Or however you spell it.
When I was in Andorra I met a Chilean Man who had traveled in France and said I could get by with my spanish in France as long as I knew a couple simple phrases which he helped me with phonetically. Later, I met a French woman who confirmed that I could get by easily with english and spanish. So when I came into my first little hamlet in France, L Hospitalet, I asked in simple Spanish to two older women if they had any food to eat inside their little bar/restaurant [ practically half the village] and they looked at me as if I were from Mars. They responded in french and I in turn looked at them as if they were from Venus. And that, my friends, is about how well I have been getting through France. To be fair, the French have been very patient and try to help as best they can. In one town, a young woman walked me from her home to a restaurant in the town center where the staff spoke some english [ and she then kissed one of the handsome waiters which I assume was either her boyfriend or the treat she got for luring in another customer]. One advantage is that when the locals can speak spanish it is on a par with my own.
The climb out of the Pyrenees was marvelous and I had terrific weather the whole time. My last two nights in the mountains were in nice forests with the snowy peaks around me and were as superb as my first night in the Pyrenees on the Spain side [ I was on a mountain slope with this incredible sunset beaming orange dusk into the valley below and when I turned around from my campsite I noticed, on the mountain behind me, castle ruins all gilded in golden light].
I came into Aix Les Thermes and hit culture shock. BIGTIME. Their were homes with yards, individual trash cans out on the drive, a postman, weedwackers, even a merry go round in the town center. Where was I? In Spain, I had become so used to the unfamiliar that the familiar now seemed very strange. In fact, that which is OUR world seems very much an oddity. Before I had gotten on my last principle road to Andorra I had found one last small, one-lane road which brought me past two tiny villages like the Spain I had come to know. In the second village, Sero, I had to get water so a man got me some from his stone dwelling since the village fountain was not working. On the way out their was an older man sitting on the ground working on his old garden tool that he had probably made himself. I just looked at him and thought, I may not see that anymore on this trip. And so seems so far....or, ce la vie. France is a very different place.
But I am coming to love France for what IT IS.
In a cruel twist, when I left Aix L.T. I had to climb back up about 3000 feet to snow levels again after having descended the entire morning out of them. But at least the curvy road was very quiet, albeit steep. At the pass I was afforded my last panoramic view of the very snowy Pyrenees.
I dropped through cute villages like Prades and in Belcaire found a patisserie that had the best things to eat. And then I eventually really dropped more into Quillan which was like descending into a large, expansive valley on the island of Kauai. Very lush, verdant, breathtaking. Fortunately, it was a long drop so I had time to enjoy the views.
I took backroads from there through Campagne and Esperaza, Alet Les Bains, and Pomas. Really lovely places with roads that were either one laners or dirt tracks and even a skinny trail at one point. The land here is different. Different plants, trees, flowers. And less cultivated than Spain. My walk has been very quiet and bucolic.
I have made my way to Carcassonne and it is AMAZING. And it is amazing because I have gotten to take a hot shower and wash my clothes in a washing machine both on the same day. Oh sure, the city has this famous citadel and castle that dates back a thousand years, blah blah blah, but I am CLEAN. I am clean clean clean. And I feel ready for the next thousand miles. The last time I bathed and washed clothes at the same time was back in Granada. In Spain I could not find machines; I think they all wash by hand still which is what I have done. But I hate hand washing clothes [ I would have made an awful peasant] .
But the truth is that Carcassonne's citadel is a UNESCO World Heritage site and it is astonishing. Such a magnificent structure which site's dates to Roman times. It is something that looks like a dream. A large, astonishing structure of fictional proportions.
[ Michale, I had spaced before. This was something I had been looking forward to seeing]
So here I have taken the day to rest and see this amazing ancient site. And tomorrow it is off again NE towards Caunes Minerva and a little twisty road that eventually will hook me up with St. Pons [ or something like that, the map is not in front of me].
I am grateful to smell decent again. Not drenched in parfum like the french but enough to pass as clean [ there was some guy in galoshes and shorts with a bucket working the land one morning and he smelled like he had just left Macys….what's up with that?]
Adieu
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