(The little puppy at our hotel rural)

(Tate’s dog in Bilbao, called Koa )

We’re having a quiet day today. Denis is working quietly. I’m writing quietly. The internet is very quiet, not working!  May not be able to post this, shock, horror!

(the sheep as viewed from our bedroom)

The bells I heard yesterday are around the necks of the sheep in the field behind our hotel. They chew grass constantly (which shakes the bell and makes it ring), until it started to get dark and then they began to “baa”. Then everything went quiet until early in the morning when the bells started again. Since we had the window closed tightly it didn’t disturb us.

(Doesn’t it look like Ireland?)

(Ireland? Spain?)

We went into the bar of the hotel last night for our tapas and there was a group of men playing cards. You could have been in any village pub in Ireland. Everyone turned to look when we came in and then the Hola’s started and then they went back to the cards. Our bar man had no English but was very helpful in finding a menu we could point at as even our little bit of Spanish is useless here, there seems to be a different pronunciation . We picked randomly not knowing what we might get. It seemed to be working fine for us until my choice had a further choice – no idea in the world what either meant. But he was not beaten, he went off behind the bar and brought back two types of dried meat and I choose one. This afternoon he happened to be in the bar when we were getting lunch and when the receptionist/lunch/bar lady could not understand our sandwich choice he found the pointing menu for us again. It really does take particular skills to be able to communicate and get your message across without words and I have to admit until this man I thought these skills were more likely to be found in a woman.

 

(These little sheds are all around this area – our best guess is that they are (or were) for grain storage. You might just be able to make out on top of the stilts are flat cap stones – to prevent rats getting up the stilts to the grain? This one had a key in the door, so maybe someone is living in it.)

But as far as communication is concerned things may be looking up for us. A couple of Canadians (wave, wave Graham & Doris and Doug & Fiona!) arrived and they can speak Spanish! And they don’t seem to have a problem with pronunciation. Already they passed on a message about our key! They have come to the Picos to experience an early spring and to do some hiking. Although they had only got here before lunch they went off out hiking straight after. We would go ourselves only there was no room on the bike to pack hiking boots (and these Picos are vertical!).

(Picos, straight up.)

We’re going to Oveido tomorrow, I discovered there’s a church with frescos and it has the same name as the church with the wall murals in Jaca. The name, you may remember was the church of Saints Julian and Basilia? I found out they were married monks who were martyred, way back in the 2nd or 3rd century. Anyway, I want to find out what the connection is between these two churches with the same names and pre-romanesque wall murals. And since they tell a story, are they connected to the Bayeaux Tapestries that also tell a story through drawings in thread and are dated around the same time?

So it looks like I can do planning too!

 

See you in Ovieda, Mairead.

 

(View along the cliff walk)

We went to dinner last night in the Fisherman’s village just up, around and down the cliff from Tate’s house. It was a lovely walk. It reminded me of the cliff walk in Greystones in places. Except the houses, apartment buildings and the odd cafe are built right up to the path. But the sheer drop without railings is the same! Fortunately it was well lit on the way home.

 

(The suspension bridge – notice it is red on the right side and grey on the left)

Today we left Bilbao via an old suspension bridge…. a different kind of suspension bridge. One where the cars and people and motorbikes are suspended in a basket (!) held by wires to an iron girder way up in the sky.

(Look closely and you can see the wires holding the basket – which is about half way across the river)

(the basket is getting closer – we’ll have to get on soon)

The basket goes over and back picking up and dropping off its load. And everyone seems to think that’s okay, so we went along with it….. I thought it would be like a ferry but it’s much smoother, and faster. Yesterday, Tate had suggested we try it and told us it is possible to walk across on the top and that it’s very beautifully made with a wooden floor. I didn’t think wood was such a good idea in a bridge that suspends cars in a basket so decided we wouldn’t be trying that. But then this morning the sat. nav. brought us straight to the basket on our way out of Bilbao!

(Here we go… the red netting is necessary because there are people up on the very top painting the iron work!)

 

Then we were on the road again. As we go along we have seen so many different types of countryside. Bilbao is very built up with apartment blocks and offices and factories and then the cliffs and the sea. And that type of geography continues as we proceed along this north coast. It’s also very busy, lots more traffic. Then we come off the motorway and almost straight away we’re into green grass and forests.

