Day 93. Sunday 8 June.

Pre-flight preparation. A walk along the seafront to the marina and then along one of the breakwaters. Information board gave us the story of the town: feudal settlement, then 16th century(?) breakaway, town growth and growth…around fishing and then much later, manufacturing. Today, it’s fishing, manufacturing/ textiles and tourism. And a strong immigrant presence. A cooler day, so fewer folk on the beach (on the other side of the harbour) but there was the hint of a wave.

Looked for a suitable spot for coffee and ended up at Cafe L’Arenal, on our own back door. The waitress couldn’t really tell us what last night was about, but came back with a booklet that described the 2025 Festival de Sant Pere, which actually starts next weekend. We aren’t really much clearer what it was all about.

Wandered back onto the Rambla de la Plau, and sat listening to a pianist and singer entertaining diners at a small restaurant. We could be the audience without dining. Highlight for us was our special song, Moon River. We thought it would be the perfect spot to return for a dinner. Observing the African hawker working her patch was a reminder of the quiet dignity of others.

The afternoon was spent in quiet pursuits. D did mind games and T had needle and thread. We had decided to finish our Spanish adventure with an early dinner, focusing on the little restaurant that had featured the live music earlier. Closed. Proceeded up the Rambla – options were pizza, tapas, bocadillo or some sort of a combination of all or some of them. Up near the church a 100th birthday was being celebrated: we spoke to the family members surrounding the special lady lady and offered congratulations. The family members explained their status but we didn’t understand. No problem, smiles all round. Ventured back down to the seafront: same story. All of the main restaurants were closed. A Cran signature plan was unfolding: failure to achieve objective. Lunch is the main meal, and no restaurant wants to deal with customers on a Sunday evening! Fortunately, on La Rambla there was one offering a dinner (rather than tapas menu) and we eventually settled on that.

Deciding our menu choices was the next hurdle: we had lost the ability to choose from a wide selection, and we’re picky, wanting something different from T’s ‘one-pot’ offerings. T ended up with chargrilled octopus (on a potato mash…D has finally corrupted her) followed by beef carpaccio. D chose steamed mussels and slow cooked lamb – with rosemary potatoes. All with a nice Rose. The choices were fabulous.

T’s choices:

And D’s:

An early night, early start tomorrow and Uber to the airport. We’ve checked in – just need to drop bags and go through the hoops. 15 hours to Hong Kong, two hours on the ground, seven hours to Sydney. Easy!

Day 92. Saturday 7 June continued.

Finished dinner, about to clear up around 2130 – T said she could hear bagpipes. Yes, so could D now. We hadn’t had that much wine, so something was happening, and now we could also hear drums.

Outside to investigate. On the Rambla de la Pau leading from the church to the marina came a procession of huge animal/ dragon/ devils supported by small teams, all in costumes and bands  of drummers and pipers of all ages.

And the fireworks!!! with seemingly no regard for public safety: T copped an ember on her skirt and D one on his head.

We had no idea what it was – and still don’t know the significance of the date, assuming it was either to farewell us, or perhaps to celebrate the birthday. Google suggests it was the ‘popular Catalan bestiary…. the name given to the set of figures that represent real or fantastic animals that are exhibited in the local celebrations of Catalonia processions, parades, dances, etc. They have their origin in medieval drama of the procession of Corpus Christi, in evolving and acquiring its own dances and parades of devils, among others.’

And on they came….

And came….

It went on and on. More and more fire spinning. Kids and adults captivated, accompanying dogs were not fussed (maybe had a communication line to the mythical creatures??) Such a primeval sense of wonder! And we had seen this little tike in yellow earlier in the evening in the playground beneath our apartment.

And the high point (for D at least):

And then …..roast pork (click on image below):

https://randomramblingsblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/img_6582.mov

We ended with a cooling/ calming ice cream at around 2300. The parade had finished but we could hear fireworks continuing down towards the marina till well after midnight. Kids were back in the playground…there’d be no sleeping for them. New Year’s Eve fireworks in Canberra? Ain’t nothing alongside this!

Day 92. Saturday 7 June.

A special day in the calendar, acknowledged with a video call first thing (well, early for us). Just lovely to catch up with the birthday girl and little sister.

