We woke up yesterday in Andorra, beneath snow capped mountains and, this morning we woke up to the sounds of the ocean in Spain. Tonight — or tomorrow, or next year, whatever — we’ll go to sleep in … exotic Indiana.
Yeah.
Anyway.
Here’s the ocean, just outside our hotel room last night.
We walked down to feel the sand and hear the sound and touch the too chilly water for just a moment, before our cab to the airport came along.
This trip, like so many of our wonderful trips, was planned by my lovely bride. She’s undefeated on amazing trip planning.
Except for when they end. She hasn’t figured out how to keep them going and going and going yet.
On the drive down from Andorra, through the clear skies of the Pyrenees, the soon-to-be verdant scenery of rural southwest France, and the quietude of Catalonia as an entrance into the Iberian peninsula. We saw a hazy vision of the Catalan Pre-Coastal Range pop up onto the horizon. There’s Sant Jeroni, Montgrós and Miranda de les Agulles, with peaks ranging from 2,962 to 4,055 feet above sea level. From a distance, they’re jagged and ragged and they struck me as the sort of thing I would put to paper if you asked me to draw a mountain.
Imagine going up there, The Yankee said. We were still a good distance away and I said no one drives up there.
This was “Montserrat,” a Catalan word which means means “serrated (like the common handsaw) mountain” — a precise name for a rugged place — and as we got closer, following the general trend of the road, we realized we were going up there. And so we did.
Montserrat is the highest point of the Catalan lowlands, with commanding views of the countryside. The road up is five miles, moderately steep grade and some lovely hairpin switchbacks to give it all a bit of character. And when you get up there, into the peaks, you find yourself on a flat spot, but still looking up.
Just below these peaks, you’ll find Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey, founded in the 11th century and still an active monastery, where more than 70 monks live today.
Here we are standing in the courtyard of the abbey, which was burned and looted twice during the Napoleon’s invasion of Spain. During the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s 22 monks who lived here were murdered. The Germans visited here quite often a decade later and, since World War II this site has been a prominent symbol of Catalonian nationalism, and has long been an important feature of the local culture. This is a post WW2 facade.
The origin is a bit murky. In the ninth century an important statue was found here, according to legend. More certainly, in the 11th century a monk was sent from one monastery to another and from the subsequent church politics the monastery of Santa Maria was born. That venerated statue is an important part of the place, and I’ve now unsuccessfully reduced a millennia into two sentences.
In 1881 Pope Leo XIII gave this place the status of a minor basilica. The Plateresque Revival facade was built in 1901, by the architect Francisco de Paula del Villar y Carmona, who was completing his father’s work. It’s quite something to take in. Small courtyard, with an imposing, yet not overwhelming style. It came from a time that blends things that feel old and modern to our contemporary eyes. It’s neat and tidy, feels quite collegial, and they built all of this making great concessions to topography.
I used the term collegial on purpose, since so much of this place has a wonderful, peaceful campus feel. I spend too much time on a college campus, of course, but I’m sure, in places like this, that the college campuses that get it right were all moved by kernels of inspiration from places like this.
It is even in the walls.
The basilica’s origins date to the 16th century and was rebuilt for the first time in 1811, after the Peninsular War. The new facade was built between 1942 and 1968, after the destruction brought about during the Spanish Civil War. There are reliefs featuring prominent members of church, and monastery history. On one frieze there’s the phrase “Catalonia will be Christian or it will not be,” which is a quote attributed to an early 20th century bishop, and from there you can see how this place is important to the region on down the mountain.
The church is of a single nave, some 220 feet long and 108 feet high. The roof is supported by central wooden columns representing Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel and Daniel. The main altar features enamel decorations of the Last Supper, the Multiplication of Loaves and Fishes and other biblical stories. The 15th century cross is the work of Lorenzo Ghiberti, an Italian Renaissance sculptor, a key figure in the Early Renaissance.
We visited the room of the Virgin, which is full of beautiful mosaic walls and paintings. This is one of those places where a knowledgable guide could point to everything you see, and make you dizzy with its historical weight, it’s spiritual importance and the craftsmanship of generations past. Most people wander aimlessly, or chit chat their way through the place.
And if not for the chit chatters, one small group placed conveniently behind us, you’d be hard pressed to find a more quiet and solemn indoor space.
Back outside, in the abbey’s courtyard, I took a little panorama. Click to embiggen.
And we stood there just long enough to see the sun slice through the mountain’s peak. I wonder what monks, what guests, what spiritual seekers, have stood there over the centuries and what they must have thought about seeing this same view.
And then we did the thing where I take a photo of The Yankee striking a sculpture’s pose.
The museum was, sadly, closed for some renovation work. Inside, though is one of Spain’s most significant collections. Caravaggio, Dali, Picasso, Monet, Degas, El Greco, Renoir, Sean Scully, Vaccaro and a collection of ancient world archeology would be on display. I hate that we missed that. We’ll have to go back.
