Dali and Dinner

Day 15 continued...



No, that's not a baguette on the mannequin's head.

We crossed into Spain for a whirlwind 48 hours, or two days if you will. My nose had been buried in my mini guide book on Catalonia for the last few days. There was so much to do and see in the region. Unfortunately, we had to be picky -and choose.


Our hallway neighbor in NYC, who I will refer to as BK, had been lucky to spend some time in Spain over the last year. He'd even managed to be paid for his travels, directing concerts of Broadway stars in Barcelona (who knew the Spaniards loved Broadway? Apparently, they do.). During pre-trip hallway conversations, we discovered he would be in Spain again, and at the same time as we would. Half-laid plans were hatched to try and meet up while across the Atlantic. BK also shared with me his experiences of Spain along the Costa Brava...and the one that stood out was the Teatre-Museu Dali in Figueres. "It's a trip", were pretty much his somewhat exact words.

Figueres was on our way to Jafre. It was an easy decision to stop and see the famous Dali Museum. As promised, it was a trip. I've always held a subtle affection for Salvador (even if I dismissed him during my college years, since every dorm wall seemed to be graced with a poster of his melting clocks.). But here, I got to see the true twisted genius of the man. I would have liked to knock back a couple of whiskies with him (I don't even drink whiskey) and have an intense evening long conversation, trying to suss out his uncensored answers.

Exploring Le Teatre, I almost did. Every inch of this museum is thought out, with irony and wit apparent in every view- the fact that "theater" is part of the name is quite appropriate. When we visited, unfortunately, we seemed to share the museum with hordes of annoying people who elbowed me at every chance (after visiting La Teatre, frankly, I think Senor Dali would have found this extremely amusing), but it was still worth every second. I like the way Dali thumbed his nose at convention and found his own voice without maliciously hurting the innocent. It's as if he could see the depravity in each human soul alongside the humanity and cajole the viewer into seeing both sides at once. I could write a thousand of words to describe his art and my reactions to it, but pictures and seeing it in person will let you find a better interpretation, your own.

After visiting the museum, we surpassed exploring any more of Figueres since we had a cooking class scheduled at our B&B and didn't want to be late.


As we continued our drive to Las Nenas, we witnessed a disturbing sight. Alongside the rural back roads, we saw several prostitutes lounging in chairs at the edges of the fields, waiting for their next customer. Since their skin was so deeply tan, we assumed they were of Spanish descent, but later learned they were eastern European girls who didn't have the means to leave Spain or find lawful employment. Their only option for survival was selling themselves by the side of the road. It was just so bizarre. Their laid-back demeanor coupled with the rural setting made it look like they could have been selling lemonade rather than sex.



.....

We finally located Las Nenas in one of the tiniest villages we have encountered yet. As we knocked upon the gate, Katie's sweet voice welcomed us in. She was tending to the garden and awaiting our arrival. We were early, and the only guests that evening aside from a birding couple from San Fran. We were the only ones signed up for the cooking class, and had a good amount of time before it began. Katie said it was a quick twenty minutes to the beach, so after hauling our suitcases to our room and presenting her with the prized Ceret cherries, we sped away for yet another chance to soak up the Mediterranean. I managed one quick dip in the ocean. The water was warm but the wind was kicking up it's heels and I didn't want to catch a chill and come home from our trip with a cold.


....

Cooking class.

Our teacher and chef this evening was Katie's partner, Martha Cronk. In setting up the class via emails, when she asked our preferences, I went for the "do as the Romans do" approach and requested a Spanish menu, either Catalan or Basque. Martha chose a Catalan menu for us . I appreciate that she chose dishes that we could easily replicate at home (we've already made one of them twice).

We began with an intro to knife skills. I learned pretty quickly that my knife skills were a little lacking and was highly upset that my husbands' surpassed mine. I may have stumbled a bit, but the chopping hints I learned have stayed with me long beyond our class (Martha, I listened and learned!) .

As we prepared each dish, Martha told us about the ingredients, variations and their relation to Catalonia and substitutions we could use back in the States.

Martha did a lot more of the prep work than we did...she's a good ole' perfectionist and I can relate to her approach (just try getting in my tiny excuse for a kitchen when I am preparing a meal). Even when she took over and rescued us from moments of ineptitude, it was never rude. It got our meal on the table sooner, and her cooking tips still stay with me long after our vacation ended.


