Conflict Resolution

I left you in my last post with a cliff-hanger ending. My DB and I were in Spain, supposedly for the weekend, but after having something of a domestic, we agreed that he should dump drop me off at Figueres station and continue on while I took the train back to Montpellier.

So there I was on the back of the bike wondering what to do with the rest of the weekend, and feeling a bit aggravated. We got to Figueres and I started looking out for signposts to the station. Then we went over a railway track and, turning my head to the left, I saw a train station. I said nothing.

We continued through Figueres and took the road that leads out of the town towards Olot. Right on the edge of Figueres we came to a sign to another station, what seemed to be the main line. I said nothing, we didn't stop.

Oh, I thought, maybe I am not being dropped off. I'm quick like that. It was only when we got to that dump Olot that I knew that either my DB had forgotten I was still there, or he had decided not to drop me off. When we arrived at a traffic light, I poked him and said "I'm still here you know" to which he said "Come on, I'd never drop you off and bugger off on my own". I thought this was a) sweet, b) foolhardy cos now I know..., c) a bit cheeky because I may have made other arrangements although of course I hadn't.

So we agreed that it was better to continue on good terms and off we went. Olot was too much of a dump to spend any more time than it took to pass through, and we eventually ended up in the delightful town of Camprodon not far from Mollo.

We found a very cheap hotel which was also perfectly reasonable and booked to have dinner there that evening which was at 9pm (!). After a snooze, we went out to explore the town.

Camprodon's 12th century bridge. Love the violent orange-painted building next to it.

We soon came across this spectacular bridge which of course, we had to cross.

Me going across the bridge

It was early Friday evening, and the streets were pretty empty. There were a number of nice shops about selling good quality stuff. Camprodon is not far from the ski resort of Vallter 2000 up the valley which attracts tourists to the area and contributes greatly to the local economy.

Empty streets, tapas bar on right

Our evening meal at 9pm seemed a hell of a long way off, especially as our last good meal had been breakfast where I stuffed myself as full of sausage, egg and cheese as possible from the buffet breakfast but had not been able to make any sarnies. So we decided to stop at a bar and have a tapas or two. It would have been nice to enjoy the view over the river from the tapas bar, but it was too dark, so we concentrated on ordering some Moska beer and slivers of local cheese.

Tapas

The next morning the streets were a lot busier. We decided to stay another night, not realising it was going to be a packed weekend. We reserved and got told our room was the last one available - phew!

Busy streets

As it was a lovely morning, we went for a walk to Llanars. The tourist office had given us lots of bumpf on local walks and we wanted to follow one that took us along the river. We missed the path, of course, and walked along what must have been a mostly parallel one but which went up and down quite a lot. As all paths seemed to lead to Llanars we didn't need to stop and turn round but we did quite a lot more walking than we intended to.

Llanars

There were a lot of new houses in Llanars, built in the local brownish stone. They looked very smart, and it was obvious there was quite a lot of money floating around here too. Very different from the scruffy towns that we passed the previous day, like Olot.

Lovely Roman arch and fab door on 12th century church - Llanars

Very clean, smart and prosperous - Llanars

That afternoon we took the bike and rode along the winding mountain roads to Beget. Beget (great photos in link) is a totally restored medieval village that sits nestled in a valley, an absolute jewel of a place that is peaceful as well as stunning. It has a population of well under 50, but also a hotel and an excellent-sounding restaurant, El Forn where you can eat fine Catalan dishes (we only had a coffee...).

By this bridge we saw a little cat, and a boy. Suddenly I saw the boy seem to knee the cat violently, so I shouted at him. He seemed quite surprised that I intervened but looked a bit shifty. We hung around for the next five minutes or so to make sure he behaved himself. I threw over the odd stern look from time to time, just to let him know I was on to him, little sod.

I get the impression it's an area where you can eat well, because not only was there the El Forn restaurant, but there was another one too, the Can Jeroni. On our way back we passed yet another restaurant, Can Po, that had a row of Porsche cars parked outside and delicious smells emanating from the inside.

That night, we couldn't wait for the 9pm dinner, so we got take-away pizza and ate them in our room with some wine. I saw the next day a sign in the lift (that we hadn't previously taken) saying 'no eating in rooms'. Oh well.

It was not the most gourmet holiday I've ever had, but it was certainly a mostly lovely four days in Spain, and we'll forget the domestic as a now extinct blip on the radar.

A Domestic in Paradise

Montpellier is 242km from Cadaqués, or two and three quarter hours by autoroute. Last half term holidays we took the autoroute as far as Perpignan, then came off to take the coastal road to Spain.