Then we reach the Picos (which is a National Park) and we’re back to windy roads and sheer drops and goats on the road!

(We’re on our way down to that windy bit)

(That’s a pair of baby goats, they were lying on the road until they heard us round the corner)

Our home for tonight is a “hotel rural”, there are sheep grazing in the field beside us and I can hear cow bells! The village seems to start at the far side of the sheep field and runs up to a green forest on the hill. Our hosts don’t speak English but found someone in the bar who did, in order to help us transfer the necessary information from our passports! There’s a dog here too, just a little puppy smaller than our cat. Will take some pictures later…. and send tomorrow.

 

Just realised it’s sheep bells!

 

Thank you for your cures, Nolene, Chris, Moira, Elaine, Viv, Biddy, Frances, and Brian. Everything calm at the moment, will keep you posted! Window firmly closed.

 

Be well, Mairead.

 

 

 

 

 

(View from our bedroom window)

(Our spiral stairs – yes, scary)

We took the Metro into Bilbao this morning. It takes twenty minutes from our nearest station. It’s a bit like the dart except it’s red and some of it is underground and it’s all in Spanish, but otherwise you could be in Greystones on your way into Dublin. We didn’t know where exactly the station was, our host Tate (pronounced TaaTea) was still asleep when we left, but we guessed it was away from the cliff!  After about five minutes we decided to ask for directions. We stopped two men out for a walk and even though they didn’t speak English and also didn’t know where the station was, they found it for us! One of them ran across the road and asked another passerby and then came back to direct us. And there it was, just around the corner.

If that wasn’t enough, when we got into the station we didn’t know which stop we should get off at so we went to the desk. Using Tate’s little tourist map we indicated where we wanted to go and the ticket man came out of his office to show us on the big map. Then e told us about and helped us buy a discount ticket that cost €5 return for two! Finally he showed us how to use it. All in the Spanish language and a little body language. Go Metro-man!

(Yes more coffee pictures… but look I’m having tea. The label on the sugar? Guggenheim!)

(We got off at the Moyua stop….. I’m doing a little wave – “hello Moira!”)

 

And went off to find The Guggenheim art gallery. Hard to miss with that big cat (or dog, or piglet?) outside the door. It’s a gallery for mainly modern art. Damien Hurst of the cow art was there (well, he wasn’t there himself, his art was) with more cow art. There were jars on shelves with bits of cow inside. Nothing too gory, no blood or anything. A bit like a butchers shop, if a butcher’s shop had the meat in jars and the meat was paler (no blood, so less red). It represented relationships.

No pictures I’m afraid – not allowed. I did like his other one. A big glass case (about eight foot high by four foot wide by eight foot long), divided into two sections, one with a camera on a tall tripod. The other section had a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, pair of runners and an asthma inhaler – the blue one, ventolin. Everything was left in a heap with the inhaler on top. I’m not sure why I liked it.

(Big Spider chasing those helpless people)

Is art supposed to make you think or “not” think, just experience?

(Huge pigeon – nearly up to that man’s waist)

After all that art we went into the old part of Bilbao and just as we arrived a thunder storm with lashing rain began. We dashed into the nearest cafe and the nice waiter apologised for not being able to speak English, we apologised for not being able to speak Spanish, we all smiled…..

We’re off again tomorrow, don’t know where yet, probably west…

Adiós amigos, Mairead.

P.S. I left the window open last night to listen to the waves – very soothing. Unfortunately, some biting creature took the opportunity to come in and bite me, many times – not soothing. Latest news – they are getting itchy and growing. Treating with Tea Tree. Is helping. Send advice.

 

(Big Flowery Cat outside The Guggenheim, Bilbao)

I am sitting on my bed for tonight. It is a futon. To my right is a spiral staircase. It was fun carrying our bags up earlier! Downstairs I hear the very happy black Labrador called Koa (yes, Ciara, we are living with a dog for a few days!) padding back and forth between his owner in the kitchen and Denis in the office. Our home for now is called the Cliff House and is located on a hill (high up) overlooking a beach in a neighbourhood outside Bilbao. Our host has the second floor (someone else lives on the ground floor). We are in the attic, but Denis can use her office for work. If it’s okay with us, it is, the dog is allowed to wander around. But he is afraid of the spiral staircase so he meets us at the bottom step with his cushion (he seems to like giving us his cushion!).

Hurray for airbnb in Spain!

