foreign travel

Painted Portons of Barcelona, Fortifications of Carcassone, and the Pyrenees of Andorra

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On this trip, as usual, the writer in me went in search of inspiration, finding it in the painted blinds of Barcelona, in the mighty fortifications of Carcassone, and in the Pyrenees of France and Spain and Andorra. Too, I needed this trip, to decompress after finishing a 5 year software project at my company, 5 years of project management and specing and coding and testing, years that locked in and pressed on my spirit like blinds and walls and mountains. I needed to be free of all that, to ponder what I had accomplished from the outside, and consider my next steps. And yes, good sign, I wrote a short story on the return flight to Dallas called You Remind Me of My Cat – a fun tale with a twist.

Spirit running free, finally, after 5 years!
Road-tripping with a friend
Finally got that sports car
Red is hot
Hmm – work
More work!
Not quite sure about this one 😦
Good design to make up for last one
Future Robot Spaceman
BBall Hero
Our angry youth (or is that Vincent?)
Poof!
We’ll end our Barcelona street art visit with a colorful garden scene

Now on to Besalu, Spain for its bridge, then Carcassone for its walled city and castle

The graceful bridge at Besalu
The author dares to take a selfie
Big carp hanging out in the Fluvia river

Now on to Carcassone, France:

In Medieval times, Carcassone was on a strategic trade route, and served to protect against the Aragonian’s to the west. The city eventually fell to invading Muslims, then was reconquered by the French, then suffered terribly by crusaders sent by the Pope to convert or kill all the local Cathars (who were Christian but not Pope-loving Catholics). The Cathars suffered years of inquisitions, with the city inquisitor/murderer living in a nice tower in the castle, protected from being murdered himself by the mighty walls.
The main entrance
The cathedral inside the castle walls
Stained glass
Lovely blues
The mighty walls with their arrow slits and firing cutouts
My Carcassone tour guide was an animated young lady from Argentina. She deserved every bit of the 20 Euro tip I gave her. Note the lovely stained glass behind

Pushed on to the country of Andorra in my rented VW (with nice smarts like auto-lane control which should be in all vehicles!) The main draw of the country is that it sits on the top of the Pyrenees mountain range, between Spain and France, and it is tax free. They spoke mostly Spanish but all their signs were in Catalan. I found the cities boring but the mountains naturally impressive.

Magic vista from Ordeno Arcalis ski resort.
I took a gondola to the trailhead of the 3 sister lakes of Tristaina, then hiked 30 minutes on what would have been an easy hike except this is very high up, so it ended up being a good workout. I was surprised though that in some places near the top you had to crawl up on all fours
The trail starting out
Looking off to the side of the trail
Chains in some places to give you a grip
Top part of hiking trail to the lakes. Got a bit rough, and had to crawl over boulders at the top
The lakes
I liked the vegetation
The impressive window wall of my rented apartment. A creek ran alongside, gurgling the night away. The first 2 days the weather was nice, but then rain and cold descended, with the possibility of snow, so I booked an early flight home and drove out of the mountains.
The Spanish side of the Pyrenees was incredibly beautiful – unfortunately not many places to pull off to capture the beauty
Spanish town in the valley

Here is the opening from the short story I started on the flight home:

“You remind me of my cat,”  she says, leaning in with those gold-flecked hazel eyes, hypnotizing me over the rim of her glass, giving me that cute crinkle of her nose.

I wonder what she means, as I clink my glass of Portico with hers, and . . .

I am 12 years old, peddling my beat-up bike after dark along Rat creek behind the mobile home park. At the turnaround I spot a prowling black cat.

The cat’s eyes suddenly flare like lighthouse beacons, causing me to brake so hard I nearly go over my handlebars. I balance there then, on my bike, heart pounding, leaning on my left leg. The magically sighted creature holds me in place with her lit eyes, cornering me, judging me.

“Cat!” I call out, naming the nameless thing that it is here at this moment, to break its magic spell.

But she ignores me, this god of Rat creek. And disappears, as smooth as smoke, into the reeds.

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