From a distance, we see the water escaping from the lake to which we headed.
We’d like to relate three stories that proved to be delightful although one was predominantly of endurance. Actually, the latter type of experiences are the best as they pick up a person and then remain as a notch on the body, or perhaps, the soul.
We set off from Luz Saint Sauveur, France, after stocking up with supplies for at least a week. Who knows whether Andorra has any food? The journey would be 5 hours following roads that were anything but highways. We probably traveled through more traffic circles than our accumulated number to date, that is, of our driving careers. It included passing through small towns and hamlets. The largest town was Foix which is enroute to Toulouse…as we all know. Fortunately, it was uneventful until we were closing in on Andorra. As we ascended the final mountain bordering the countries, it began to rain. This was proceeded by heavy mist. The higher we reached, the poorer the visibility. At one stage, we were on a winding road with steep drop-offs to the side and an inability to see very much. The driver ahead of us was clearly struggling. He kept indicating for us to pass except he never halted on the narrow road with its solid white line. He probably did not realize he was not in South Africa, Italy or Nepal.
Eventually, the car ahead stopped—the driver looked as if he had given up—intending to sit. There were barriers in closed proximity surrounding us. After a brief glance around, I noticed an opening at one of these positions. The fellow ahead decided to move forward and we proceeded, too. Within moments, we could see the border post—it came into view suddenly, although still hazy. The guard waved us through and we continued. Love it when one travels across international boundaries unhindered. As if choreographed, the mist began to lift, effectively, it was low clouds. Andorra opened like the rising of a massive curtain before our eyes, the land being a stage. Within moments, we were traveling into this beautiful, massive scene of mountains, greenery, winding roads and strangely, a sunlit, clear blue sky. When we turned to look behind us as we continued to rise, the clouds filled the channel through which we had driven. Stunning. Where’s a camera when you need one? (continues near end)
Jen crests one of the many mountains. The background provides one a perspective of the region.
What an amazing engineering structure. Two days before, we came across it...see below.
Coming across the incredible structure per chance during an earlier hike: Pons Tibeta.
Walking along the bridge which is 2,000 feet in length.
We continue to gain elevation.
Destination. One of the best/most disappointing lakes of all time. The best: Because it took incredible effort to negotiate this tough hike. The worst: A disappointing pond, particularly for Andorra.
The rocky shale section. One of us stands at the crest of this very tough section.
More lake but mostly mountain.
Jen waits for a slow-coach. Good indication of the underfoot. Bare feet not recommended, then again, it takes all types.
Getting close to home. Drop down 700 feet, walk a little more and we're in Els Plants, around the corner from el Tartar, our wonderful little home.
A person does not want to be rushing down that 'track'.
We struggled enough to warrant another of the lake. Please say it's 'a great estany'.
Rolling hills and mountains, beautiful wilderness.
On another day, Jen decided she could not face our usual breakfast. It's a long story why we had not eaten yet although we had completed the hike. We passed the 'supermercat', particularly looking for something healthy, nourishing and which would set a fine example to all. What saints! Well, we did select something although it may seem a little bit of self-promotion. The stuff in the bottle is actually an important nutrient in a person's daily regimen. And of course, the other is 'our daily bread'. In addition, we then had to find someplace to sit and eat.
What an amazing engineering structure. Two days before, we came across it...see below.
Coming across the incredible structure per chance during an earlier hike: Pons Tibeta.
Walking along the bridge which is 2,000 feet in length.
We continue to gain elevation.
Destination. One of the best/most disappointing lakes of all time. The best: Because it took incredible effort to negotiate this tough hike. The worst: A disappointing pond, particularly for Andorra.
The rocky shale section. One of us stands at the crest of this very tough section.
More lake but mostly mountain.
Jen waits for a slow-coach. Good indication of the underfoot. Bare feet not recommended, then again, it takes all types.
Getting close to home. Drop down 700 feet, walk a little more and we're in Els Plants, around the corner from el Tartar, our wonderful little home.
A person does not want to be rushing down that 'track'.