(The driveway into the castle at Jaca.)

After my great experience at the monastery, I decided to check out one of my tourist office brochures and went to visit St. Peter’s Castle. So after breakfast yesterday morning (about 10.10am) I turned up at the gate. It was closed. But there was a sign in Spanish at a kiosk outside.  It was in Spanish, right,, but I could understand the main points (mainly because number are international)…. it cost €10 and it opened at 11am. Now, I could have trotted off to visit the cathedral again and I was tempted but the entrance to the castle is down a winding walled driveway off a busy street. And as soon as I entered the driveway, the sounds from the street quietened and I could hear birds singing, so I sat there on a bench in the sun.

(My ticket and brochure, showing the shape of the castle.)

I had my brochure so I read about the castle. It was quite short so I filled the rest of my time learning the Spanish for the numbers from six to fifteen. (In case I didn’t mention it we both have Spanish and French dictionary apps on our phones – we usually use them to work out what we’re eating, or to buy a sticker for the bike -never did find a sticker shop in Jaca.) I already knew one to four (uno, dos, tres, cuatro) from Sesame Street and when I bought some buttons the lady taught me five – cinco. Then while I was waiting I realised that the numbers up to fifteen (and 20, 30, 40, 50, 60, etc) were the only ones I really needed because the others are made up of these. This might be getting complicated? In English 1 to 13 are all different but 14 is made up of four and teen. Fifteen is different, but sixteen is made up of six and teen. And the same pattern is true up to twenty. Then the pattern is twenty and a number you already know….. twenty one, twenty two…. Well this kept me busy and with a little practice I think I’ll have the numbers sorted.

(The buildings are used as offices for the army now.)

Soon others joined me to wait, including two school groups (my guess, six year olds). We all waited patiently as the gates opened for the workers but not for us. At eleven o clock I did get to buy my ticket and asked for the “ingles”.  She paused and took a moment (she was compiling her English words) and she told me in very good English that there was a guided tour in Spanish but her colleague would give me the notes in English. Another new experience. “Grasias” and off I went.

(Inside at last.)

There was a wait of ten minutes for the tour to start but very soon our guide came over to me with my English notes. She explained in the best English, really, really good, that she would tell me when we came to the different areas on the tour and if I had any questions to just ask. Although the castle wasn’t that interesting, the tour was brilliant. She made sure that I missed out on nothing due to my lack of Spanish. If she remembered something that wasn’t on my guide, she would tell me that in English. She also answered my questions and explained about the war with Napoleon and the military service in Spain. She told me she is from Jaca and one of her friends at school used to live in the castle grounds because her father was an officer in the army. Also, with my notes I got to read about the tour before she told it and so had time to take pictures. But even better than all that I got to listen to her speaking Spanish, while having some idea of what she might be saying. It was almost like I understood her, almost.

(My kind guide.)

Her kindness made the tour great. It’s always the small things, isn’t it?

 

Buen viaje! (I’m practicing again, it means have a good journey) Mairead.

 

So there I was yesterday sitting at the back of the cathedral when I notice the bright light to my left. The cathedral is very dark so any light seems bright. This was sunlight streaming into a corridor running away from me. I got up and walked towards it. And as I reached the entrance I noticed there were two young women sitting behind a desk. On the desk was a price list and some brochures. Ok…. for some money I can see something and read about it in a brochure? I’m up for the possibility that it might be interesting.

This is the way I want to approach all my visits to new places. Since I don’t do any (or very little) pre-trip planning I have no idea what might be good in a town or village or city. This might seem like a disadvantage and sometimes it does to me too, but many times it gives me “right-brain-eyes”. What I mean by that is, seeing using my right brain –  without preconceived opinions, or notions. In it’s purest form this is the way a child sees before he learns speech. He looks at a stone in amazement, picking it up, turning it over, tasting it. He could do this every day with every stone. Then at some point he learns this is a “stone”, there’s lots of them, they’re all the same, but they’re not… Every stone is different, every experience is a new experience, even if the guide book says its like that other one…..

Well anyway that’s my excuse for not planning!

So I had entered a monastery attached to the Cathedral of Jaca, that is now a museum. The bright light was coming through the door of the Cloister, and outside I could see the garden. In Cashel, where I lived as a child, there is the ruins of a monastery called Hoare Abbey. It has a cloister, incomplete but recognisible. I am reminded of home.