Our menu- don't remember the Catalan names for the life of me....

Toasted bread with tomato and garlic

Salad mixta

Squid (pulpo) two ways. One version with Catalan chile powder- unique to this region of Spain. The other emphasizing olive oil and chili flakes. Both were easy and simple to make. The Catalan version was smokier and more succulent than the other.

Stuffed peppers with Tuna Salad

Main course was Rabbit with Ratatouille. Martha assured us there was really no difference between the French and Spanish versions of ratatouille. The rabbit was fantastic, and she suggested when recreating this dish back in the states (where rabbit is hard to come by, and much more expensive) to substitute chicken and place a piece of bacon on top during the oven cooking. Good tip- this is the dish we've recreated and it's so easy and delicious!

Dessert- our prized cherries from Ceret and apricots macerated in Muscat wine.

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After assembling most of the dinner and setting the rabbit and ratatouille in the oven to finish cooking, we joined Martha in the garden to relax. Our first crush is France, and we told Martha of our love of France and desire to live there one day. She had apprenticed in a French kitchen and due to her experiences there, didn't share our adoration. She and Katie had found their Shangri-la in Spain. She regaled us with many stories about their new life in Spain. They love the boisterous spirit of the Spaniards and find the French too reserved. We found it ironic, since our experiences in France have been so wonderful, and we have always found the people to be welcoming.

After we enjoyed the fruits of our labor, Martha bid us a good night and headed home (she and Katie live in a house in a neighboring village). Our stomachs were so stuffed with good food, that DH and I decided (needed to) take a nighttime stroll down the road that lead past the village. We meandered down a dirt road lined with wheat fields. The fields etched a deep purple silhouette against the deep azure star studded night sky. Even though we could see the bright lights of what appeared to be a grainary or a small factory in the distance, it was wonderfully quite as a soft breeze gently caressed us.

We ended the evening in the garden with some guilt free midnight snacking-- a nightcap of our cask wine from Ceret (pretty damn good!) and some more of the maceracted fruit from dinner.

Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to Spain we go...

Day 15

Sometimes people's dreams do come true, and then unfortunately, sometimes they don't work out quite the way they had hoped. Sharon and Barry had opened L'Ombre du Fort two years ago, with dreams similar to ours. We learned during our visit that due to a number of reasons, this was to be their last season. They had sold the B&B and were returning to Ireland. It's a loss to us and to future travellers. I know we would have made a return visit.

It was time to shove off. We said our good-byes to Sharon and sincerely wished her and her family all the best. We had really enjoyed the Pyrenees and looked forward to returning to the region again. But onward ho! We were headed to Spain for two nights. Being so close to the Spanish border, we (well, I) thought it would be interesting to get a taste of Catalunya from the Spanish side...and see if we would find ardor outside of la belle France.

As we drove out of the valley and headed south on A9, for the first time we were able to view the entire summit of Mount Canigou. We marvelled at the massive peak, as it sat majestically in the distance, so beautifully framed against the cerulean blue sky. And then we continued on, for we had one more stop to make in France before crossing the border....Ceret. Our hosts in Spain had mentioned that we should pick up some of the famous Ceret cherries as we made our way to their B&B from the Pyrenees, and we couldn't disappoint them.

Ceret is the last exit on the A9 autoroute in France before crossing the border into Spain. It's yet another charming little town in France that has had its share of famous artists in residence- including Chaim Soutine, Picasso and Juan Gris. There is a renowned museum of modern art in Ceret that we didn't visit, but for enthusiasts, it's supposedly a must see.

It was a lazy and tranquil Friday morning, as shopkeepers and townspeople unhurriedly went about their business. Strolling down the Avenue d'Espangne, we relished in the pleasant shade offered by the plane trees lining this wide boulevard at the foot of the fortified city. It was nice not to feel rushed even though our visit would be short. After a cup of coffee at a cafe, we enjoyed another picturesque stroll through the old city, with it's stone gray whitewashed buildings and narrow cobble-stone streets.