This evening we completed the drive back to Barcelona. We are staying at an airport hotel. The hotel is right on the beach. We had dinner at a snooty place, got a gelato, dropped off the rental car and we’re now reshuffling things in luggage. Tomorrow we’ll fly back. Spain was brief, but fun. We’ll come back to Barcelona one day, I’m sure. Andorra we loved, and I bet we’ll be back there, as well.
After the FIS Alpine Ski World Cup it was time to work our way back down to Barcelona. We’re flying back tomorrow. Boo to that. Vacations are great. Andorra is beautiful. We should stay here.
Don’t think we didn’t try to figure out a way.
Anyway, leaving the parking lot, we had two options. Left, or right. And the GPS said we had three choices. Two routes with tolls, and one route without a toll.
The Yankee was driving, and she hit the touch screen, aiming at the no tolls route. We turned right out of the parking lot.
That’s opposite from where we came, but we’re inherently trusting of the GPS, aren’t we? Anyway, we continue to climb higher and ever higher into the mountains.
We’re up in this area where there are signs warning snowkiters of high winds here at 6,233 feet. We’re almost 1.2 miles above sea level.
Come to find out — and it is funny how people can make the same realization at the same time — we were headed to … France. Also this was one of the toll routes. But the views were worth the price of admission.
This is how I’ll remember the mountains. Not that the memory is bad, but I like the fuzzy feel, rather like a memory or dream sequence in a bad TV show.
But if that’s not for you, here’s the same mountain. Not sure why the camera took the moment off. Maybe it was a French-Andorran frontier issue in the software.
Anyway, we drifted peacefully down through the mountains. The altitude got lower and the temperatures warmed up. We found ourselves in a delightfully rural little corner of southwestern France. Not a part of the trip, but now a part of the trip.
By here, the car and the road was hooking around back to the south; we’re heading toward Barcelona.
So there are two countries in this post. The first few mountains are from the Andorran Pyrenees, the rest are from the French Pyrenees. Even in France we saw Catalan flags.
Here’s a video version of some of these beautiful mountains, and more.
As we continued on the terrain turned from mountain rugged, to yellow and green farmland, from the rocky entisols and inceptisols and, finally, more of the reds and oranges and ochres of the Mediterranean coastal region.
On Tuesday we saw posters in Andorra la Vella for the FIS Alpine Ski World Cup, which was taking place near by. How often do you get to see the world’s best (at anything, really?) on a whim? Tickets were 10 euros, and the venue was not too far away from our apartment. These would be the perks of visiting a nation about the quarter of a size of most of the American counties I know.
So this morning we loaded our luggage in the car, had one last breakfast in Arinsal, picked up a little magnet for our refrigerator and then drove up to the skiing. We got some of the last parking available and walked in to a spectators area that wasn’t as big as most high school sports venues I’m used to. The crowd was boisterous. The sky was clear, the sun was bright and the temperatures were warm.
And, you could tell from a distance, the top of the mountain, stretches mid-way through the run, looked sheer and vertical. You’ve no idea until you see it in person. Even this shot at the finish line looks compressed and flat. It isn’t, as you’ll see.
The skiing was fantastic.
Swiss skier Lara Gut-Behrami won her fourth super-G title.
She also has an Olympic gold in this discipline.
This is what I know about skiing: they are trying to go fast. There are three timed segments on this course. And if you’re time is in the green at any of those segments, you’re in the lead. The only problem on the day was that there weren’t a lot of lead changes. Quite a few people, in the men’s and women’s races, came out with great times in that first timed stretch. The crowd would cheer, but they were wise to the course. None of that mattered if you weren’t in the green at the second timer, and if you didn’t have a crazy blend of chaos and sanity on that third leg, your time probably wouldn’t put you at the top of the board at the finish.
Only a few people could do that today, but when they did, the tension in the crowd was something physical and visceral. The tension went up, the cheering and the banging got louder. Maybe the skiers could feel it too. Maybe Marco Odermatt did.
The Swiss skier won the men’s super-G at the World Cup Finals with a huge performance. He’s on pace, apparently, to break the single season points record. I don’t have any idea how that’s tabulated, but the man in the aero suit is set to destroy a 23-year-old mark, and that’s not nothing. He could do it this weekend.
Also, we saw the greatest skier of all time.
American Mikaela Shiffrin was tied with Swedish legend Ingemar Stenmark with 86 career victories when she came down this mountain. She’d recently tied the record not too long after Stenmark, himself, said “She’s much better than I was. You cannot compare. I could never have been so good in all disciplines.”
In her career, Shiffrin, is a five-time Overall World Cup champion and a four-time world champion in slalom, an event where she also holds seven World Cup wins. She is also, of course, a two-time Olympic gold medalist.
Her wins record will continue to grow. Shiffrin is only 28, and she ended the year with 14 wins, her second best year yet, including championships in the slalom, the grand slalom and the overall.