But the thing that had the biggest impact on me, relates to art and stories. Back in the 1960’s in the dioceses of Jaca someone realised that there were medieval paintings on the walls of little churches in the local area, and the churches were falling into disrepair. So someone or lots of someones set about removing the paintings and putting then on canvas. But one church  (Saints Julian and Basiia in Bagüés) had so many intact paintings they didn’t bother putting them on canvas but converted a room in the monastery to the same size as the church and moved the paintings here.

So far so good… if I’d know that’s what was in there I probably wouldn’t have gone in, but…. the story continues, or goes backwards..

These paintings were painted in 1080 or thereabouts. That’s 931 years ago. That’s a long time ago… So as I’m standing in front of the paintings I’m imagining the painters. They’re in a small church in the Spanish countryside, they’re painting the walls or making paint or they’re planning the next scene or maybe they’re taking a siesta. According to the brochure they are “artists linked to French miniature painting”, so they learned or copied French miniature painting or maybe they are French come to these parts on the pilgrim Camino route.  How ever they arrived they are here because someone wanted them to paint the walls. Someone wanted them to tell a story.

And that’s it…. that’s what struck me. At many times in our lives we are given (or notice) opportunities to do something different and we wonder “Is this the right thing to do?”, “Maybe it’s too much of a risk?”, “‘I’m not god enough”, “I’m too old”, “I’m too young”, it’s too much trouble”. In the story of the paintings on the walls, there were many someones (the priest, the rich man,  the painters, the one who discovered the paintings, the one who agreed to the removal of the paintings, the one who agreed to fund the removal of the paintings, the one who agreed to use the monastery to house the paintings) who had an opportunity to do something and they took it.

Now 931 years later I, or you, can stand in a dimly lit room off a light filled corridor and be connected to those who told the story and those who allowed the story to be told. Whatever we do is a story. Our behaviour is a story. What we tell ourselves about ourselves is a story. What’s the story you want for yourself? And when you know, do you want to allow your story to be told?

Buenos dias (good morning!) Mairead.

P.S. we’re back on the bike tomorrow for a long journey to Bilbao.

 

We are in the large town of Jaca and I’m having a lovely time, very, very little English spoken here, so Spanish skill increasing. It’s 4.30pm and everywhere is closed until 5pm. Must be siesta time. When we stay anywhere long enough we start to slip into their ways. We can’t imagine having dinner at any other time than 8.30pm now! Well, we’re usually the first in the door at that time, for the Spanish it’s probably a bit early. The benefit of having dinner so late is the way it splits the day. For example, I get up (here) around 9am (GMT 8am!), then have breakfast. After breakfast there’s about three hours until lunch. After lunch there’s six hours to dinner. Plenty of time to fit in a cafe con leche and a pastry or a little tapas. After dinner just enough time for a little walk and off to bed. So all through the day there’s no rush, just movement from one eating event until the next. And the bonus for me is that I don’t have to cook any of it. Fortunately, we are on the fourth floor and I am walking off all this food.

(I know, every day there’s a picture of coffee, but it’s so pretty)

This morning we had breakfast and Denis went off to work while I went to visit the town. It’s just a little too small to have a bus tour so won’t be able to test that but there is a Tourist office. Off I went to find some English brochures. There were three tables in the office and a tourist official sitting behind each one, a bit like the travel agents used to be when there were still travel agents. On each table was a little plaque with the flags from Spain, France and the UK. I took this as a sign that the person at the desk could speak each of these languages. But I did what any polite tourist might do… I asked “Do you speak English?”, she said “no”.

This is happening a lot in Jaca. And really, it’s what we want, isn’t it? We want to increase our Spanish….but strangely what’s happening is – it’s increasing our French. I know this will come as a bit of a surprise to those who have followed my journey with French, so I’ll explain. When the waitress last night at dinner and the receptionist in our hotel said “No” to the “ingles?” question, they followed that up with “francais”, meaning they have French. And although we do start out with our minuscule Spanish we soon run out of vocabulary. That’s when we realise that our French vocabulary is really quite…. medium sized. It’s a cruel joke if we end up speaking better French the longer we stay in Spain.

