Latour-de-Carol

Coucou (hi)!! My near two-week break in blog action has resulted in the accumulation of many photos and lots to catch you up on!

The image above was taken two weekends ago on a hike in the Pyrénées-Orientales (the mountains closer to the Mediterranean; the Pyrénées-Atlantiques are, as you can tell from the name, closer to the Atlantic). We (Bastien and I and 4 friends) spent Friday night in Latour-de-Carol, a tiny town just over the border from Spain, and set out Saturday morning to rent des raquettes (snow shoes) and des bâtons (poles):


Our hike led us up the south-facing slope of the mountains, which meant that we were bathed in sunshine but that there was no appreciable snow accumulation (see the right side of the first photo). I had come prepared for arctic climes, but the temp was about 20°C (70°F) and by half a mile in I had already shed every extra layer without stripping down to my underwear (I was tempted!). Since I didn't have a pack, my sherpa kindly carried my raquettes for me (note the rolled-up pant legs; mid-March and we could have been in shorts!):


Someone had warned of ours (bear) on the map at the trailhead, but we only came across mouflons (bighorn sheep) and isards (izards; nope not lizards...I hadn't heard of them either, but they appear to be similar to chèvres (goats) ):


and a few other unidentified animals:


Oh wait! That's me on snow shoes! After moaning and groaning about our wasted 8€ rental fee, we finally hit an elevation where snow shoes became critical. Hooray! Like walking on (frozen) water!

After a long trek, we shed our snow shoes for a picnic lunch (left to right: me, Sietske, Amélie, Jet, Sylvain):


and some sledding (Bastien):


And then headed back down the mountain, this time trekking off-trail and taking the route of the col (you can more or less see our path between the 2 mountains in the first photo).

Post-hike we drove into Saillagouse for an all-night reggae concert (picture droves of tan, stoned, dreadlocked ski bums), most of which Bastien and I heard in our semi-slumber from a tent in a field across the street. We were so pooped from our randonnée (hike) that we barely made it past midnight and, since we were "homeless" for the night, opted to set up camp and hit the hay. Despite pitching our tent in a field full of rocks opposite a rock concert, we managed to get a good night's sleep and were thrilled to be camping mid-March in the mountains.

Sunday brought more glorious weather, a brebis des montagnes (mountain sheep's cheese...yum!) from the marché (open air market) in Saillagouse, and a lazy foray (by car) into the mountains for a picnic.

After dropping Sietske off at the train station, the rest of us piled back into the car to fill up the tank in Pas de la Casa, Andorra, land of tax-free conspicuous consumption and eye-sore architecture amidst the splendor of the Pyrénées (I can't say I'd recommend a vacation there). Apparently, we were not the only ones with the bright idea of buying cheap booze, cigarettes, and gasoline in Pas de la Casa on a glorious Sunday afternoon, and our trip to Andorra to faire le plein (fill up the tank) took us about 3 hours all-told, 2 of the 3 spent in a massive bouchon (traffic jam) eating potato chips and wondering when we would ever get home. So much for Andorra...we replenished our gas tank and our bar for a pittance, but left the exotic mystique of the mountain republic far behind us in a cloud of exhaust.