But, our real mission here was the cherries. I thought it would be easy, since they were in season, to find a little shopkeeper selling them. Come on now, cherries must be pouring out of chimneys this time of year, no? As we wandered through town, I was disappointed that we were finding ourselves in yet another S.O.L. position. After wandering for nearly twenty minutes, my husband spied a wooden sign advertising cherries for sale. He tore down the street (it was nearly 1pm, lunch closing time for many stores) in hopes of procuring the precious cherries. The cherry vendor was in an old building with the wooden doors that latch when closed. Inside, there were massive tables laden with nothing but cherries for sale- three different varieties. The dark purple cherries were the sweetest and melted in your mouth like candy made from spring water. The red were also sweet, but with a bit of a tart edge(but not as tart as the Michigan cherries I grew up with). And the pale yellowish red ones had the most delicate taste, I wanted them to taste like cherry flavored custard, but alas, it was not to be. Preferring the deeper flavors, we chose a half kilo each of the dark purple and the red semi-tart. Whew. Mission accomplished.

En route back to the old part of town and our car, we passed by a wine shop for the Vigneron Dom Brial. Since we had enjoyed the wine we had with our picnic the night before (and a thankful nod to Sharon for first telling us about the wonderful Dom Brial wines), I wanted to see if we could pick up another bottle or two.

Inside the store, we happily discovered the wine we were looking for, and the helpful salesperson also pointed us to a limited edition 2001 red of which there we only two bottles left (and thanks to us, now there was only one!). And, an even bigger bonus- they carried one of my favorite French wines from the Languedoc region that I had been hoping to come across- Domaine La Fage. The La Fage white wine is a really wonderful white, with a little effervescence- like a Spanish Rueda, with good fruit/floral nose and enough grit to balance out the 'sweet'. Everyone I have introduced this wine to has fallen in love with it. I wanted to do a taste test, to see if there would be a difference between the imported bottles to the US and what I could get in France. Unfortunately, they were out of the white. But, they had a rose from Domaine La Fage that was a 2004 Silver Medal winner. And at only 4.90eu, it was an easy decision to add it to our well travelled collection of french wines.

As I was settling the bill, my husband noticed wine casks lining the wall behind the cash register- in other words- the fill'er up style of wine. He became very excited and begged me to ask the sales staff if it would be possible to fill up his own bottle and if there was a minimum amount that you had to purchase. Yes! And there was no minimum. But it became very comical (and apparent that my french was OK but a far cry from fluent), as I continued to translate and try to explain my husband's excitement and desire to fill an empty container with wine. They eventually understood, and even went so far as to offer up an empty Evian bottle for my husband to use. It was amusing to see my husband so excited, as he tanked up the recycled Evian bottle with red table wine. This moment had been two trips in the making, and to see that giddy, boyish grin on his face again, well, I don't know if you could put a price on it. In fact, he was so proud of being able to do this, he set up a little photo op before we left town with his conquests.

As we drove out of town, my roving eye spotted a banner hung on the side of a bridge, announcing the Festival Del Toros. On the bridge, perched above the banner was a giant dancing bull- cha-cha-chaing, with huge huevos del toros hanging between his legs. We were highly amused. It was an omen of sly humor to come...

Day 15 to be continued...

Sun, storms and a peach

Day 14

Not every day had to be about doing and seeing. We had enjoyed our time in Collioure two days previously, and decided a return trip for a day of lazing on the beach and swimming in the harbor was in order.

We plopped ourselves down on the beach on the opposite side of the Chateau Royal and spread out our blanket. One of the things I remember most clearly about our day, was a fog rolling in off the ocean. At first I thought it was clouds, and we were doomed to another day of rain, on what was supposed to be a sun filled day on the coast. The fog was eerie and beautiful, as the it billowed in, in waves, and enveloped the harbor. Though the temperature was near 90 that day, the mist cooled and cleared the air. I was fascinated, and jumped into the harbor to swim....the waters were still warm. I was enchanted as I watched the town disappear and reappear before my eyes.

Other memories, of an otherwise purposely uneventful afternoon...

Getting hungry and going to an artisanal bakery. I bought a slice of 'pissadaliere' type tart. Pissadaliere, could be compared to pizza, but with loads of onions and anchovies. I happen to love anchovies (though many, including my husband don't share my adoration). My little slice of heaven (tart) was topped with fresh tomatoes and the famous Collioure anchovies. I savoured my treat slowly, perched atop a stone wall, watching a group of older gentleman playing petanque.