D did a recon to the railway station ahead of our departure on Monday, trying to get a handle on the sections of our walk-train-train-walk journey to Terminal T2 at El Prat de Llobregat Aeroport, which will take the best part of two hours. Just hoping the train system doesn’t crash like Friday!

After coffee, a stroll through the old town, walking past old men and women and boys and girls on the avenue and through several plazas, where folk were beginning to gather for eating, drinking, and just socializing. The old part of town is rather lovely with curved streets of colourful apartments and small shops. There was a sense of family and community, and the ‘vibe’ was one of peaceful mixing. We did come across our final cathedral for this trip, Parroquia de Sant Antoni Abat, but didn’t enter. And D spotted a car with more scratches than poor Josie.

A quiet afternoon: D on a device, T on a vice.

And a decision: don’t chance the long and semi-complex train ride – Uber is booked.

A late afternoon swim – with a couple of thousand others. This is nothing like Congo, or South Durras, or Bawley Point, or Mt. Eliza Beach….. not even Noosa – perhaps Bondi? As we walked over the boardwalk, D took a couple of generalized, surreptitious photos: didn’t want to seem too obvious even then, and as we discovered later on the beach, photography would have been deemed inappropriate.

We were surprised that so many girls/women were comfortable to display a lot of body (g-strings, topless, little bikinis) while all boys and men wore boardies (no speedos). There was thumping music playing from bars just back from the sand. You could rent a group platform, a cabana, a sun lounge and umbrella; and as we stepped onto the beach there were sellers of beach towels, baseball caps, sunglasses, handbags – all laid out on the ground. The sellers (we guessed of African origin) sat or lay beside the products on a hot afternoon, with no obvious custom. The water was benign: shallow, no waves, flat with bits of plastic occasionally floating by. Groups of teenage boys played with a ball, dunked each other and shrieked, a couple practised their dance moves (until their little kids told them to stop), young girls did uninhibited handstands and cartwheels, many folk were sunbaking under a hot burning sun, there was a flotilla of littlies with armband floaties and presumably the lifeguard in the watchtower was awake.

An evening on our deck, listening to the village below. A bit noisier than usual due to the presence of a small group of early teenage boys. Noisy, but not offensive. Haven’t they got devices to look at?

Dinner. Tuna and pasta salad, with lots of other stuff from the depleting pantry.

Day 91. Friday 6 June.

This was the day that had caused all the fuss (months ago) about travel insurance/credit card status: exceeding 90 travel days. It was also the ‘hand back the car day’ and there was only one more drive to do. Needless to say, D had allowed more than adequate leeway in his timings to make sure we weren’t late for the 1300 handover.

He chose a ‘non toll road’ for the 40 mins trip; T thought that may have been to spare her the autovia seat- clutching, but it turned out to be a cliff-top C road clutching (think Cinqueterra)! And there were cyclists as well as continuous oncoming traffic to detract from relishing the sea views.

Despite this we arrived 40 minutes early and the gates were closed (lunch). No worry – a phone call, the gate opened, a quick check was done, a few papers signed, the last pics taken and then we were dropped at the airport railway station. No fuss: no issue with scratches, and no mention of half full petrol tank (just as well on the latter, as we were handed the car 80 plus days ago with just a 135km range!) The car will be sold in France, secondhand, minus scratches.

Since we needed a train into Barcelona (Sants) in order to get the train to Vilanova, it made sense to use the opportunity to revisit the Sagrada and the train trip was a chance to recon for Monday – in reverse. 

Quite simple: one return ticket from the airport to Vilanova, changing at Sants. This also involved getting on the Metro, buying a ticket for that system, with an assurance from the staff that our rail  ticket would still be valid when we came back, which was reassuring.

We’d visited the Sagrada in 2006 when there was still serious construction happening; we thought that it was now completed, but no surprise, there was still fencing all around, some scaffolding nets and a crane ( maybe aim for 2026 finish). Queues were very long and when T checked with staff, we learnt bookings could only be made online, and that it was probably booked out for today and possibly till 21 June!

