Eyes on the Pyrenees: Great elevations and high expectations

This month we satisfied our wildest fantasies about life on the organic farm. Our crunchy whole food idealism was realized as we herded free-range cattle, gathered apples, harvested hemp, sunflowers and chili peppers, peeled garlic, processed pesto, canned jellies, pickled carrots, and enjoyed bottle after bottle of salubrious red wine. But finally, like all good things, our month on the Good Valley Farm came to an end.

On Thursday morning we bid one final farewell to the cows, and packed our mighty Volkswagon with the entirety of our earthly possessions. We performed some of our hardest work and labored some of our longest hours here, but left with nothing but positive memories. Memories and a van full of fresh pesto, fresh-squeezed apple juice, and an assortment of other superior produce. That and the rich taste of garlic and goat cheese that still lingered on my lips.

From out of the fertile farmland we ventured south for a quick stop in Albi, where we basked in the grandeur of the largest brick cathedral in the world. The quantity of bricks in this ancient church is surpassed only by the quality of murals and decorations found within. As is often the case, the beauty of the southern, Catholic cathedral is most impressive on the inside, while the Protestant churches of the north show their greatest glory on the outside.

Perhaps there’s a message or a metaphor here about Christian denominations and their expressions of piety. But we had no time to contemplate these profound matters, as we had to answer to a higher calling, coming from the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees. And so we went, out of the valleys, up the mountain and into the clouds.

As the sun went down and the sky grew dark, the rain grew heavier and heavier, the road ziggier and zaggier. Yet it seemed as if we were the only car on the road that saw any need to proceed with unhurried caution. So I did my best to maintain a reasonable driving speed without sending my family into a hydroplane and over the edge of mountain cliff, while mustering all my nearsighted night vision to read the French signs and make split second decisions between highways heading toward Andorra and tunnels aiming toward Barcelona.

Finally we reached the quiet hamlet of Osseja on the high plateau of la Cerdanya, amidst the ample Pyrenees, straddling the  French-Spanish border. The smart phone led us into the heart of the village and up a winding cobblestone road that grew narrower and narrower until we could go no further in our VW camper. And then one last series of u-turns led us out of the center and upwards into the outskirts where, somewhat weary and slightly soggy, we arrived at our destination.

In the morning the sun rose and the rain had mostly passed, revealing an epic view of a high valley in the Pyrenees, surrounded by jagged peaks capped with fresh powder. Across the valley, a mile or so to the west, we can see the Spanish frontier. Further west, in the higher mountain range, lies the independent and oft-forgotten nation of Andorra. Like many of our previous settings, we are once again situated just minutes from an international boundary.

In every other respect, however, this host is quite different from any place we’ve stayed before. Though hardly metropolitan, we now find ourselves in a residential district, with panoramic views that include not just stunning nature, but also many rooftops and city lights. We are sitting not on tremendous acreage with fields, barns and stables, but in a modest-sized home with a patch of lawn and a raised veggie bed.

As much fun as we had on the last farm, we have been especially pleased to find that the expected work-load here is a mere fraction of what we’ve become accustomed to elsewhere. Rather than diving into the tool shed and jumping feet first into the tractor trailer, we spent our first two days marveling over the mountainous landscape and watching the clouds and hot air balloons drift across the expansive valley. It seems we’ve accrued some pretty positive work-away karma.

We are also quite pleased to have found a home with a seven-year-old playmate for Millie. Watching her spend a few months trying to engage with two-year-olds was getting a little tiresome for all of us. Our new host and her son are thrilled to have us cohabiting. And Max has been blown away by the selection of legos, books and toy cars. Furthermore, as the mother of a seven-year-old, our host knows exactly how difficult it can be to maintain consistently exemplary behavior and relentlessly high spirits in the traveling youngins.

And we are all delighted to know that there is an outstanding bakery in town. As we’ve discovered, not all French bakeries are created equal. But when we find a really good one, the pastries are simply unforgettable. I am certain that this one will be seeing more of our friendly faces and hearing more our own broken French in the weeks to come, especially with all the free time we expect to have this month.

Our generous hosts will be leaving us alone to house-sit for two weeks when they go to Montreal later this month to visit dad, so we count on enjoying even more free time for eating croissants, sight-seeing and recovering our aching backs and strained tendons. Oh, and bombarding our blog readers with longwinded verbiage on an almost daily basis.

FURTHER READING: For more entertaining stories about the region, be sure to check these articles on 7 essential outings in Cerdanya, Plenty of room at the Hotel Catalunya, and Settling Down in a Spanish Village.