A group of young schoolchildren, obedient and attentive, as their teacher gave them an art lesson steeped in the history of Collioure, as they sat in the cool shadows of the Chateau Royale.

The lovely colors of the buildings as we wandered the corridors of Collioure seeking a respite from the hot Mediterranean sun- made more vivid from the beautiful sunlight that glistened from above. Gorgeous bougainvillea blossoming and cascading down buildings. Hand painted plaques, quietly announcing a resident's aspiration or profession.

It was a wonderful slow day before we headed back to Villefranche and L'Ombre du Fort.

In the valley Tet, lies a another one of The Most Beautiful Villages de France (actually there are several, but this one consistently caught our attention), the village of Eus. It's one of those villages that climbs up and nestles in the side of a mountain...and I had to get a picture of it. Since my husband hadn't spent the day chauffeuring us about southern France, he was happy to oblige some off the beaten path (read- 'small roads') driving so that I could obtain my prize photograph.

Our meandering route took us along the edge of several peach orchards. Really, I wasn't looking for peaches, I was looking for the best photographic angle. But at one point, I thought a great view was possible and asked DH to stop the car. As I stepped out of the car, I swear I was intoxicated, inebriated - literally seduced by the perfume of the peaches that hung in the trees around me. Sweet honey nectar aromas enticed me like sirens- I confess I stole one juice heavy peach from a tree. And I held that fuzzy piece of delight to my nose until we arrived back at our B&B.

Pretty village pictures completed and DH's patience wearing thin, we continued back towards Villefranche. Our attention turned from villages and orchards towards the tumultuous skies ahead of us. It was a stunning scene, as clouds, rain and general torment swirled about, vying for dominance over the occasional ray of sunlight in the valley. I half expected the witches of Macbeth to appear or the Ride of the Valkyries to be heard suddenly throughout the valley.

Back at Villefranche, we played with the girls..teaching them all about the game of Duck Duck Goose. Whether or not this was a good thing, given the American reputation for cultural dominance and ignorance, can be debated at another time. The girls had a blast, changing the rules as they saw fit, and so did we.

The rain ended, the girls were put to bed and we headed out to the pool for another picnic dinner. We spread out a delicious French Catalan inspired meal that we had bought at the Super Marche outside Prades. Our meal consisted of escilivada (Catalan version of ratatouille), and salad with tuna and pimento (red peppers), fresh bread, young goat cheese, Catalan sausage, and cherries. We washed it all down with a delicious Dom Brial 2004 red, that was bursting with fruit and just a little hint of spice. And of course...the tastiest prize of all was my stolen peach...whose honeyed flesh fulfilled all the promises of its scent.

As the stars came out, we played out fantasies of having our own little slice of heaven somewhere here in France. Sometimes dreams can become reality, we told ourselves....and we went to bed that night holding tight to romantic hopes for the fulfillment of ours.

A Day in the Valley-slowing down

Day 13

We had done so much driving in the last few days, that we decided to keep our explorations a little closer to 'home' today. Taking advantage of the clear skies above, we began our day with a hike up to Fort Liberia. It was a moderately difficult climb, along a dirt road, the side of the train tracks and little foot path, that took us about twenty five minutes from the L'Ombre du Fort.

Fort Liberia is privately owned and maintained. No fancy audio guides here, but we were presented with a printed guide to the Fort, with explanations in both French and English.

The fort's construction was started by Vauban in 1697, to protect the exposed village of Villefranche. It was built in three sections, the highest of which faces north and resembles the bow of a ship. It's an extremely well thought out structure. Exploring the fort was far more interesting than I had expected. And from turrets and windows, we were able to partake of several stunning views of Mt Canigou and the valley.

The last section of the Fort we visited, etched the clearest impression in my mind. It was the Ladies' Prison where four ladies from the reign of Louis XVI had been imprisoned for plotting to poison members of the court. Two of them survived, one for an impressive 35 years and the other 44 years.

Entering the prison, I felt a swooping movement close to my head- and realized it was a bat. One or two bats, I can deal with. But then came another, and another....there must have been at least 40 bats nesting in the 'chimney' of the staircase. I pulled my jacket over my head, and bid a hasty retreat to the sunlight.