As I'm a bit susceptible to the cold, I was wearing my birthday pressie, an electric jacket. This nifty piece of clothing plugs into the bike battery and has wires running over the front and back. You wear it under the leather jacket to keep you warm as toast and as snug as a bug despite a biting wind and plunging temperatures. Was I happy to have it? Yep.

We made it as night fell and set off in search of a hotel. This was the beginning of November and some had already packed up for the winter. After some disappointment that the off-season prices were not lower, we found a 3* hotel that was pretty basic, but open. It was a depressing place, with cracked tiles in the room and no sign of refurbishment since it opened thirty years ago.

We couldn't get the wifi to work either, so went down to the centre in search of food and a connection. We found both in a pizzeria that served very average pizzas, and found out later (thanks to the wifi connection) that we should have gone to the place next door for a decent meal...

On our way back to the hotel, we popped into a mini market and bought some beer to consume in our poky little room. I had my Kindle so I'm always happy, and my DB finally got the wifi to work so he was happy too.

Morning sunshine over a stormy Cadaqués

The next morning we went for breakfast in the dining area that had 'Do not take food out of here' notices all over the place, plus a couple of sentries standing guard to ensure we didn't sneak out a packet of biscuits. I had no chance to make sarnies, but wouldn't have been tempted anyway because the breakfast wasn't up to much. The only redeeming feature was the view towards the coast. We decided to leave.

Dali's house at Portlligat

Before we left though, we wanted to walk to Dali's house and visit it, leaving our stuff at the hotel. You have to book to get a ticket - no turning up on the day - so we went online and found 2 tickets for an hour hence - some of the time slots before were already booked up!

It was a 20 minute walk across to the village where we arrived to splendid views across the bay, and Dali's house snuggled in among the trees. It's in fact a row of formerly fishermen's cottages. He started off with a very basic one-room cottage which had a fireplace and a tiny living space. He took Gala there so they could experience an intense togetherness.

Dali's first house (no idea where they went to the loo or washed...)

"The Portlligat Museum-House was Salvador Dalí’s only fixed abode, the place in which he usually lived and worked up till 1982 when, upon Gala’s death, he took up residence at Púbol Castle.

Salvador Dalí moved to Portlligat in 1930, into a small fisherman’s hut, attracted by the landscape, the light and the isolation of the place. Taking that initial construction as a basis, he created his house little by little over the course of forty years. He himself described it “like a true biological structure [...]. Each new pulse in our life has its own new cell, a room”."

The pool. Is that a dodgy looking pool or is just my smutty mind?

It really is an amazing place with fantastic décor and a surreal, opulent look to certain rooms. Dali had a couple of mirrors installed in his bedroom which captured the early morning sun. He wanted to be the first person in Spain to see the sun rising, along with the lighthouse further down the coast, and to have the experience from his bed.

It's definitely worth a visit if you're in the area. We headed back to our hotel to pick up our stuff and ride across the bay to a hotel on the other side, much nicer place with a lovely terrace where you could sit and admire the view if it wasn't too windy.

We dumped our stuff and went for a walk to the little island. You can get there by scrambling over the rocks, and then get nearly blown off the bridge in the gale force wind. There is a reason why the sky is so lovely and blue with not a cloud in sight...

It's a cute little place, full of weird rock formations, the most incredible being at the head of the island, in the shape of a fantastic creature of the deep.

Our blissful little break was soured that evening by a domestic on the subject of food. It lasted until well into the next day, continuing during our walk that morning to the lighthouse. The views were fantastic but we were still being grumpy with each other. My DB entertained me with sarky remarks while I skipped up the steep bits in my new zumba fit state and waited patiently at the top just to be annoying. Funnily enough, there were storm clouds gathering out to sea in an appropriate reflection of our mood.

Spot the lighthouse

We were due to head inland towards Olot but we agreed that my DB would drop me off at Figueres station so I could take the train back. I started plotting pleasant things to do with the rest of my weekend...

Biker Hols

Oh my, it was good to get away and it's pretty tough coming back. These are my impressions from the back of the bike and off it:

Smells
Wetness, warm pine, piggeries, fertilizer factory pongs, wisteria, jasmine, gorse, damp earth, the sea, herbs.

Comforts
Warm, dry, full, tipsy, comfy bed, great food, Chateau de Valmy Premier Cru.

Discomforts
Wet, wet feet, aching hands (from hanging on).

Thrills
Very steep hills in Llafranc (Costa Brava), tiny route from Trilla to Ansignan (PO), dangerous substances road to avoid the tunnels near the border, tiny windy road along the Gorges de Galamus (PO).

