France

Waiting for the train to Madrid.

We’re back on the train, which just started rolling, on the way to Madrid – apparently facing backward for the entire trip – following two days in southern France.

Leaving Barcelona on Monday morning, we decided to skip the bakery and coffee on the way to the metro, figuring we could grab something once we got to the main station. We pulled our bags across the Gaudi sidewalk tiles several blocks to the metro station. The trip to Sants station took about 15 minutes, and then of course we had to navigate a series of tunnels and stairs to get to the railway station. There were a couple of cafés there, but we decided we should get through security first. We found our way to the platform without seeing any further options for food and coffee, but we decided we could get something from the café car on the train.

We boarded on time, but the train ended up leaving about 20 minutes late. I almost overheated trying to cram our bags onto the already-crowded luggage rack, but I rearranged the other peoples’ stuff enough that I eventually got most of our bags to fit. Once seated I started blogging, but Gywen and Barry quickly dozed off. I thought I one of us could go to the café car once they woke up, but they never came around long enough to make the effort worthwhile. Once we were in Perpignan we would have about half an hour before we could pick up our key and drop off our bags, and out host had recommended waiting at a nice restaurant to have a coffee on the terrace. I concluded that I could make it until then and looked forward to a nice sit-down meal.

The train trip passed quickly while I blogged. Although I was focused on my screen I did see some nice scenery along the way to Perpignan. We arrived there shortly after passing through a long tunnel into France. We took a taxi for a short ride to the restaurant where the very handsome, non-English speaking waiter informed us they were not serving food until Noon. There were customers enjoying coffee on the terrace, though, and we managed to convince him that we wanted some, too. The coffee helped, although it certainly wasn’t the large satisfying Starbucks-like beverage we’re used to getting at home. That’s not how they do things in France.

Coffee finished, it was time to walk about two blocks to the apartment, where the host Alexandre showed up to meet us with the key. We climbed two flights to reach the apartment which was a very large, bright, uniquely furnished space overlooking one of the city’s famous buildings near the heart of the city center. The apartment had a large common room with three bay windows, a kitchen and office, both with balconies, two bedrooms, two baths, and a laundry room. Alexandre recommended a lunch spot, so we dropped our bags and walked several blocks to the restaurant, crossing the lovely river and passing the historic Castillet along the way. Once seated we waited close to 15 minutes before an English-speaking server was sent to interpret the menu for us. The menu prices were a little high, but the Plat du Jour combinations were reasonable so we made selections from that list. I do think the food was worth the wait. Barry and Gywen both ordered salads with frommage and I ordered a salad with bacon and pate. For the main course, Barry and Gywen had salmon while I enjoyed a delicious tender pork in mustard sauce over mashed potatoes. For dessert, they had wonderful-looking apple tarts and I devoured a rich, flourless chocolate cake with pistachio ice cream. It was an indulgent and filling meal.

On the mini train.

Lunch ended in time for us to catch the 45-minute tour on the city’s “mini-train.” We drove through the streets on the little tram learning about the main sites and a bit of the city’s history. It was delightful being able to get the lay of the land while seated and mostly dry, considering it started raining during the tour. Starting at the Castillet, which was the main gate into the walled city during Medieval times, we drove past a beautiful park, buildings constructed on the site of the former wall, homes build more recently literally on top of the old wall, the Cathedral, the Maritime Court, former convents, the modern arts center, and the very large Palace of the Kings of Majorca among other sites.

At the end of the tour it was raining steadily, so we hung out for a few minutes under the arch of the Castillet while a busker filled the air with some very French-sounding accordion music. When the rain let up a little, we wandered through the streets until we found the massive Cathedral of St. Jean de Baptiste. Somewhat plain on the outside, it was much grander on the inside, although it was dim and solemnly quiet. We explored the various chapels and took pictures of the most interesting features, including the massive organ which we all wish we could have heard. We stepped out the side door and found a small chapel containing a famous wooden statue of the Christ. Beyond that was the famous crypt Campo Santo, which was closed for renovations.

Cathedral bell tower.

Plate by Picasso.

We explored more of the quaint city streets and read the historical markers as we made our way to La Loge de Mer, now the home of the city council. I asked a man there where to find the Picasso exhibit recommended by Alexandre, and he pointed me upstairs to the third floor. That wasn’t actually the Picasso exhibit – but there was a gallery there with an exhibit of photographs of Picasso which we fun to see and gave us more insight to Picasso’s personality and his life as a real person (as opposed to my perception of him as a esoteric, dead artist). A few blocks beyond old Court we found the Hyacinthe Rigaud Museum with the Actual Picasso Exhibit, a temporary showing highlighting the two years he spent time in Perpignan as a guest of the Luzerme family. All of the accompanying text was in both Catalan and French, so we mostly had to guess about what we were looking at and what Picasso was doing there. But we saw a sizable collection of nice paintings, sketches, cut and torn paper, and pottery as well as historical photographs and video. The Museum is actually in the former Luzerme home, where Picasso stayed during his visits.

