Pyrenees and Palm Trees

Without a doubt, the best part of quitting my awful job in London in June and coming to live in the middle of no-where as a freelance-anythinger, apart from living with my fella, are the holidays. August for me has been, well, August...if I can use the noun as an adjective.

I have had lots of heart stopping 'what am I doing here?!' moments, as I watch rejection letters from potential jobs drop into my letterbox, but to compensate, I have holiday'ed like I'll never holiday again. Afterall, as I keep telling myself- I am my own boss and if I feel like a few days abroad, they are mine to take. So it is that I have just returned from a fantastic week in the Pyrenees following three days in the highlands. (And these holidays follow the most amazing ten days sailing with six other girls and one lucky boy from Corsica to Elba and back, mainly in force 8 gales. Not for the fainthearted, but good training as I'm sure you'll agree for my expedition).

I was slightly justifying going away this time on the basis that I needed some 'high altitude training' for this blasted half marathon in October. So when Hugo and I were invited out, it was with bags stuffed with technical running and climbing gear that we boarded our charming RyanAir flight to Perpignan a week ago. The house was 4.5km up a rather steep hill in the Domaines D’Alberes hills, and so our pre-breakfast routine consisted of getting a lift down with the croissant–buyer to the bottom and then running back up. It was horrible. And sweaty. And needless to say, the high altitude training didn't last long.

A distraction plan was in order, and so when the peak of the majestic Mt Canegu (3000m ish) was pointed out to us, I agreed it simply had to be climbed. Canegu is adored by the Catalans (Catelonians?) and is dotted with high altitude monasteries (and presumably, high altitude monks) who greet weary travellers year round. Sadly, these brave plans were scuppered by bad weather. The fog and mist rolled in with gusto from Spain and Canegu disappeared from sight. Slightly gutted (but more relieved if I'm honest), we abandoned these plans and set off armed with an electronic compass and ordinance survey map to climb a smaller hill (1250m) closer to home. I wasn’t expecting it to be easy, given we were walking through thick fog in thick forest filled with the haunting sound of hunting dogs looking for wild boar (it was a wednesday - hunting day for the frenchies). But how I’m going to lead expeditions in Costa Rica when we managed to get quite lost in France, is beyond me. The path was there one minute, gone the next. Once or twice we’d meet people on their way down (which was discouraging in itself) who would appear out of the gloom and who would shake their heads in worried concern when we asked between puffs how far it was to the top. Once there (Pik Nilous) (sp?) daylight lasted less than ten minutes. And then the fog and mist rolled in again and we were all alone, breathing in the dense cloud in hungry breaths. 8 hours after we set off, we limped back through the gates of the villa to everyone else drinking G&Ts and looking at us as if we were mad. I would agree with them; it was exhausting.

The weather continued to close in, so we gave up Canegu for good and the following day we bombed down to Barcelona. Whilst exploring the hills around the city, we discovered Montserrat. I am amazed I had never heard of Monserrat before - it is incredible! Made from the sea bed between Majorca and Alicante (apparently, although how the Mediterranean sea bed moved to north of Barcelona and then flipped itself upright is beyond me). It is a wierd geographic anomaly stretching high into the sky amidst lower more normal looking hills. After a dramatic cable car up the sheer cliffs, we found ourselves in the very old Monastery listening to eight year old choristers singing Ave Maria in perfect pitch. During this long performance, Hugo was busy reading the map and managed to find the longest walk for us to do. Although only 7.5km, and fairly flat to begin with, once at the very very top the clouds turned grey and the sky looked heavy and we both ‘uh ooohd’. Once again we found ourselves on top of a huge mountain, hail screaming down and thunder starting to crack around us. (I'm becoming a bit of a fatalist as a result of these wild storms following us around Europe). Within minutes, we were soaked to the skin, and the path we were on had become a river, water gushing down the mountainside faster and faster. It took us about an hour to run/scramble back down to the monastery – by which time, the rains had slowed and we emerged from the tree line looking like mountain ghouls, hair scraped back and mud splattered up to our thighs.

After Monserrat, we drove back up through some stunning stormy scenery to the French boarder. Not normally renowned for their great vibe, we were surprised to find that this boarder town (Puigcerda) not only hosted some of the best value pizzerias in Spain, but also is home to Residence St Marc – a 150 acre stud farm owned by some lovely Bolivians. Arriving there in the evening was practically like being in South America. (I think, I’ve never been…). High up on a plateaux, surrounded by blue misty hills, the Residence itself is a gorgeous stone building filled with antique furniture and long windy staircases. The people who ran the place were so charming, and didn't mind at all listening to my attempts to speak Spanish.

"Hablas Ingles?" I asked (not even sure if that means 'speak english' or 'are you english?', either way, it's clear enough that I don't speak spanish)
"No, solo Catalan"
"Ah. Riiiiight. Hangon..."

So, I'm back in Scotland now and am staying here until my departure for Costa Rica which is in less than four months time. I have started working for my friend here which is going well - and the London freelancing has picked up again after the august sloop which means it's time now to knuckle down and earn some money. I've still got quite a bit to fundraise and only 3 months to do it in so my passport has been packed away with some dog eared euros and I'm going to concentrate now on making my skeletal bank balance look a little healthier.