Having completed our tour of Fort Liberia (sans hair snarls or angry bat guano on our clothes), we decided to leave via its famous staircase of a 1000 steps descending from the Fort to Villefrance. What the true number of steps are, is debatable. Our Michelin guide states that there are 743, while I think Sharon told us it was 883. Exact numbers don't really matter, all one needs to know is that there are a lot of stairs to go down. And that the stairs descend though a tunnel. The day and the time we happened to be descending this stairwell, the lights weren't working, so we had close to zero visibility. If not for the earlier bat incident, I probably wouldn't have had any phobias- but now I was dealing with the double paranoia of not knowing where or on what my foot might land coupled with what nocturnal creature might swoop down and entangle themselves in my hair. And of course, I conjured up images of giant spiders and vengeful rats. Thank god, none of my twisted hallucinations made an appearance during our slow and deliberate descent.

Exiting the stairwell, we were almost blinded as our eyes adjusted to the crisp morning sunlight. From there, we traversed the tracks of Le Train Jaune and entered Villefranche. Early morning Villefranche was quiet and tranquil. And since we weren't in a panic over B&B reservations, we were able to enjoy the quaint architecture and the multitude of 'medieval' metal shop signs.

Next on our agenda- thermal baths. There are many well known spas in the Pyrenees, Font Roumeau, Vernet Les Bains, etc. When I had mentioned to Sharon at breakfast that we were interested in visiting a spa, she recommended that we head to St. Thomas Les Bains. It was only twenty minutes away and in her opinion, a much prettier setting than the others.

We arrived at St. Thomas and paid our admission of 12 euros each, choosing access to both the sulphur baths and the hammam. After changing into our swimsuits, my husband was traumatized that they wouldn't allow him to enter the baths in his swim shorts. They gave him tight european-style swim trunks that sent his ego back to the days of pre-teen angst. Once I convinced him that the effect was more Johnny Weismuller than banana hammock, he relaxed.

The spa is nestled on the mountainside. The sulphur baths were located outside, and we could see signposts at the edge of the pine forest indicating GR hiking trails. The mountain air was chilly and it was starting to rain, but none of that mattered as we floated and 'swam', indulging ourselves of the warm healing waters and the beautiful scenery.

We spent nearly an hour relaxing in the baths before visiting the hammam, inside.

The hammam was fantastic. We went from one room to the next(each one progressively warmer...until you reached the hottest inner chamber, that drove the sweat from your body like an exorcism) and making good use of the brisk waters of the dunking pool (I call them by their Dutch name, dompbads) in between. After two passes through the hammam there was nary a toxin nor speck of dirt left in our bodies when we finally wrapped ourselves in blankets and lay down on chaises in the relaxation atria. We both swore we hadn't felt that clean and relaxed in eons. As the rain grew heavier and pounded the glass roof of the atria, we both quickly slipped in to post sauna bliss and promptly fell asleep. In the end, we had passed a blissful and regenerative three hours at the baths.

Since our good friend the rain had returned with such a vengeance, we decided our next stop would be Prades and an internet cafe.

At Prades, it took us about a half hour of wandering in the rain, to find internet access. The original cafe we had been told of was closed, and we eventually found a bookstore where we could log on and check-in with the outside world. Mission accomplished, we headed back to L'Ombre du Fort.

Back at L'Ombre, we passed the time playing with the girls before heading off to dinner in Villefranche. Sharon had recommended three different restaurants to us, and we eventually chose Le Relais. We practically had the restaurant (and the town for that matter) to ourselves. As we lazily walked back to L'Ombre du Fort after dinner, we were thankful for the gift of another wonderful day in La Belle France.

Photos - Pyrenees 2007

Pyrenees 2007

La Cote Vermeille: Beaches, pretty villages and a wine shack!

Day 12

Even though clouds hung ominously in the sky over our little corner of the Tet valley, the weather along the coast was promising sunshine, warm temperatures and gentle winds. Easy decision- we were heading to the nearest beach.

We drove straight to the coast from Villfranche and settled in at Argeles Plage. The beach was pretty, thanks to the splendid views of mountains along the coast. The town itself, was not so charming, as it is a huge resort area and caters to families vacationing there, but it was still the 'low season' so neither town nor beach were overrun with people.