So decided to do the Spanish thing and have lunch, chose a spot under trees and umbrella and ordered a Margarita pizza and a couple of glasses of wine. The wine arrived soon enough – the pizza took forever(as in they forgot). We chatted about future travel plans and soaked up a ‘freedom’, not having to drive again in the next few days. Checked on Sagrada website and sure enough it was booked up: until Monday. The pizza still hadn’t arrived, but our drinks had evaporated, so we ordered two more. When they arrived, the waiter whispered ‘they are free’. The couples on either side of us also waited, and waited, with the Brit couple eventually telling the waiter abruptly to cancel their drinks order and bring the bill: ‘this too slow!’ The other couple were still waiting on their fish and chicken dishes, as we joked that they were probably catching the fish and slaughtering the chicken. Their meals came eventually: fish was good, chicken over cooked. We chatted about travel and home bases: they work in aged care/nursing jobs in Reading (the woman was a nurse from Romania and the guy from Guyana).

Back to the Sagrada for some photos and to marvel. It really is the most outrageous construction.

We also had an ice cream to relax, and to just watch the passers by and tourists. We joked with a tour leader bearing the usual flag on a stick as he tried to herd his charges: ‘5 mins for ice cream’…good luck with that! T wondered if he had a whistle: yes, he did and blew it, but rather softly, because that was a Polizia job, did the head count again, ‘I’m missing someones’…there was another toilet stop, more head-counting and eventually the group moved on. But we did notice, perhaps it was the ‘someones’ who were dragging the chain.

Metro back to Sants was fine, but when we tried to use our rail tickets to get onto the concourse they were rejected: wrong advice earlier today apparently. A quick explanation to the staff and we were waved through, to join the restless crowds waiting for delayed trains. In our case, the 1715 train to Vilanova did not come at all; other destinations were delayed and the next one for us was due in 30 minutes.

A slight moment of consternation: the platform had been changed, and although it had probably been announced, our Spanish wasn’t adequate. Fortunately D was occasionally glancing anxiously at the Departures board and noticed. D remarked that this recon was a lesson for planning Monday’s trip.

But made it, after stops and starts: the 40 minute trip took 75 minutes. Home, carless, enjoying a beer and champagne to celebrate/mourn the moving on of ‘Josie’ and the end that stage of our trip. After our lunch, just some tapas for ‘dinner’.

Day 90. Thursday 5 June.

A slow morning as we’d been offered a late check out and our check in at Vilanova y la Geltrú was not until 1500. Packing (ahead of repacking for return flights), tidying/cleaning, rubbish disposal – mundane tasks.

Our host Isa came over to do the check out, and Google translate worked overtime to help us communicate reasonably successfully. A great spot, good hosts…..just a rooster and church bells to keep us alert. And T learnt that those plastic bag flags in the rice paddies are to keep the flamingos at bay, as they like to grab the rice seeds/young plants! And so delightful that Google translate brought up the word ‘flamenco’ for the bird. 

On the road,  probably the last high speed (120 km/hr) one we’ll tackle (T says hooray!) A few issues with unclear instructions from Doris – and one just plain wrong. First confusion saw us heading 10 km in the wrong direction before we could ‘Do a U turn at the roundabout’. D’s somewhat coarse reaction caused the voice recognition into a conniption! 

But we arrived at the specified location, with a set of instructions on how to access the apartment. D, being the expert manager, had screenshot the instructions sent via Whatsapp (which included several photos), loaded them into ‘pages’ on the Ipad so that if there were no internet coverage (for any reason) we could refer to the pages document! 

We could have been very Spanish, as instructed, and simply pulled up on the footpath with hazard lights on and gone to the location of the key box but no, D found a legitimate on-street parking spot and we walked back to locate the key box (perfect).Then it was find the apartment block and lift, enter the apartment, get the garage remote, return to parked car, get Doris to take us around the block (she had no idea and got on the job just before the end: D knew where he was going), enter the underground garage, look for orange doors….Yes, close ‘Pages’, we’re there. The luggage circus then emptied the little Peugeot. We were in! 

T is delighted that the seat clutching, fearful gasping, groans of horror and gut-wrenching panic of the high speed trips is over. So is D. But there’s one more car trip tomorrow to the Peugeot drop-off.

A balmy afternoon passed, families gathered in the playground plaza beneath and children’s laughter swirled around and up. It is a real ‘village’ environment. A walk to find the train station for our trip on Monday was positive…looks pretty straightforward (VilaNova to airport). We’ll do the test run tomorrow in reverse direction after dropping off the car.