 

Anyway back to the tourist office. Ok, I can do this.. I know how to say “I want…”, it’s pronounced Key-aero (a key and the bar of chocolate, and it reminds me of Ciara). And I know how to say “English” , it’s pronounced Ing-Les. I don’t know how to say brochures, but as there were plenty of Spanish ones around, I could improvise. So I picked up one and looked her in the eye and said (in Spanish) “I want (waving brochure) English”. Not a bother to her, she asked in English (!) “ok, for what?”. (So she did have English. There’s a message here for me, not sure yet what it is, I’ll get back to it.)  “Jaca (remembering to pronounce it Haka), por favor” (I only remember my manners when things are flowing). At this stage we’re both smiling and she heads off to the back of the office to search through lots of cupboards and finally brings back six booklets about the town and hinterland. We’re both delighted and with lots of gracias from me I’m moving towards the door when she says “where are you from?”.

(The pilgrim’s walk, The Camino, passes through Jaca on it’s way from France to Santiago de Compostela, the shell is the symbol of the walk)

She must have said it in English because I don’t know any of those words in Spanish. Anyway, I’m delighted, we’re still talking and I say “Ireland” and she whips out a bunch of pages stapled together and searches for the page with Irlanda on it. Then she puts a little tick on the page and says “the first”. And I realised she was saying that I was the first person from Ireland (today? this year? ever?, I didn’t check…). Well I was thrilled.. to be an ambassador for the people of Ireland…. I gave a little cheer and both thumbs up. And didn’t she do the same! Relations between Ireland and Spain are in no danger in Jaca today. I left, waving and smiling to my new friend.

After that I went to the Cathedral, a nice place for a quiet moment. There was a mass going on so it wasn’t that quiet, but I sat down anyway, and then I noticed a door off to the left. It was open and very bright so I got up and went towards it….. I’m going to have to tell you about it tomorrow because it made a big impression on me and I think I’ll have to sleep on it.

Buenas noches (good evening, I know it’s not evening – I’m practicing!)

Mairead.

 

We left Pilar and her hilltop village at ten o’clock and made the scary journey down the hill and back to the main road. This time I took some pictures.

Today we took Route 260  – the reason we are here in Spain. Ciara (our daughter) gave Denis a Best Motorcycle Routes book for Christmas. This route took up 4 pages and planed the seed for this six week trip.

By the time we arrived at Jaca (about three inches east of Pampalona on our map) I had taken 190 photos and it was five o clock. We have learned a few tips about traveling on long days:

(Butterfly, the size of a small bird, resting on the main street in our village)

1. Don’t eat a big lunch, just makes you sleepy.

2. Take more short breaks of five or ten minutes duration, it’s enough to revive you without adding too much to the journey.

3. Have plenty of bottled water, you may not find a shop or a cafe when you are in need.

4. Remember why you decided to do this in the first place, no matter how sore you are you do really want to be here!

5. Take pictures, but also don’t take pictures, taking the pictures is for later, not taking the pictures is time for now, smell the poppies!

6. Have a siesta, when in Spain, do like the locals (we had no picture of our siesta  we were asleep….)

We took all our own advice and had a very full-on day. The roads are the kind that Denis loves, winding around the hills and mountains and through the mountains. I think my favourite roads are the puttering along slowly ones without cows or tractors.

(Cow munching at side of very winding hairpin road)

From Spain, good night, Mairead.

(View from our bedroom)

We are here in Estamariú, a small village of around seventy people. My photographs cannot do justice to the place, so you’ll just have to imagine it. And we don’t have any photos of the village from the road up here because it was another one of those narrow, winding, sheer drop jobs and I wasn’t up to the challenge…

We found it on booking.com, airbnb.com isn’t providing the goods here in Spain, but that’s fine if we can find places like this. We arrived yesterday at about two o’clock, very sweaty and tired. As we entered the village we wondered where the road was… because all we could see were narrow lane ways. But Denis soldiered on and it turned out these narrow lane ways were the road – the speed limit sign gave them away!

When we arrived at our house (via lots of hand signals and gracias – the old man leaning on the railing didn’t speak English), there was a note for us from our host, Pilar. It said (in perfect English) the door was open and she would be back later, but to go ahead in and relax. Are you following this? The door to her guest house was open and she trusted us to go in and make ourselves at home! In such a short time we are discovering real Spain. So in we went, and Denis started working, because the wi-fi was super fast. She had also told us that  there was a very good restaurant in the village. (By the way, there are no shops, no post office and the church hasn’t been open while we’ve been here.)

