‘Happiness is not a goal, but a by-product’. Eleanor Roosevelt
I think we started Monday in France, no, sorry, it was Spain. Was it? Yes, it was definitely Spain. The Camprodon campsite was about 13kms south of the border and we drove further south from there, then south-west to Ripoli, a small town that calls itself ‘the cradle of Catalonia’; there were certainly lots of Catalonian flags hanging around. The Benedictine monastery in the centre, was founded in the 9thC by Guifré el Pilós, which translates to English as Wilfred the Hairy; what a brilliant name!
From there we drove due north through Ribes de Freser, which involved some tricky manoeuvring through narrow streets and then we continued another 7kms on to Queralbs; a tiny spot on the map. We were looking for a tourist train that would take us up into the mountains. Halfway there, I commented that we hadn’t spotted a train yet and at that exact moment, we rounded a bend and there in front of us was a man standing in the middle of the road. He was waving us down to stop, because an approaching train was just appearing out of the tunnel. We smiled at the man and then, much to our surprise, the train stopped, the train driver leaned out of his window and waved us across in front of him. That’s never happened before, what a kind train driver; so we smiled and waved to him too.
We strolled around the tiny village of Queralbs for about ten minutes; we didn’t spend any longer, as that’s all there is. Then we re-parked Eileen next to the estacion, searched in the cupboards and dusted off the jeans and raincoats; it felt like summer was over for us, we’ve had it so good for so long. Tickets were purchased for the 11:30am cog railway train to take us up to Vall de Núria. There was only the two of us, a family of four and one hiker waiting on the platform, so we envisioned a fairly empty train; but we couldn’t have been more wrong. The two carriages were already completely filled with noisy teenagers who took no interest in the beautiful scenery around them, as the train chugged up the narrow valley. It was almost a relief to arrive at the top station, apart from the fact that the rain came down, which made the youngsters scream even more, as they dashed for cover in their summer clothes. We donned our raincoats and went for a stroll. In the winter the area is a ski resort and in the summer it looks like a hiker’s paradise, though not for us today, not in the pouring rain. We found a café for a drink and a bite to eat and proceeded to wait for twenty-five minutes while the one guy behind the counter struggled to serve the seven people in front of us. I think I fell asleep on the bar waiting for our turn. We eventually received the worst hot dog ever and two drinks, then promptly left the place for another wander around.
The return train was thankfully a lot quieter and we hopped back in to Eileen to continue our journey driving the twisting mountainous road between Ribes de Freser and Puigcerda. At Bourg Madame (a strange name for a town), we crossed the border in to France for the third time. We followed the road around the south and east sides of Livia, a tiny Spanish enclave within France and a tired Rodney pulled us into Camping L’Enclave, one kilometre from the border.
“Shall we pop into Spain for a late breakfast; it’s so much cheaper there than in France?”….. “Yes darling, it would be nice to go to Spain for a fourth time this trip”. So we drove the 2kms from the campsite in Escobar and slipped into Spain without noticing much change, apart from the different language on signs and the sudden improvement in road surfaces. Llívia is classified as an enclave of Spain, completely surrounded by France; it all sounded intriguing and interesting. It’s not far from the border of its own country, so I presume administrating, policing and governing, etc. are not too difficult geographically, but it does seem like a very strange arrangement. The whole place covers only 12 sq kms, or 5 sq miles in size, and it was still asleep when we arrived just before 10am. There were tourist signs dotted about which pointed out historical facts in four different languages, Catalan, Spanish, French and…..a sort of English. Most of them made little sense; there were references to Julius Caesar, Wamba the Visigoth King of Toledo, Wilfred the Hairy’s father, and something about ‘even a monkey make that the Llívia Roman history is written in bold’…….that one was definitely lost on us!? From the guidebook, we deduced that Llívia’s main drawcard is a 15th C pharmacy, which claims to be the oldest in Europe, but when we found it, there was disappointingly no sign of anything old, it is now a rather modern museum and town hall. Happily the hot drinks and chocolate croissants were delicious in Llívia and much cheaper than France.
“Let’s go back to France” said The Husband, so one minute of driving and we were out of Llívia, Spain and back in to France for the fourth time. But only another minute later, we were driving back over another border in to Spain for a fifth time. We drove through Puigcerda and continued west along the Segre Valley. We didn’t bother with the villages Err, or Ur, but we did drive through Ger, which had lovely views across the El Segre and the brooding Serra del Cadi mountains beyond. We stopped for a wander around Bellver de Cerdanya, another small town that rises up the side of a small hill topped with an old church. Apparently there once was a castle too, but a bolt of lightning struck the ammunitions store and resulted in the whole place being blown up. Yowch! Apart from the few bits of wall there is no sign of a castle there nowadays.
In La Seu d’Urgell, we caught the closing of the huge open-air market that spreads a fair way through the town twice a week. We checked out the white-water rafting centre that was created for the 1992 Barcelona Olympics; the water looked rather uninvitingly brown and chilly. Then we searched, really searched, for somewhere to have lunch; this would be our last meal out in Spain for a long time. Rodney tried ordering asparagus for entrée, but it turned out to be spaghetti and very nice too. I wasn’t sure if the grilled botifarra was meat, but on checking with the helpful waiter and being advised it was a sausage, I quickly declined; I still haven’t recovered from eating andouillette in France two years ago! Happily, the pork filet was very tasty and the whole three-course meal including bread, water and a whole bottle of wine, only cost €11 each. If you’re ever in La Seu d’Urgell, search out the Miscela Restaurant; it’s somewhere in the town
Finally we checked in to Camping Grand Sol, just 3kms down the road and slept our last two nights in ……. Spain.
