Walking in the countryside

Yesterday at 7pm we headed out for a walk in the countryside. The walk took us out of the town of Alp, into the surrounding farmlands. We headed north-east, into the valley which borders with France. We crossed some rivers and walked passed some little towns. Many of the towns had pricey holiday homes, some of which were closed up and not being used.

We are just heading out of town

Hay bales

As we walked, the smell of cow dung pervaded the air. Big fat cows eating the juicy grass were mindlessly gnawing away in the fields. Harvested wheat fields lay here and there along the way. Bales of hay lined the edges of the fields. Small rivers with clean mountain water trickled through the plains. It was great to feel, sense and hear nature. Nature is one thing you do not sense in the city of Barcelona. It is too busy and noisy to notice nature there.

Meadows with wild flowers

As we walked through a tree lined path, I took a photo of the surrounding fields which had flowers and colourful “weeds” growing in them. After the “off road” part of the hike, we came back onto a small secondary road - still in the farmlands though. Before long some tractors pulling bales of hay drove past. We were walking through big farming country. It was a wonderful walk which rejuvenated the senses. Two hours later and about 5 kilometres travelled, we arrived back in Alp and had an al fresco dinner in the terrace area in front of the building – with other locals just dropping by for a chat or saying “bon appetite” as they walked past.    

Hay bales on the move

Gone swimming...

Yesterday afternoon I braved the heat and walked to the nearby swimming pool, which is located at the Aerodrome de Cerdanya - the local airport for small aircraft. It is about 2.5 kilometres from the town of Alp and the walk takes you past some picturesque farmlands before you arrive at the remote airstrip.

The swimming pool is in front of the runway

Quite a bizarre place to have a swimming pool but who am I to question that. The pool is right in front of the landing strip so as you swim you have the constant entertainment of aircraft leaving or landing. There are no big jets. It is a small airport so private and recreational planes are the only activity there.

On the tarmac

There is a lot of gliding going on in these parts. Whenever you look up into the sky there is bound to be a glider circling silently in the air above. Gracefully and smoothly. It looks like fun. The airport is a hive of activity for gliders. I arrived and immediately was caught up with the gliders. I was busy watching the gliders being pulled (by vehicle) from the tarmac to the runway and then up and into the air (by light aircraft). Also equally interesting is watching them come back down to the ground, through the dark clouds. And it looked like a huge storm was on the way. You will see in the video clips.

Then the ominous clouds moved closer and hell broke loose. Tables, umbrellas, chairs at the outdoor restaurant were blown off the ground. One glider which had just landed - and was in a stationary position on the runway, was blown off into the grass. I was actively engaged with all the commotion before my eyes. This meant that I never got to swim. A mighty storm forced all the swimmers and sunbathers to seek refuge in the bar upstairs. There I sat - reading one of the two English language books I could find in the bookshelf – until the storm held up and I could risk walking back to town. An interesting swimming pool / airport. So much activity...

France - for the afternoon

The entrance to the walled town of Saint Louis

Felix and Nuria invited us on a trip to France for the afternoon. It sounds hugely exciting but the reality is... France is only a few kilometres away. From Alp, you look across the valley and the mountain facing you is in France. It feels strange to be so close to another country. We set off for the town of Puigcerda which is the border town. To be honest, it is a town which is divided into two. One side of the town is French and the other is Spanish. It's almost like “Get your passport, we are crossing the road”. But passports are no longer required. You can cross from one country to another effortlessly as the border controls are no longer in place. Apparently spot checks are sometimes done though.

Main street in Saint Louis

Once you cross over into France there is a distinct Frenchness in the air. The road signs all change to French. The French Pyrenees are typically French, with wooden chalets on the hillsides and French townhouses in the villages. The French language is spoken everywhere and the general feel of being in France pervades the atmosphere. I like France so it is a likeable feeling for me. The French have a certain “je ne sais quoi” about them which I do not find offensive. The French are proud and a little arrogant but they have an amazing country so they have reason to act like they do.