On this day, the greatest to ever hurl herself down the face of a mountain finished 14th.
After the World Cup skiing, we got in the car and pointed it south, toward Barcelona. First we pointed it north, toward France, but that’s for another post.
We have to start our return — a multistage effort — tomorrow. That’s a downer, but there’s a beautiful day to enjoy, so no frowns. Just these amazing, happy views.
That’s what we spent the afternoon doing, seeing the countryside.
But, first, The Yankee had a bit of skiing to do.
Dr. Lauren Smith — high school All-American, D1 multisport athlete, three-time Ironman, globally renowned sports media scholar — yesterday re-taught herself how to ski from memory, after a layoff of … most of the 21st century. She did this all by herself yesterday, on rented skis, on two runs down the easy slopes. And then she decided to branch out to slightly more challenging slopes. After a dozen-plus runs over the last two days, she pronounced her legs shaky, but very much happy with the skiing. And she stayed upright the entire time.
These are the last two — I’m not sure what you’d call these, runs? — of her time in the Pyrenees. She made it look graceful and easy, as all of the skiers did. And now I want to learn to ski. This is why.
We took a few gondola rides today, to go even higher, for even more sunny, blue sky views.
I’m sure it is an illusion of size, distance and scale, but it seems weird to be above the mountains.
The rides took us to a few other ski slopes. And, look, my hair is as white as this snow. (Thanks for that, Granddad.)
Don’t eat the ski snow.
Off to the side of the slopes there was a very small parking lot. And that lot has perhaps some of the best parking lot views in all of Andorra.
There should at least be some chairs and umbrellas out there.
Apparently that little thing in the background is a slidewalk, much like you’d see at an airport. Apparently this is the kids’ slope, barely downhill. One day, ages hence, when I learn to ski, this will be the sort of setup that will be used.
This part of the world is being impacted by climate change. There should be more snow and winter out there, but things are going green in a hurry. It’s hard to imagine too many more weekends of skiing out there this season.
We were the only people there. I don’t know how anyone would go about owning a mountain, but if you have a commanding view of a mountain, and you’re the only one seeing it, that must be what it feels like to own a mountain, if only for a moment.
Here is a video of some of those views. There are also some bloopers. And some outtakes of bloopers in the video. Enjoy.
On Monday we drove over to Val d’Incles. We wanted to walk to a lake out there, but the road was closed to through-traffic and walking the rest of the way would have put us in darkness. So we drove there again, earlier, today. The road was still closed, so we walked down the single-track path.
The thing is, once you walked a fair amount down that paved path, you would have to take a gravel path to get to one of these bodies of water. And that gravel path is where the hiking begins. There are helpful signs pointing out the lakes, and the distance away, and the time your hike would take. We still didn’t allow enough time.
So part of the way up the gravel path, we found this big rock. The one she’s standing on, not the one she’s pointing at.
We sat on that rock for an hour and change, just admiring this view.
Imagine having a little cabin out here. I think many of them are seasonal, since they’re still boarded up. But spring is almost there, and we spent that time imagining leaving your place in the city and coming up to a canyon like this to take in this peaceful scenery.
This is similar to a photo that I put here a moment ago, but there must be a reason for that.
I would not mind a cup of a tea, a good book, and views like these every day.
Plus, imagine how great our greeting cards would be!
And here’s a video with some of the views from Val d’Incles — including just the third cartwheel post-catastrophic shoulder surgery.
I wonder how much time we’d spend next to a small foot bridge if we had one on our property.
There’s a creek behind us, not this one of course, and we hang out there a bit. The difference is ours doesn’t turn into a miniature waterfall, and the water isn’t snow melt. Us flatlanders find this to be a wonderful novelty. And I’ll show you some more miniature waterfalls on Friday. But first this one.
And, yes, a version of that photo will soon be a part of the site’s art, but, then, a lot of things we’re seeing this week will soon decorate the place. There are beautiful things to see everywhere here. I didn’t set this up, and I’m hardly trying, but this is the very next photograph I took.
And walking back down that small road, to where we parked our rental car. The sun was high, but the mountains are too, and the light grows dim in Val d’Incles quickly.
Here’s one more view of the eastern side of the valley.
We went back into Andorra la Vella for dinner, and sat down for a place that takes great pride in grilling meats. We also wanted to return to this playground, which we saw yesterday, to try this contraption.
A kid was on it before we went to the spa. Same kid was on it hours later. This evening, two girls were playing there. We stared them down, ran them off, and took a few turns. This was fun. I don’t know what you call this, but every playground needs one.
After four or five back-and-forths, we drove back up to our apartment in Arinsal. Time to get backed up. We’ll have one more Andorra adventure tomorrow, and then it is back down to sea level and Barcelona, tomoorrow. Then, Friday, the airport, and a long day of travel back to the U.S.