Dinner was sourced from local supermarket and we’re back to hamburger patties on mash with some fresh greens (still some carrots to get through!), preceded by that tapas!

Day 89. Wednesday 4 June.

While T joined a zoom meeting from back home, D took the car to the local car wash and put too much in for the wash, but offered the credit to a very thankful couple: paying it forward, or perhaps just a thanks for help received. As a result, no coins for vacuuming, but a very obliging lady in the next booth was happy to exchange coins for a note. We want to make the drop-off in Barcelona as smooth as possible, and perhaps mitigate some of the scratches.

T had Googled a fabric shop in Deltebre (just in case there was some ‘lemon’)  so that was our first stop today. Doris took us right there, but we had some doubt that it was the right place. T got out, checked, and reported that it was the place – but closed. Here we go again! But a call from above said the shop was open, the owner opened the door and T entered, to have a nice chat with him. He explained the sign on the front door, directing any customers to ring the bell. 

Indeed the shop did have some ‘lemon’ and some pink and blue…all colours that T was chasing in order to get moving with a quilt piece. The shop owner was very familiar with patchwork but insisted he did not do ‘fabric’. T realised the dilemma…the Spanish word fabrica has a meaning linked to manufacturing/a factory (having seen it all over Spain) and the shop owner was insistent that the shop was not a fabrica. No problem, T started to examine the bolts of patchwork cottons and demonstrated that she stitches with these. All good…he then pointed out a box of pre-cut pieces (similar to fat quarters) and we were in sync. Patchwork used to be popular but over the past 4 years has dropped off…those who used to be clients have passed away or become too old and don’t stitch anymore. He talked about craft groups who used to get together on Sundays and do their handiwork (stitching, crochet and talking…) and the groups joined with same in neighbouring towns …craft communities. But now! The younger ones just go to Amazon and buy ready-made. T empathized/sympathized and selected 6 little packs of cut pieces. It seemed to be a very struggling business. T sensed a nice little stitching moment on the horizon.

D meanwhile plugged in the next destination for a swim. Well, he plugged in L’Ampolla, but that was not right – we were going to Riumar! In putting the destination into the mobile, D somehow seemed to have done something that meant the screen couldn’t be seen: just a bit of dark shadow. On, off, on didn’t help, nor did swearing. Not sure what was happening, and wanting to find a solution before heading off tomorrow, as we need the phone for navigation, we set out for home, by instinct rather than any help from Doris. Fortunately we did eventually get to somewhere we recognised: about 400 metres from home.

Plugged the phone into a charger and darkened the screen surrounds as much as possible. D could now dimly see Settings and possibly work out the problem. It seems that D unintentionally and unknowingly somehow turned down the brilliance, to such an extent that nothing could be seen! Good design feature, Apple! All fixed, so back in the car to head to Riumar.

Not the best beach we’ve visited but the water was refreshing – and virtually no one else there. In fact, for what seems to be very much a tourist/holiday spot it was very quiet. And there was a very generous shower.

Back at home for repacking, some simple detailing of the car before hand back on Friday, a quiet read …… and some stitching.

There is definitely a feel that we’re coming to the end of this trip. D was particularly pleased with himself on checking our costs: accommodation, after 95 days, has come in $100.86 under budget, including prepaid for the rest of the trip!

Tapas at 1700.

Dinner. Baked salmon with mash (a bit light on as we were down to the last small potato) and a strange tomato/onion/garlic/artichoke side (but the fridge is cleared) for last move tomorrow. And a ‘stolen’ lemon, pinched from over a fence in the town. Folk have been transported for less.

Day 88. Tuesday 3 June.

Warm day, so we took our swimming gear just in case. Headed back to Riumar to check out boat trips on the L’Ebre. Stopped in at the swish, new Tourist Information office there: closed, with no hours of business or any other advice. So headed for Port de Deltebre, and we’re greeted by a gaggle of souvenir shops, restaurants and cafes and various sized cruise ships/boats. Fronted a ticket seller for Creuers Delta De L’Ebre, hoping for a small craft, but the minimum was five people: sadly, three others who were looking to do the same had given up and bought tickets on the big boat, departing at 1230. We had one minute to make up our minds, so opted to go with it. It was pretty full and the commentary started in Spanish, followed by German, then back to Spanish. We were with a German tour group! Didn’t we write last night it was great to be in a ‘non-tourist’ zone? Karma.