Mountain scenery from town

We stopped to visit an old town called Saint Louis, in France. It is located in the mountains and boasts splendid views of the area around it. The town itself is quite an antique. It is completely walled in by high stone walls and was built in the days when the Pyrenees was plagued with wars and confrontations. Even today, the French and the Spanish are at war – well, not exactly at war but apparently the two nations dislike one another.

Une Citroen - tres ancien (very ancient)

Synonymous with French and Swiss cities, there were drinking fountains around the town for visitors to taste some pure mountain water. The French flag was visible in several places in the town. The streets in the town were picturesque, with their interesting shop names, colourful awnings and all sorts of displays outside the shopfronts. Viva La France!  

The walls around St Louis

Alp - not the Alps

I am in the mountain town of Alp at the moment. It is a small holiday town located in the scenic Pyrenees mountains. During Summer the town is not that busy as most of the homes/chalets/apartments are owned by people who only spend short breaks here. Apparently some of the places are only occupied for 15 days per year. Talk about having money... The cars driving in the streets are Mercs, BMWs, Porsche Cayennes and all sorts of high end automobiles.

The view from where I stay

During the Summer the place is green and lush. It is ideal for walking, hiking, mountain biking, cycling, swimming etc. There are lots of good outdoor activities to do here. In the Winter there is a switch to another major activity. Skiing. And ski-boarding. Just above the town of Alp there are two ski runs. Both are high up on the mountain top but clearly visible from the town.

Prime real estate aplenty...

So Summer is the down time in this little town. Apparently, in Winter it is not possible to find a room anywhere here. This is because Alp is one of the busiest and best towns for skiing. It is also very close to Barcelona - an easy one and a half hour's drive from the city and bang, you have snow for skiiing. It is a great escape from the city as the air is clean, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and it is not so congested with people or traffic.

Chalet style housing on the slopes

Music in the mountains

Last night I was invited to attend a jazz festival in a nearby town in the Pyrenees Mountains. The town we went to is a small town not far from the town of Alp. Being August, the whole of Spain – maybe even Europe – seems to have packed up and gone on holiday. Barcelona is full of visitors. I think that English is the language I hear the most at the moment. The European tourists speak English to their Spanish hosts too.

Locomotora Negra

The small towns in the mountains are also full of visitors – just not international ones. A number of wealthy Barcelona residents have holidays homes in the mountains. These little towns are no different to the cities. Fiesta Fiesta Fiesta. The town I went to last night is called Bolvir. It is a small town which has grown incredibly in the last 20 years – when all the city slickers have snatched up second / holiday homes in the mountains. The new buildings are made of stone and wood so they blend well with the antique look of the town. A walk through the town is like stepping back in time...

So we arrived in the plaza (town square) to find the jazz band on stage, hundreds of people both seated and standing in between the old buildings around the square and spotlights aimed at the stage. The band is called “Locomotora Negra” (Black locomotive). It is 40 years old and happened to be playing at the local musical festival of the town of Bolvir to coincide with the band's anniversary. The band is well known in these parts for its classical jazz. It was belting out Louis Armstrong numbers and Duke Ellington numbers. All back from the 1950s. Lots of American Jazz. Great sounds. The band even sang in English, some of the jazz songs which were vocalised. The other songs were mainly instrumental ones. I was impressed. The atmosphere was great inside the plaza - with good classical jazz being belted out, song after song. Later, it became a bit cool though. Reaching 12 degrees ! That is a far cry from the canned heat in the city of Barcelona – which is hot, both day and night.

