After traveling to Spain via Amsterdam (almost Zurich) and New York, we attended two days of conference work, and just a few of Barcelona’s wonderful sites, we returned to the airport. But not for a plane, thank goodness, but a car.
We then pointed that car three hours north. We figured, let’s do most of the drive in daylight. You know, for the views, but also because we were in another country, on roads we’ve never seen before. But also for the views.
So we did that, GPS-aglow on the dash of a blue Volkswagen rental. It is a sedan-over-cross-UV, the sort of hideously designed thing where you have to step up, and duck down, at the same time, to get in. For four or five days, though, it’s perfect.
Here’s why, that great big beautiful GPS in the dash. Possibly the backup camera. And the side mirrors fold in. This is critically important.
So these shots are a but a few glimpses we saw as we made our way up the autovía, A-2 and C-14, with the idea of the Pyrennes looming ahead of us.
After we put the big city and a bit of sprawl behind us, the car started pointing up, and it never stopped pointing up. The airport, the car rental place are right on the shore of the Mediterranean. It is, for the Spainard, a seasonably cool early spring. They’re all still wearing coats down there as the mercury heroically makes its way into the mid-70s, or 23 degrees, Celsius. You can be sure that everyone we saw in Barcelona wearing light clothing was a tourist. Someone we know at the conference said he went back to his room and changed out of shorts one day, because he felt conspicuous.
In light of that, we’re spending the next few nights above the snow line.
We’re leaving Spain for this vacation. When my lovely bride built out this trip — she is the chief builder outer of all of our adventures and she is, despite the occasional logistical hiccup, undefeated — we considered going to the beach or going into the mountains.
We quickly decided that we made the correct choice. Not without plenty of consultation mind you. We talked with colleagues, neighbors and I even asked a few questions of a college buddy of mine who is from Spain. They all pointed us this way.
This way is to a microstate, population 80,000, bordered by France to the north and Spain to the south. We’re staying in a small village in that small state. Wikipedia tells me it is the 10th largest city, by population. Wikipedia says 1,641 live there. It is a ski resort town.
To get there, we just keep climbing up and up and up. Then there is, finally, a ski lodge. We get the key from a little black box. The keyring also holds a remote control that orders the elevator. The car elevator. You have to line the vehicle up between two narrow curb markers, pull your mirrors in, eeeeeease into a small cargo elevator, turn off the engine for CO2 purposes, and then wonder if the elevator does what the AirBnB hosts says it does.
And when it does, you’re in a creepy, dark, underground parking deck, dimly lit by fluorescent bulbs on motion sensors, with support pillars every 1.5 parking spaces. Navigating this would be tricky. My parking in college was substantially more demanding, and, what’s I am the grandson of men who drove great big trucks for a living. The weak link here is the Volkswagen, which, tonight, sits crooked in our assigned spot. And we are now settling into Andorra.
For dinner, we had a reservation at Surf Arinsal, an Argentian steak house highly recommended by the AirBnB. Just look at that menu, won’t you?
And look at this homemade bubble bread with garlic.
Tomorrow, we start the sightseeing!