There was the usual rush to get off, and to get to the cafes, souvenirs and restaurants, so we decided to head to L’Ampolla – or so T thought, and was a bit surprised when D took her to Amposta. Bit of a communication mixup there.

Amposta seemed to be a working town, further up the river, with a clear presence of a Muslim population. We parked (after having been honked and abused while waiting in a narrow one way street for an earlier spot to clear), and while examining the parking meter, D was approached by a young lady who advised it was free until 1600. Muchas gracias. D did wonder if he looks like he needs to be helped, but in fact this sort of friendly help for strangers has been quite common. We were the only customers at the cafe in the plaza where the Tuesday street market was being packed up. For someone it seems to have been a devastating morning’s trade.

The waitress was bemused and confused by our order (the usual scenario): we ask for two espressos and a small jug of hot water. Invariably, there is no jug and the water comes in a big glass which is very messy for pouring into the little espresso cups. Fortunately, there’s always a napkin dispenser handy. After coffee there was a short wander through the covered market, also being packed up,  with impressive stained glass windows featuring the local fauna and delta agricultural activity. The tourism office here was closed too but T noticed advertising for upcoming festivities around rice planting. The town also seemed to have some serious music training facilities. And T was relieved that D had chosen a ‘not modern haircut’ yesterday rather than some of the  options available in Amposta.

Then headed to L’Ampolla, which turned out to be a decidedly upmarket beach town/city – Noosa comes to mind, although the beaches we saw were very different.

That meant we moved on, more or less towards home, looking for somewhere to have a dip. Roads criss-crossed through rice paddies, giving us up-close views of the equipment, houses and fields in different stages of rice growth. T had seen a serrated-wheel tractor moving through the rice next to our abode earlier today, spreading fertilizer and it is indeed a very serious piece of equipment that surprisingly does not permanently damage the juvenile crop as it moves through, leaving flattened seedlings in its wake.

Homes are little islands within a sea of water and green (and the algae is common). The older style house/shed is box shaped with sloping roof (there must be a reason for this); the newer, more substantial homes are a mix of square and sloping roofs.

We arrived at Restaurante Los Vassos Deltebre, at one end of Platja de la Marquesa, on the Balearic Sea. The water (and beach) were uninviting with dark sand and choppy surf – apart from one hardy couple.

We decided on a walk along it instead, until we looked up to see a threatening sky in the distance and coming our way, with lightning and thunder. 

Back home. A former worker’s house, now Booking.com.

Dinner. Turkey Surprise: with artichokes in creamy coconut rice; the canned artichokes have been the pantry basket for months, so it was time to add them to a rice base (since this is a local staple).

Day 87. Monday 2 June.

There’s something wonderful, marvellous, different about being in a ‘working town’ rather than in a tourist destination. The delta is a fascinating complex of lagoons, canals, cottages and slightly larger ‘island’ homes in the middle of rice paddies (obviously not affected by the surrounding cycles of flooding). We think the cottage we are in was previously a working rice home. Thankfully the warm day was tempered by a strong breeze and we weren’t bothered overnight by mosquitoes.

Into town for Tourist Information and Doris didn’t disappoint: there was nothing that looked anything like an information centre where she took us. 

Found an ‘i’ spot on a paper map, punched that in, and arrived at what turned out to be an Ecomuseu, covering the history of the delta: its geography, including changing structure, development from a duck hunting ground to a rice growing area, the rice growing process, ecological protection, and its population. A simple but very effective display, spread over a large area and several buildings. What a tough life before mechanical processes! T still has some questions to ask. And no mention of the ravages of malaria that must have been a feature in days gone by, although the development was opposed (unsuccessfully, obviously) because of the mosquito risk.

Something of interest for our fisher folk – how would they cope?

Coffee time – not easy to find a venue. Having scoured the streets of Deltebre, we headed more or less accidentally to Riumar, a seaside ‘resort’ town of very modest single-storey villas about 10 kms away on the Mediterranean. No luck there either (although there were several beachfront restaurants offering a lunch menu) so headed for home to make our own, with sweet treats and pastry lunch from Lidl. It has come to that!