Discovering a fellow countryman

Just recently I ran into Justine (a student I last met in my Beginner level Spanish class). We met by chance in the metro station and had a wonderful chat. I found out things I never knew about her. When she introduced herself in the class she said she was American – and spoke with a definite American accent. I did not stay in the beginner class for long – a mere two days. Then I voluntarily downgraded myself to the pre-beginner class! Anyhow, Justine said she felt that she did not learn much in her class and that she can not speak Spanish better than she could before she took the course. Since my brother and I just left that class with no goodbyes, she thought we had hotfooted it back to South Africa, and was surprised to see us again. I told Justine about all the fun we had had in the pre-beginner class and that we were glad we had voluntarily downgraded. She said she wished she had too!

Floating around the world

After talking a while, Justine revealed that she was born in South Africa and grew up in in the USA. Her parents are South Africans through and through. She does not like the USA but has the luxury of a British and an American passport so she has many options for places to live and work. She is leaving for New Delhi in late August - for a 6 month job as an environmental consultant. She said she has lived in Barcelona for the last four years. As she does not speak Spanish, she has reached the ceiling in her professional capacity here. She has to find work outside Spain as Spanish companies always want employees that speak Spanish. She said she enjoys living in Spain now but that her first year was difficult. Now, her problem is that she can no longer grow professionally here. So she has to seek work in countries outside Europe. She also said that she does not see herself returning to live in the USA. She does not like or agree with the way people live or think there. I wondered if it is a case not not "finding your fit". I wonder if growing up in one culture, inside another culture (ie an immigrant family in the USA) perhaps makes one feel like an outsider. I then paused to think that maybe we South Africans have such a strong emotional and psychological connection with Africa that it is hard to settle anywhere else. Even though we have small ethnic or cultural connections with Africa we are still Africans in our hearts.

Student Reunion

This Friday just gone, marked one week since we finished studying Spanish. I cannot say I have learnt much though. It was a case of “in one ear and out the other” for me and probably most of the other students too! Iga – one of our class mates decided to organise another gathering this week. This time we arranged to meet at a statue called the Roy Lichtenstein statue at 3pm. Mona, Rob and I met there at 3pm but nobody else was there. Garth did not find it and was stuck at the metro station. Ludis and Liga went to play volleyball instead. Eventually we found our way to the place and met up with Jacek and Silvia.

Roy Lichtenstein Statue

We went to a famous (notorious) bar in the old city called La Xampaneria. The X is pronounced Sh. So La Shampaneria. Well, you would guess that this bar is famous for …champagne. The Spanish call champagne "Cava". La Xampaneria is a small bar so there is very little room to move inside it, and the place is packed. It must be recommended in tourist guide books etc as there were many foreigners in there, and plenty of different languages were being spoken. You notice it because you stand so closely that you hear everything other people say.

Red and White Cava

Inside the bar there are Iberic hams (smoked hams) and smoked cheeses hanging from the rafters. It appeared to me that the hams and cheeses were very old. So I definitely did not eat any of the food in that bar. The bar is well known for its cheap Cava - 90 cents per glass or 4.60 per bottle. They sell bocadillos (sandwiches) for 1.80 as well. It is very cheap by comparison with the prices other places charge. So our group of former Spanish students ate and drank. The Rosas (red champagne) was enjoyable. I felt light headed after only one glass. Mona suggested I get a bocadillo. I couldn't – not after the seeing the meat and cheeses hanging from the rafters inside the bar. The floor of the bar is a mess. The tradition in Spain (older establishments) is to throw your left over food and paper serviettes on the floor. This practice is live and well in La Xampaneria. Just imagine the floor of a bar covered in food and paper serviettes. Very unsanitary conditions... I could not stomach food in there. Jacek managed to have about 4 bocadillos!!

Hams hanging from the rafters and papers etc on the floor

After we bid farewell to Rob and Mona who went to look for their favourite Venezuelan restaurant, the Polish and the South Africans made their way to the beach, to join Ludis , Liga and our ex-teacher Pablo for some beach volleyball. I ended up swimming in the sea again – but not in my underpants. It was still light so I had to wear my shorts and then shivered all the way home on the train, with my wet pants.

Packed inside like sardines in a tin