More specifically, we stayed in a fabulous chambre d'hotes Chateau La Tour Apollinaire in Perpignan - beautiful, wonderful hosts, huge spaces, exquisitely decorated, superbly equipped - a pure delight. From there we headed down to Spain, to Tossa del Mar and Cadaques, staying in Guide du Routard-recommended hostelries.  We've never been disappointed by a Routard place either for the hotel or restaurant. Cadaques was delightful. We dined, as recommended by the hotel receptionist, at Qu4tro on the front where the food was original and very tasty. Alcoholically, it was just a gentle stroll back to our hotel.

Back in France, we detoured via Cathar country staying in Cucugnan and ate superbly at the Auberge du Vigneron. The sun was out for the drive home so we stayed off the main roads as much as possible preferring to take the minor roads via villages such as Bages, and then along the coast from Agde. In total we did 1200km which isn't huge but for an aprenti-biker such as me, was quite sufficient, and, more importantly, thoroughly enjoyable.

In fact, we may go back to Cathar country this weekend!

Brava Begur

Please don't tell anyone 'unsuitable', but there is rather a exquisite hotel on the Costa Brava - the Sa Calma Hotel in Begur. This is strictly confidential and the only people privy to this information should be ones you can vouch for personally, because we don't want it ruined by those you wouldn't rub shoulders with on a good day and come away unscathed emotionally/physically/psychologically.

Just click on the link and you'll see what I mean.

We hadn't intended going there, my TWDB and I. When he suggested going to Spain for a few days, I looked up 4-star Begur hotels on the internet and found El Convent just outside town. It seemed like a haven of peace and tranquillity, set in an old convent and beautifully converted with taste and restraint.

However, after the last time I made a reservation via the internet when we went to Banyuls and the hotel turned out to be a crappy medical spa, this time I just noted the address. Good thing too, because when we got there, all they had was a tiny cupboard-type room with a view of a wall 1 metre away just below the road, and all for 200€. Not quite what we were hoping for... It was all a bit austere too, I felt they hadn't got the décor balanced between restraint and luxury. It just missed.

Disappointed, we took the car and tried a couple of other hotels. At one, the 4* Sa Punta just down the road, we were greeted rudely by a receptionist who told us we couldn't see a room because she was busy, and to come back later. Shocked, we went to look at the pool. It was surrounded by the restaurant which was heaving with people and this just confirmed our desire not to stay there under any circumstances. Who wants to try and relax in a goldfish bowl?

So we went back to Begur to see if there were any alternatives we hadn't tried at the tourist office. There was one - the Sa Calma Hotel. We were a bit dubious because it didn't have a pool and as it had only been open a short time the tourist office couldn't tell us much about it. However, it was only a short walk away so we decided to give it a go.

Our first impression was very favourable. Set in the middle of the medieval quarter, it stood out as a building of note with its walls of haphazardly plonked bits of stone and occasional brickwork. Set into the exterior were little fresques showing different local activities and crafts. It was pretty hot outside so we rang the bell and stepped into a haven of cool peace. The polished terracotta tiles and pale creamy walls gave an elegant feel, while the 'lobby' looks more like the drawing room in a stylish townhouse with its library set along one wall, facing sofas, large chess and backgammon boards in a corner, huge bowls of flowers and various sculptures. There were funny things to see everywhere you looked including a miniature tailor's dummy dressed in purple and a glass-bead necklace.

We were warmly welcomed without English or much French, taken to see a room and, finding it totally acceptable, left to take possession. We cooled off in the jacuzzi on the roof terrace, sipping beer and admiring the castle on the hill. Breakfast next day was a copious Spanish affair of coppa, saucisson, cheeses, bread, baguette rubbed with tomato and olive oil, toast, jam, croissants, and freshly squeezed orange juice. We decided to stay another day, and moved to a room with it's own terrace which faced the castle and was easily large enough for two sunbeds, a table and two chairs. As it got the shade after lunch, I sat and read and dozed during siesta time.

We left having spent two marvellous days, in peace and quiet and beautiful surroundings, totally refreshed.

Go DGCCRF!

After receiving the scam letter from the El Bordo bunch of lowlife scumbags I sent a report to the direction générale de la Concurrence, de la Consommation et de la Répression des fraudes (DGCCRF) and got a very nice letter back from them.

They are, of course, aware of this sort of attempted fraud although I'm not sure they had already received a complaint about the El Bordo bunch. Unfortunately, as the perpetrators operate in Spain, the French authorities are not able to pursue them and fling them into irons.

However, the European Commission has been invoked to get to grips with the situation, and you'll be delighted to hear that a group of scammy buggers were identified and rounded up in a fantastic coup. Were they Spanish nationals? Well no, they weren't. They were... wait for it... NIGERIANS. I can almost hear your sharp intake of breath.