In the afternoon, while T stitched, D snuck out to be shorn.

Late afternoon we set off to find the flamingos at Cemitiri de Barques, near Badia del Fangar (Fangar Bay) recommended by our hosts. A bit of a daunting drive along very narrow pathways between canals and rice paddies, but we didn’t encounter oncoming traffic. Got to within 800 metres, at a reasonably spacious fishing wharf area, so decided reverse back a bit and walk the rest rather than take the potholed dirt track.

In the distance we could see some Great Egrets, and as we got closer picked up a flock of Flamingos in the distance with the binos, then spotted four much closer – but not close enough for good photos. We also saw (again) glossy ibis, grey heron, black winged stilt, tern, yellow legged gull, and silver gulls. As we walked we frequently disturbed big carp feeding in the lagoon shallows. The late afternoon colours were fantastic: silver waterways, grey skies, green rice paddies.

Dinner.  After 10pm Turkey curry (time to give that fowl a try)…with brown rice of course (conserving that vitamin B, which scares off the mosquitos and lets the neighbouring rooster have another day/ night of crowing).

Day 86. Sunday 1 June.

Moving today from Olopte to Deltebre, about 210 kms, almost due south.The road down from the mountains was absolute joy…speed of 70-ish, few tailgaters, with mountains, gorges and ‘impossible’ stone villages, many perched high or on cliffs all the way (and lots of cyclists in Lycra and mostly white socks). Followed the Segre River, a fast-flowing stream from the snow. T wondered about the old days in the region…tiny farming communities (with a church and maybe a fort/castle) and then as industry, and later, technology and leisure took hold, ski resorts and hotels??And hills with hundreds of wind turbines…T commented, ‘There’s not much breeze happening here’…only to see at the next turn, they were all spinning! To which D said, ‘They’ve turned some off to save crashing the grid!’ We do remember Lisbon.

The day warmed quickly and passing through Ponts (again) the mountains gave way to plains of wheat, olives and grapes. The wheat was golden and partially cropped. There was some irrigation. Stopped for coffee and a sweet treat in an air-conditioned patisserie in Tarrega, with temperature hovering around the high 30s, so no incentive to stay and wander, even though the town square with pollarded plane trees was the place to be (as usual, older men, just sitting).

Continued until a lunch stop beckoned; we’d made good time and would be too early to meet our host. Decided to try our luck on the coast at Salou, expecting it to be busy: sure enough it was, so we left the main part and followed a road beyond the souvenir booths by the esplanade until we found a parking spot right above a nice cove. The water below looked so good…shallow, clear aquamarine water, sandy shore, gentle waves. 

Lunch finished,  the obvious question was “might we swim?” Of course – we still had 90 minutes up our sleeve. We could do a quick change in/at the car…yes! Our water gear was in a bag in the boot, only once-used, many weeks ago.

The water was absolutely perfect and not the ice cold of our last dip in the Mediterranean. It was easy to understand the appeal of ‘taking an apartment’ above. Steps and a walled esplanade led to sandy coves.

Back on the road to Deltebre and almost on time until Doris decided to play some tricks (and additionally the address given on booking.com was in the middle of nowhere). Fortunately,  D remembered our host had sent a message that contained an address (D: I know, should have checked that at the start!) so we arrived about 45 minutes late with effusive apologies and Google translate-written excuses. The hosts are a couple and their young teenage son: no English, so they promptly called for a cousin, who soon arrived. He had very good English, which is a good thing as he’s studying to be an English teacher.

We received a very comprehensive guided tour: they are obviously proud of the place and although we suspected we may be amongst the first visitors, the Visitor’s Book goes back at least until April last year. The cottage was apparently part of the parcel when they bought the surrounding rice fields.The delta at the mouth of the Ebre River is a rice-growing place…(T had wondered about mosquitos). Yes, mozzies are part of the deal, hence window screens and repellant. We are still trying to work out if the cottage was originally a rice worker/manager/owner cottage, a granny flat or purpose built. But we’ll walk/cycle along the river (bicycles and helmets provided), do some bird-watching and find those flamingos.

And there rice ‘paddies’ all around.