The water was still a bit chilly for my taste, so we spent a quiet afternoon reading and soaking up rays. Thankfully, the wind was gentle, so we didn't have to eat sand all day, but enough to keep us from overheating. My husband has a much lower tolerance for lazing about in the sun, and probably would have pulled the plug sooner, but he hung in there since he had dropped off some laundry to be done in town.

We picked up his fresh smelling, still warm from the dryer and oh so neatly folded laundry at 330pm, and then decided to take the scenic drive along the coast. I swear I hadn't seen my husband this excited since we were travelling on the TGV- about the laundry, not the drive ahead of us.

The first stop on our drive was Collioure. A small port town, Collioure is known for its colorful architecture and charm that has drawn many artists to it over the years, most notably the Fauves.

The harbour was as beautiful and charming as promised. I could see why so many artists have been attracted to this town. It just begs to be drawn, painted or photographed. We wandered around the old quarter of Collioure and Plage Boramar, discovering visual delights at every turn.

I was envious of the bathers frolicking in the bay (I was on a mission at this point to swim in the Mediterranean), and had to test the waters myself, to see if they were any warmer than at Argeles. Aha! They were! So my husband indulged me while I took a quick swim. Immersing myself in the buoyant ocean water, I savoured every second as the wonderful salty waters enveloped my body. And besides, how cool is it to take a dip in waters bounded by a castle (Chateau Royale) on one side and a church (Eglise Notre Dame des Anges) dating back to the 1600s, that once served as a lighthouse, on the other?


Once I dried off, we decided to give Collioure a rest for awhile and continue our drive along the coast. As the road dipped and peaked along the coast, we were treated to stunning views of the Mediterranean intertwined with vineyards and charming villages. We passed though Port Vendres, a major fishing port, which I had read was a lovely place to explore. My husband however, took one look at it, and aside from allowing me a brief photo op in the port, declared his total disinterest in spending any time there. From Port Vendres, we continued on through Banyuls-Sur-Mer and finally to Cap Rederis.


A high rocky cliff, Cap Rederis juts out into the sea and offers magnificent views along the coast, to the north towards Perpignan and as far south as Cabo de Creus in Spain. With the help of a big stone table map, set towards the edge of the cliff, we oriented ourselves to points north and south. The colors of the mountains and the sea were stunning in the clear afternoon light. A boat passed below, and from high atop the cliff, its image was barely a tiny speck trailing white foam through the deep blue Mediterranean water.

In the parking area, was a little wooden shack which reminded me of a lemonade stand, where a very gregarious man beckoned (it was closer to harassment, with a good dose of humor thrown in) us over to taste his wines. As we conversed solely in French, he had me laughing at his garrulous compliments on my ability to speak french and his insistence that one should drink wine at all hours of the day, especially when on holiday. He was very proud that all the wines he offered were from his very own vineyard. Though my palate didn't fall in love with any of the wines we tasted (Banyuls can be reminiscent of sherry), I fall in love with anyone who thinks I speak fabulous french. So we obliged him and purchased one of his whites.

We jumped back in the car to make the return drive to Collioure. From Cap Rederis, we had noticed several tiny coves with beaches dotting the coast. Since the theme of the day was beaches, we decided to stop wherever we spotted a good amount cars parked along the road, in hopes of discovering one of these hidden coves. We spotted a mass of cars just past Banyuls. We had romantic and idyllic notions of hiking down a rugged cliff side trail to the sea. Alas, the tiny beach we discovered was only 20 un-rugged meters from the road, behind a little bar/restaurant and not quite so idyllic as we had imagined. As long as we kept our focus out towards the ocean, we could continue to harbor our idealized notions. On the plus side, it was tranquil (save for the bad disco music emanating from the bar) and I was able to enjoy another dip in the ocean, before the sun dropped too low and the air temperature became too cool.

Back at Collioure, we enjoyed a simple dinner at Les Templiers, one of the many cafes overlooking the harbor. We both had salads, my husband a Chevre Chaud (warm goat cheese) and for me, a Salade Collioure- sort of a take-off on Salade Nicoise...laden with delicious anchovies from Collioure, instead of tuna. As the sun set, the town and the mountains were washed in beautiful dramatic pink and gold hues that matched the color of the earthy Langeudoc rose we drank with dinner. Afterwards, we took one more stroll the through streets, savouring every last moment of the day before heading 'home' to Villefranche.