We struggled enough to warrant another of the lake. Please say it's 'a great estany'.
Rolling hills and mountains, beautiful wilderness.
Another perspective of the wilderness meeting the town as Jen treads carefully down the tricky path.
The previous week, we visited Gavarnie for the first time in our too short three-week stay in France. The town is popular among tourists and hikers. What makes it special for us is that 6 years before, we were in Spain. One morning, we drove to Saint Nicholas, had some tea and then headed up the mountain toward France, on foot. When we reached the top section of the Pyrenees, we stopped for breakfast which at that position was effectively, in France. How did we know? The primary greeting at that stage was ‘Bon Appetit’. We continued onwards along the mountains, headed down, arriving in Gavarnie where we had booked into an hotel for the night. The next day, we packed up and reversed our route, arriving back in Spain. We love those kind of opportunities—the mistake we made was in not staying longer. This trip, we drove from Spain into France, and for some reason, just could not make enough time for the town. Perhaps the thought of driving into Gavarnie felt odd, as if we were cheating.
The previous week, we visited Gavarnie for the first time in our too short three-week stay in France. The town is popular among tourists and hikers. What makes it special for us is that 6 years before, we were in Spain. One morning, we drove to Saint Nicholas, had some tea and then headed up the mountain toward France, on foot. When we reached the top section of the Pyrenees, we stopped for breakfast which at that position was effectively, in France. How did we know? The primary greeting at that stage was ‘Bon Appetit’. We continued onwards along the mountains, headed down, arriving in Gavarnie where we had booked into an hotel for the night. The next day, we packed up and reversed our route, arriving back in Spain. We love those kind of opportunities—the mistake we made was in not staying longer. This trip, we drove from Spain into France, and for some reason, just could not make enough time for the town. Perhaps the thought of driving into Gavarnie felt odd, as if we were cheating.
The third story is unique. It related to our arrival at the accommodation in Andorra, Sol Ski. We had booked an apartment in El Tartar for a long period. We have always loved being in Andorra, so we decided it being summer, Europe likely to be busy, we’d act accordingly. Stay off the roads, keep away from tourists and what about taking the occasional hike. Sounded like a plan. The apartment complex seemed to indicate there would be a receptionist on duty. Turns out each apartment or group of them are privately owned. Apparently, the manager of this group had sent us texts, emails and even called to find out what time he should meet us at the building. Unfortunately, this is never a good way to make contact with us while we are in the car. There have been times, particularly in Europe, when we have arrived at the building only to end up staring at a locked gate. It can be testing and frustrating. The last time it occurred was in Romania. Our phone was not connected so we approached a tobacconist, (not wishing to start smoking to alleviate our frustration, but to have him contact our landlord). It worked out well. We waited outside the little store and after a few minutes noticed a strapping fellow approaching.
When we arrived at the building in El Tartar, I asked Jen whether she noticed a reception area. After receiving a flippant reply, I gathered not. We’d need to undertake a little search, but we expected to find one. In retrospect, there isn’t a reception, as mentioned earlier. I opened the car door, stepped out and I heard someone say, “Are you Jeffrey?” Alex, the manager took a chance in assuming we were the tenants. It was heaven. You know you’re world famous when you step out of your car in a foreign country and are mobbed by a crowd of…well, one.
In conclusion, the apartment is one of the finest in which we have stayed...thus far. It even has hot and cold running water plus a roof. Man, the luxury is spoiling Jenni. Soon she’ll request/demand a mattress.
One mountain after another in a rich environment. Alway a peak peeking over another.
Cheers,
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
We met Franca and Tony who live in Johannesburg. Franca is not of French descent but Italian. Tony, not an uncommon Italian name, is nevertheless from Ireland. In our years, why is it that it seems every Irishman we've met has a sparkling personality? Tony sure has one (maybe two) and Franca is a delight. Anyway, as you see the sign (Franca) is pointing in the direction from where we traveled to reach Andorra. With all these French signs pointing to the exit, or entrance into France, we wonder whether the Andorrans are trying to make a point to their large northern neighbors. Just asking.