(Our house)

And there was – an amazing restaurant. The waiter didn’t speak English but there were English menus. We had our dictionary so we did fine but one thing I still don’t understand – why did the waiter give me the Grandmother menu? Denis got the Suggestions Menu. You don’t suppose the waiter knows the policeman?

This morning I went for a walk around the village and took lots of photos. No one passes through here, it’s a twelve km hike up a winding narrow road. We’re the only one’s who don’t live here. But we’re getting to know the neighbours. As I was passing the farm our friend the old man from yesterday was standing by the side of the road. Like I said it’s easy to mistake the main roads for lanes or even private paths, so, in order not to find myself trespassing, I asked if it was okay for me to pass. How? by saying “ok” in a questioning kind of way, while pointing to myself and then opening my hand in the direction of the path ahead. There is more to communication than words you know, and when he nodded in a gruff way and said “Si, si”, I was very satisfied with my communication.

(All the houses are made of the same stone.)

 

 

(This is the widest street….)

 

We’re off  to Jaca which our waiter kindly pointed out is pronounced Hacka.

Be well, Mairead.

 

 

We left L’Orri de Planes (Grain Barn of Planes) this morning in heavy rain. Not that it bothered us…. again the wonderful rain gear. But when we descended from the altitude the rain stopped and the temperature rose and within thirty minutes we were in Spain again.

Forgot to mention the English-speaking table turned into an English and Spanish-speaking table last night! We were joined by a local couple, (he’s a ski instructor during the winter) and our Spanish has improved. I now know how to say spinach – spinagus (phonetic spelling, probably, hopefully). His wife and I shared our skill of the other’s language, by counting, she in English and me in Spanish. It was a touching moment and we definitely bonded.

 

Home for tonight is near a town called Le Seu d’Urgell, just south of the principality of Andorra. We decided to have a quick cafe con leche in the town and then go look at Andorra. But first we were stopped by the police….

 

 

We’ve passed through customs checks and speed checks and random checks regularly over the past two weeks and after a while you start to think “Isn’t it great, they never stop motorbikes?”. Well they did today. Coming up to a roundabout into the town a policeman puts up his hand, the international signal to stop. And of course it’s always a shock when you are stopped, well it is for me. I just feel guilty before they’ve even started looking for something. So I’m on alert, adrenaline pumping when we come to a complete stop on the side of the roundabout in front of him. You know the saying that goes, your getting old when policemen start to look young? Well I’m not making any comment on his age but he looked very well in his uniform.

So, picture the scene, I’m nervous, and at the same time eager to please, watching the young policeman very carefully. I’m not proud to say this but when he lifted his hand to give a full salute (honestly), didn’t I do the same! I’m blushing just remembering it. Not only that but because I had the camera in my right hand (is it legal to take photos from a moving motorbike?), I saluted with my left hand. There’s every possibility that saluting in Spain with your left hand means something rude, could it?

But we needn’t have worried, after exchanging “O’la” ‘s, he asked if we wanted him to speak in English. “Si, gacias, gracias”. Then he asked us for the bike documentation, in very good English. Now, I have no idea what bike documentation one needs in order to travel around Europe, but I trusted that Denis did and had all that in order.

I had misplaced my trust……

 

And.. as Denis handed the very young policeman our passports, then his drivers license, then his insurance, then pointed to the the tax disc, all the while being asked for the registration documentation, I had a sinking feeling. At this stage I was starting to feel very old and the policeman looked young enough to be my son as he gently asked “but do you have anything that connects you to the bike, as the owner?” And then Denis started shaking his head, in that “gosh, that’s very interesting but I don’t know what you’re talking about” kind of head shake with the added little shoulder shrug.

 

And I knew I had a choice…. I could say “What! I can’t believe you didn’t bring the bike registration, didn’t you watch a million dvd’s about riding bikes across borders and they always want the bike registration?” Or, I could start looking as gormless as Denis. With the saluting earlier, I was ahead of the game in looking gormless…. So I choose that…. and the very, very nice teenage policeman choose to let us off. He saluted us again but this time I just smiled.

 

Then we went to Andorra and bought petrol for a steal at €1.27 a litre (no purchase tax in Andorra, I think).

 

Tomorrow I will tell you about our beautiful home for the night in the mountains.

 

Be well, Mairead.