And there is a rooster and church bells! Time to go home.

Dinner. Baked traditional sausage (recommended by previous host) and vegetables: potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, onions, tomatoes, flat beans. Current hosts have greeted us with cherries and peaches!

Day 85. Saturday 31 May.

After a good night’s sleep, T took an early morning walk through the village. Only cats were about and then through the mist the balloons rose. It was a perfect pink morning after a night with firmly embedded earplugs and the rooster was in fine form.

Today was a little driving circuit,  stopping at those places in bold: Olopte to Bellver de Cerdanya (8 kms) to Isovol (5 kms) to Bolvir (8.5 kms) to Puigchedra (5 kms) to  Llivia (7 kms) to Egat (20 kms) to  Font-Romeu-Odeillo-Vi a (3.5 kms) to Mont-Louis (10 kms) to Saillagouse (13 kms) to  Bourg Madame (9 kms) to Olopte (15 kms).

First destination was Bellver de Cerdanya, just down the road, to chase up two recommendations from our host Maria Angel: stone-baked bread from Forn Pous and traditional sausage from Cansaladeria I Xarcuteria Pernils LLonganisses (we think known as Cal Jaume). At the bakery, the answer to “English?” was “No”, so Google translate asked “stone baked bread?” Enthusiastic nod and smiles and pointed out.

At Cal Jaume we waited in line as the two ladies attended to other customers: they would cut/pick up the selections, wrap them and when the order was complete walk over to another counter to complete the transaction, all the while talking, sometimes including us, although all we could do was smile and nod. Our turn, same response to the question, request typed in: “traditional sausage please’ then again nods and smiles as she disappeared into a back room to reappear with a couple of metres of thin sausage. We agreed to the amount she suggested for 2. Smiles and nods all round, but as we left D heard one say “English” so he turned back to correct that mistake: “Ah, Australien!’ – more huge smiles, laughs and enthusiastic waves. It was, unbelievably, still too early for coffee!

We continued on our drive, crossing into France via an international road, then  pausing at Llívia. The town of Llívia is a Spanish enclave surrounded by the French department of Pyrenees-Orientales. Because of a technicality in the Treaty of the Pyrenees signed in 1659, that transferred only “villages” in the Pyrenees to France, Llívia, which was designated a “town”, remains under Spanish control. Llívia is separated from the rest of Spain by a corridor approximately 1.6 km (1.0 mile) wide, which includes two French communes, and is traversed by a road owned by both France and Spain. Since 1995, there are no formal borders. Speech was in both French and Spanish. At a fruit stall we bought ‘gold-plated’ veggies and some fresh basil (first time we’ve seen a variety of fresh herbs, but they were suffering in the heat).

By now it was hot and humid, and threatening clouds were gathering.

We drove into Font-Romeu-Odeillo-Via along a steep and very winding road, much loved by the many cyclists zooming downhill. There wasn’t much to stop for, although the views en route were breathtaking – the scale being beyond our little iPhone cameras. At this point Doris played another trick and sent us down the wrong road, for which she was loudly and harshly admonished. Back on track again, we saw a most unusual structure, which turned out to be the Odeillo solar furnace, the world’s largest, serving as a science research site studying materials at very high temperatures.

On to Mont-Louis, a walled commune on a hill, also home to the Commando Training centre. We were well and truly in France.

Entry was through two narrow stone gateways, across a moat bridge. We chose a cafe/snack bar for lunch bypassing the restaurants that do a brisk trade with 3-course menus of the day. After nearly three months in this lifestyle, we haven’t taken on the dinner & wine scene in the middle of the day, preferring to return to home base ( by car) for this. The waitress had excellent English and when we ordered the quiche to share she advised that it was not home-made, recommending the bruschetta (for two): we selected the cheese and chorizo option. When it arrived it was huge, and about 80% garlic. This was, however, a single serve!

Spotty rain turned into showers as we drove away, becoming heavy enough to have a brief pull-over to wait it out. D stopped the car for T to take a photo of the boom gates he said were the border: actually, they were only a railway crossing!There are no marked borders.

Rain continued on and off…D took to the screen and T picked up needle and thread.

Dinner is a spicy soup using leftover chicken, red curry paste, veggies ( including Joan’s technique of breaking potato chunks).