As our little Renault climbed the road out of Collioure, we were treated to a dessert from nature-a gorgeous sherbet hued sunset blossoming and spreading throughout the sky, high above the towns along the coast, which were now a deep indigo with twinkling lights winking us a good night.

Carcassone to the Pyrennees

Day 11

Up early the next morning, we took some time to roam through Caracassone again. It was early enough to avoid the tourist bus onslaught, so we were able to enjoy the natural rhythms of the town. Shopkeepers opened up and tidied their storefronts. Neighbors bid one another good morning. Cats and dogs stretched their bodies into a lazy wakefulness. Parents walked their children to school. We discovered the school was right across the street from our B&B and had the pants charmed off us by the children in the schoolyard as they lined up to begin their day.

Watching people who I assumed to be locals (since they weren't carrying cameras and snapping a million pictures like I was), traversing the gated city entrance, I had to wonder how often they stopped to appreciate the history they walked through each day. Yes, there is an argument that Caracassone isn't authentic, because much of it has been reconstructed, but it's still an amazing site. It brought to mind a long ago conversation with a friend who had grown up in Europe when I expressed my awe of seeing a real castle for the first time. His response was something to the effect of "Oh, they're everywhere in France. You start to think to yourself, oh god, another castle?". It's sad how we become inured to our surroundings and forget to discover the wonder of it all.

Back at L'Echappee Belle, we said our goodbyes and settled our bill. We had a wonderful conversation with the owner. We told her of our dream to one day run our own B&B in France...(far, far in the future)...and she gave us some very practical and wonderful advice. And of course, during the conversation, I noticed a map of the wine regions in the Languedoc and the topic shifted to wine. When we told her that we were headed towards the Pyrenees, she mentioned that we should stop in the town of Limoux, to taste the 'original champagne' blanquette. Our curiosities piqued, we decided we had to make a stop and discover it for ourselves.

Limoux was a very pretty town, although when we arrived it was a quiet day. It could have been the impending rain or maybe just the day of the week we arrived. We took a brief tour, enjoying the architecture and the general 'feel' of the town. I would have been happy to stay a little longer and linger at a cafe, but DH was a man with a mission and we had a lot of ground to cover yet that day. So we packed ourselves back in the car and drove slightly out of town center where we finally managed to find a cave. We pulled up and dropped in for a tasting. We had to find out what this blanquette was all about.

I'm not a huge lover of champagne, so my palate may fall short of some one else who truly loves the bubbly. But we did a tasting which introduced us to a range of different blanquettes from one vintner. I found most of them to be too carbonated to my taste, almost with an alka-seltzer like aftertaste that left me wanting the 'real' champagne. But we did settle on a demi-sec that had nice depth to it and a young fruity blanquette that was wonderfully intriguing in taste. We added our conquests to our burgeoning collection of French wines and forged on.

Resuming our journey, we headed south on the D118, passing through Quillan and picking up D117 to the west. As the majestic pre-Pyrenees started to spring up around us, we both marvelled at the sheer scale of what we were experiencing. From D117, we took a detour to the Gorges de Galamus, which the Micheline map indicated as another green (scenic) road with some stunning belvederes.

There was a lookout point at the mouth of the Gorges, where we stopped to stretch our legs and drink in the lush green vistas of the mountains and the valley. Standing at the edge of the mountain, the wind cut strongly through the air, muffling any sound, and instilling the landscape with an incredible energy. Even though a handful of other travellers were there too, we almost had the feeling of having this wonderful world all to ourselves.

The drive through Galamus probably places second on our list of heart attack producing drives. It has to be one of the narrowest roads we have ever been on- with barely enough room for one car to scratch through. Since I wasn't the one driving the car, remarkably I felt pretty safe. As my husband aired his discontent, I took comfort from the stone walls lining the road and obscuring the depth of the gorges to our left, the close proximity of the mountains on the other side and extremely close to the car roof rocky overhangs. You see, it's all in the perspective.

Eventually, the road arrived at a plateau, and it was smooth sailing to Chateau de Peyerpetruse. Peyrepetruse is one of the 'five sons of Carcassone' , a group of Cathar castles that once guarded these valleys. Built upon strategically selected mountain ridges, these castles seem to organically blossom from their geographic standpoints. Approaching Peyrepetruse, my husband didn't believe me at first when I pointed out it's silhouette atop the mountain.

