a bitch that ripped us off, it would have been perfect.

Some casual observations about Spain.

The food is not as good as I thought  it would be.  Lots of ham, salamis, egg, bread, anchovies, potato dishes.  And the hours of meals complicates everything.  If you are not willing to eat late, you must settle on tapas and they get old (at least to all those in our group).  I am more adventurous and could continue trying them, but the others including the Rayman are burnt out.  And they are all about the ham.  Here we stand in front of a ham shop.  Two hams hamming it up.  We fit right in!!

The Spanish lifestyle in in direct conflict with the American lifestyle as it concerns food and shopping.  Most establishments, restaurants, shops etc., tend to close from 12:30 to 6:00 p.m. more or less…everywhere.  Well, guess what we do?  Try to go places only to find them all closed.  This introduces a level of frustration to the tourist not steeped in the culture of Spain.  And for us as a group that is certainly true.  We took a tour today with a delightful young woman and her main squeeze and even churches were locked up.  You get the point.  Here is the Rayman at San Sebastian.

What I love about this country is the people in general and the landscape in particular.  The vistas are compelling.  The infrastructure is impressive.  Tunnels, bridges, old stone walls.  Fabulous.  The other thing I notice is all the old stone houses with modern insides.  The latest euro style in the baths and the kitchens.  There are lots and lots of apartments.  Most buildings are at least 4 stories high and many higher.  And that is true is small villages as well as cities.   Check out the stainless steel handrail.  It went on for at least a mile.  The barricades allow people to walk safely.  And catch that sky.  Near San Sebastian.

It stays light here very late.  It is 10:00 p.m. right now and there is ambient light in the sky.  Northern Spain is, well, quite northern.  What a hoot.

We were in San Sebastian today and it was quite quiet in the old section of town given the time of day.  By the time we got back to a small seashore town (7:00 p.m.), people were everywhere.  Young families, old people.  The whole town comes out and visits with each other.  And they walk.  Lots of bicyclists with steel balls.  Roads are narrow and they brave them anyway.  And the bicyclists follow the rules of the road.  They wait with the cars at red lights.  They tend to ride one after another rather than side by side.

We love the countryside.  As a result, we are spending Sat. and Sunday at a parador in the Pyrennes on the way back to Barcelona.   At the end of along road.  Facing a river.  Nothing else around.  I can’t wait.  Not because I want to leave here.  But I am so curious about the location.  It sounds magical.

Rayman is reading at the moment.  We are relaxing after a full day of walking.  We went wine tasting and the winemaker opened his winery to us and our guide and her main squeeze.  They served us bread, anchovies with EVOO and garlic, and a plate of tuna.  They set up a classroom situation for their winery.  You sit and sip.  Very different from us, of course.  And the whole family is engaged in the work.  They happened to be bottling today and the grandfather was putting the bottles on the machine, the machine did the work of corking, wrapping and labeling and the brother moved the bottles into the cases and cases from the machine to the middle of the room.  Mom was there too.  Not really sure what her duties were.  They were a 4th generation family.  Very sweet.    Oh, and the wine maker had great underpants.  See.  Not a great picture.  It is when he raised his arms you could view his purple and lime green boxers (just guessing on that point).  They also matched his sweater.

Then our guides drove us to San Sebastian for a walking tour.  And boy did we walk.  And walk.  And walk.  Stopped for pinxtos?? which is what the Basque call tapas.  Washed it down with sangria.  Then walked some more.  Saw beaches, churches and a lot of closed businesses.  Saw famous people in bronze.  Learned a great deal about the history of the place.  I’m a tired pooch.    We left the house at 8:30 and returned about 7:30.  Wowie, zowie.  Here is a typical street in the old part of San Sebastian.

 

The funniest thing that happened is that the main squeeze,with whom I was riding, got lost on the way back.  Yippee.  Vindicated!!  They get lost too.  That may have made my day.  Heck.  It may have made my week.  Heck it may have made the whole vacation and others like it.  Again, misery loves company.  Can’t say it enough, apparently.