Unfortunately for the honest law-abiding and lawfully employed nationals of Nigeria, the disreputable elements are doing much to sully the overall reputation of the whole nation. It's a great shame that such obvious creativity and industry is not put to less fraudulent use. Every time Nigeria is mentioned it's in the context of corruption, scams, violence or lawlessness.

My nice letter from the DGCCRF explained how the scam operates. The scammers send out about 15,000 hand-typed envelopes all over Europe and they reckon that if they get 20-30 replies the operation is financially worthwhile. When people contact them, the scammers assess their financial worth and then set about explaining that in order to liberate the money certain fees have to be paid, or an advance on taxes and so on. The amount of money scammed ranges from 900 to 24,000 euros per person.

That's some serious money and it's not surprising that the European authorities are on the warpath. So, if you receive a scam letter, don't just throw it away, send it to the police or fraud office to make them aware how such schemes are evolving.

And never EVER send cash to someone you don't know personally (by Western Union, Moneygram, etc.). You can be sure that you'll never see it again.

Biker W/E Away

My TWDB has been riding motorbikes for 25 years. Recently he bought a chunky BMW trial bike (correct me if I'm wrong but I think it's called a GS1200). It's blue (if you're interested...) and I have to get onto the back from the left-hand side. Like a horse really, except it doesn't kick or move jauntily away just as you're at that critical hopping/balance/launch moment which leaves you hopping in hot pursuit after it or flat on your nose.

I came armed with toothbrush, clean undies and my fluo pink ski gloves for our (boy-free) weekend away down towards Spain. The idea was to meander along the coast as far as possible then move inland towards Prades in the Pyrennees Orientales.

The sky was azur blue, the air was sharp and sweet, and we were suitably equipped. I tried (stylishly) to get on the bike and, once comfy, shoved my hands into the rack behind me (the clinging on for dear life rack, if you like), and we were off.

One of the most remarkable differences between riding a motorbike and being in a car is the variation in what you can smell. Driving through a wood is not just pretty, it's a delight for the nose. In wafts, you find yourself identifying the fragrance of pine, the rich hummus smell of damp topsoil, sometimes even a whiff of a cepe-like perfume which makes me want to stop and jump off and start digging!

Reaching the sea, you are hit by that energising smell of ozone and salt. Going through drying lagoons, your nose is assailed by the herbs and grasses that grow its edge. On some, the salt had dried to a give a sparkling coating of white crystals. I thought of fleur de sel and wondered if we shouldn't stop and collect some...

We didn't, but drove on, stopping for a fishy lunch at Valras Plage (très average), then continuing along the départemental roads keeping as near to the coast as possible. At Argeles sur Mer, we hit the D618 and drove inland towards Prades. We spent the night at Catllar on the other side of the river Têt, dining on delicious tapas in the Casa de l'Oliver on the Place de la République overlooking the rather impressive clock tower. They were fresh, tasty and even better served with a bottle of the local wine.

On Sunday, we decided to have lunch in Spain, heading down on the D618 - the mountain road going to Ceret. It was stunningly beautiful, great fun to do on the bike because of all the twists and turns, the sudden views on the other side of a col, and the contrast to the coastal roads of the previous day. We stopped in Ceret for a coffee and then made straight for the coast, driving through Collioure and onto the Spanish border.

The roads had been pretty empty, but it was a lovely sunny Sunday, and they suddenly filled up with people out to enjoy the autumnal sunshine and a lunch out. Once in Spain, we carried on along the coast, admiring the creeks, the glorious colour of the Mediterranean and the rocky outcrops and tiny beaches.

We had been advised to have lunch at a restaurant in el Port de la Selva 'up some steps'. Apparently we couldn't miss it, and indeed we couldn't. Overlooking the sea, the mini port and the hills behind, we feasted on the best paella maritime I've ever had. Cooked freshly for us in its 3-people dish, the rice was cooked to perfection, not marred by being horribly yellow and so tasty you felt you could eat it forever. It was accompanied by a nice bottle of full-bodied Torres.

Unfortunately we had to take the fast route back to Montpellier after our delightful lunch, and I spent a couple of hours clinging on for dear life as my TWBD bombed along the autoroute; my head stuffed into my shoulders, and bent right down to cut down on wind resistance. It was a fairly dull way to end the weekend, but terribly efficient.

It was a brilliant weekend - fun, exciting, fast, beautiful and such a pleasure to be sitting on the back of such a powerful bike, behind someone who was so expert in handling it. Mmm, more please!