We arrived at Peyrepetruse, paid our admission and picked up the ever informative audioguides. It took us about two hours to fully explore the fortress ruins. Without our audioguides, we could have rushed through the fortress in less time, but the well narrated program helped us to slow down and really enjoy the history and the experience.

One could easily understand why they chose to build a fortress here. There were sweeping views across the valley floor, that would have given the sentries easy visibility of any invading forces. The nearest neighboring Cathar castle, Chateau de Queribus was also clearly visible in the distance.

Hiking through the castle grounds, each section rose a bit higher until your reached the highest point, the Chateau St. Georges. If I hadn't made my second fashion mistake of the trip, climbing and descending would have been much easier. But today, I decided to wear a skirt. On the valley floor, this wasn't issue. But scrambling around the top of Peyerpetruse it was, with a wind so strong, that I had to keep one hand on my skirt at all times to keep it from flying up into my face. At least I wore flat sandals. Going up wasn't too bad, but coming down was a slow and tortuous procedure. I do suffer from mild vertigo, and the strong wind was making it worse. I was extremely grateful for the rope guardrails you could clutch with ultimate fear as you made a slow descent.

Back at the car, my husband pulled out the TRIP FOLDER - an amazing work of organization that my husband compiles for every trip we take. It contains everything- from flight info, to train tickets, to emergency contacts, B&B reservation confirmations and even detailed maps printed out from Michelin.com of how to get to our B&Bs once we arrive in each city. He flipped through the folder looking for the info on our next B&B just outside of Villefranche de Conflent. Well, we had the detailed map- but it wasn't so detailed, and we had no printout of the email with our reservation confirmations- that would have included the name of the B&B (which neither of us could remember) and the relevant contact info.

No problem, we figured when we got to Villefranche, that it wouldn't be a large town and we would be able to sort things out in good time. If not, then we would be able to solve our problem at the tourist office or find an internet cafe and locate the information we needed in our email.

When we finally arrived at Villefranche, we were shit out of luck, as the wonderful expression goes. We followed what we thought was the correct road, just past the fortified old city and found NO signs of any B&Bs. So we parked and entered the village. Villefranche itself is only two long streets, and after circling them three times, we finally found the tourist office- which was now closed for the evening. I then asked someone where the nearest internet cafe might be, and was told that maybe there was one in Prades, which was twenty minutes away by car. And we still couldn't remember the name of the B&B. We were both tired and getting hungry at this point, so we weren't exactly a picture of marital bliss.

As we started to backtrack to Prades, my husband decided to take one more quick turn off the highway- one that we had missed before. There we spotted some signs, including one for a B&B, L'Ombre d'Or. Hallelujah! This was the name that we were trying to remember!

We pulled up to the house and were greeted by the owners Barry and Sharon and their two adorable daughters. They immediately made us feel welcome as they oriented us to the house and the grounds. And we laughed, as they apologized for the weather. We joked that it had been following us throughout France, almost like a curse. But we didn't care, we were in France and we were on vacation. A little wind and rain wasn't going to ruin it for us.

We had bought supplies for a picnic dinner earlier, and I asked Sharon if it was OK to picnic out by the pool. She said it was no problem, and if it got too cold or started to rain, we were more than welcome to use the dining room. She even set out plates and cutlery in the kitchen for us.

After we settled in to our room, we grabbed our dinner and two bottles of wine from our overflowing collection, and headed out to the pool. The air was a bit chilly, but the view was fantastic. We were surrounded by mountains. I knew that one of them was Mt Canigou, but since clouds obscured the tops of the peaks, I couldn't be sure of which one. The Tet river bounded the grounds on one side and on the other, was the depot for Le Train Jaune.

As we feasted on cheese, bread, tapenade, octopus salad, ratatouille and pate, the rain began to fall. My husband managed to find an umbrella for the table, allowing us to remain and enjoy our meal en plein air. After we were sufficiently stuffed, we cleaned up and put everything back in it's place.

We ended the evening on the private terrace outside our room, sipping wine and watching the mists of clouds burn and rise off the mountain side.