The Museum’s permanent collection was quite large and included an interactive audio/video tour. We walked through, listening to a few highlights from the audio tour, seeing some historic alter pieces, more Picasso works, sculpture, modern art, and many paintings. The core of the collection was work by Rigaud and his contemporaries. He was a very talented 17-Century local artist what became known primarily for his excellent portraits. There was a lot to see, and as much as I wanted to take it all in I started to get a headache and had to resort to a quick walk-through of some of the galleries. I’m sure Gywen was tired, too. After seeing all we could take, we exited back into the rain to head toward home. Nearby we found a small bakery where we purchased some sandwiches and cool drinks. Barry had a mozzerlla and tomato sandwich on a roll. Gywen and I had baguettes that were split down the middle and stuffed with chicken, cheese and mustard. It was tasty, and just what I needed after a long day. I also had a really big pistachio macaroon which I ate too quickly. Barry ran out to a grocery store that evening to pick up food for the next day, while I blogged. We couldn’t find anything in English for Gywen to watch on TV. She retired to read in her room and Barry and I hung out the rest of the evening using the WiFi, staying up later than we should have.

Now we’re back in Barcelone, stopped on the platform en-route to Madrid. Barry had a little cat nap on the way here, but he’s awake now reading about Weimaraners on his computer. Barry and I are enjoying some beers we bought yesterday. Mine is “Dark Owl” from a brewery called La Mandra, and Barry has an IPA from the same place. I’ll have to look that up at some point…

Yesterday morning, Tuesday, we grabbed some yummy pastries and coffee at the shop next to the apartment which Barry and I ate while walking to the train station while Gywen stayed at the apartment until we went back to pick her up. We walked from the Place to Catalogne and the historic Aux Dames de France department store across from the apartment down Av. General de Gaulle to the train station. I believe I heard this street referred to with two other names during our visit, and on the mini-train the guide told us that Dali called this street the “Center of the World.” That’s cool, but the street isn’t, I assume, what it used to be. It was a relatively narrow street lined with businesses, apartments, ethnic restaurants, and a few abandoned buildings, some of them which had once been grand. The narrow sidewalks were lined with Palm trees, so I can imagine the street was once more impressive.

At the station, we went to the Europcar desk and picked up keys to the car we had for the day. We made our way out of the garage and across town to pick up Gywen and the food we had packed for our road trip. We headed northwest form the city toward our first destination, as per usual about 20 minutes behind schedule. We didn’t find the signage pointing to Mas Amiel winery particularly clear and made a couple of wrong turns along the way. At one point, I tried to make a U-turn in the road, but the car didn’t have a great turning radius and I hadn’t yet figured out how to put it in reverse. There was a significant drop-off, so while I sat in the car Gywen and Barry jumped out to push us backward into the road – unable to move us until a nice woman came up behind us and got out to help. She couldn’t get around us, so she had little choice but to jumped out to assist and did so with no questions asked. Finally, we found the turn-off to the winery and drove up the little lane through the vineyard to the impressive new tasting room. We were the only gests there at that point, just about 20 minutes after opening, so we enjoyed a nice relaxed tasting in which the friendly man poured samples of about a dozen wines for us. Behind the counter was a gorgeous view of the vines and mountains through the large picture window, which made the experience even more enjoyable. I think we enjoyed all of the wines, and we bough a few bottles before leaving.

We had asked the server of other good wineries in the area, and he recommended Domaine Thunevin Clavet, just down the road in Maury. Once again in this place we were the only guests, and here we found a very pleasant and chatty woman who told us all about their wines and poured several for us to taste. This place was less scenic, being right on the highway, but it was a sleek modern building. We happened to be there when some of the workers came in just having completed the harvest for the year. Again, we enjoyed much of what we tried and we left with a couple of bottles.

Or next destination was visible from the parking lot – one of the several castle ruins in the area. We drove up the mountain to Château de Quéribus where we opened the back of the car and ate a quick picnic lunch. While Gywen rested in the car, Barry and I hiked to the top of the mountain to the ruin site. Exploring the castle took longer than the walk up or down. It was a fascinating maze of rock and masonry dating to the 1100s originally, and occupied, I believe, until the 1600s. The entrance featured a number of small passages through which you could see and shoot things at approaching invaders at various points along the path. We saw the remains of a barracks, cistern, large hall, main house, oven, courtyards, tunnel, and block house, as well as the vaulted, arched ceiling of the castle owner’s residence. The views from the top were definitely one of the highlights of the site and we enjoyed taking in the views of the Pyrenees, the surrounding vineyards, nearby villages, and neighboring castles. I took us an hour to make the hike, explore the ruins, and take in the stunning views.

View from Quéribus.

Our plan was to visit nearby Château de Peyrepertuse next, even though we decided we probably wouldn’t have time to buy tickets and walk into the ruin site itself. We didn’t make it there. Along the way there is the scenic village of Cucugnan, which boasts a 17^th-century windmill which was central to the local economy when wheat was the main crop in the area. I wanted to just pull up and snap a photo, just to see it, but it turns out you can’t always do that in France. The village, like many others in the area, is built on an illogical hillside and the windmill is at the top. Naturally, the streets are tiny and certainly not built to accommodate tourist traffic. We found a parking spot just about as high as we could go, but then we had to make Gywen get out and walk with us up the hill the rest of the way into the village. We took our time, and along the way we found a tourist shop with postcards (bought some), nick-knacks, lots of books about regional history and cooking, as well as stories, imagery, and merchandise related to the Knights, the Crusades, Joan of Arc, etc. (This is where Barry and I bought our beers... just finished mine).

Further up the hill we found a simple church where Gywen and I sat for a bit while Barry explored a little more thoroughly. Finally, just beyond the church, we reached a large bakery attached to the base of the windmill. Inside, a friendly young guy helped us select a beautiful loaf of hearty wheat bread and some cookies before Barry and I climbed up the penultimate rocks to snap some photos of the windmill. We had a leisurely stroll through the village back down the hill to the car.

Once on the road, we headed south out of the immediate vicinity toward the main Pyrenees range. We took winding roads through towns like Latour de-France – all of them scenic – until reaching a scenic overlook just outside of Ille-sur Têt, where we found nice views of the rock formations at Les Orgues d’illa and the even closer, striking rock formation on the other side of the road. Originally I had wanted to stop and hike at the park, but we were short on time at this point so we were content to take a few photos and move on.

Next we headed to another winery we had picked out in advance, the coop at Vinça. The coop was founded in 1926 by a few dozen families in the area with small farms, and most of the original families are still owners of the coop today. Another couple came in while we were there, but again we had the nearly undivided attention of the very friendly woman in the tasting room. She explained a lot about the wines, the coop, and the area, and she let us taste anything we wanted to. We probably tasted about eight; some were ok, but most were quite good. A number of wineries in the area historically make sweet wines, and we tasted one here that was not made by the coop and was quite good. We bought that and another traditional Catalonian dry red before leaving. And now we’re carting around a bunch of wine.

Eus.

Our final stop of the day was the nearby village of Eus, designated one of the ten most scenic villages in France. Like Cucugnan, Eus was built on a hill – but a much higher one. At the very tope was a remarkable stone church, and naturally we had to go there. We stopped a couple of times for photos on the way up, and at times the low evening light made the yellow stone hillside structures almost glow. Unfortunately, it was fairly cloudy so the light wasn’t as spectacular as it could have been, the mountaintops were obscured, and the approaching sunset was muted. We drove up as far as we could to park, and Gywen stayed in the car as Barry and I walked toward the periodically ringing church tower. We went through a couple of sharp turns and short steep climbs through what qualify as streets in this town, past all the cats, reaching a narrow passage beneath the bell tower. Then we went through an arch under the church steps and around the corner and up to the entrance of the church. It was not 7:00 and the church was closed, but we enjoyed the view from up there.

The drive back to Perpignan was fairly quick and uneventful. We dropped off Gywen and all of our acquisitions from the day at the apartment and went on our car-return adventure. I had googled the closest gas station, and as we drove past I was frustrated to see that it was closed. We pulled over and looked up other options. The next closest station was in the parking lot of some sort of superstore, so we zig-zagged our way through town to get there. This was an unattended station, and the pump wouldn’t accept our credit card because it requires a signature in Europe. Nearby was a kiosk where one can insert money and get a ticket with a number to key in to authorize the pump for the amount of the bill used. But the pump keypad had no English instructions and no “enter” button which one might intuitively push after entering a code. Somehow Barry finally stumbled across the correct menu and selected the correct steps to allow the pump to credit us for €10, and we filled the car with Diesel. (First we had to Google the French synonym for “Diesel.”) Then we dropped the car at the train station and walked back to the apartment, where Gywen had begun to worry that something had happened to us.

By this time – a little after 9:00 – we were pretty hungry, and we forced Gywen to walk a few blocks down the street in search of food. We had seen some crowded looking places when we drove by, so we thought we might find something good in that direction. We first came to a place that had a decent crowd and a nice menu of tapas and paella, which they advertised as being served until Midnight. We forged on to check out the other places, which turned out to be crowded bars, although one of them had nice looking tapas. I decided on paella, so we circled the block back to the first place. Upon arrival, they told us we couldn’t order food because it would take over an hour and essentially the kitchen was closed (at 9:30) because they only had one chef that night. So much for the sign on the wall advertising paella all night. The man there recommended we go to the Italian restaurant which was actually across the street from our apartment. Back we went. We sat outdoors there, which was pleasant aside from the cigarette smoke coming from every direction and, later, the street crew that showed up to cut up the street in front of the restaurant. We had a friendly server who was a former baseball pitcher, and we filled ourselves on nice salads and a tasty pizza with ham, sausage, eggplant, and mushrooms. I wasn’t done though, because I didn’t think I should leave France without ordering a crepe. I got one with chocolate and Garnd Marnier flambé (which never actually caught fire), and I do not regret it.

We drug ourselves back to the apartment and utilized the WiFi for a little while before falling into bed, thankful that Wednesday morning would not start so early.