We made it!! The Tour de France

Morning sun in the French Pyrenees

Within 24 hours of discovering a hill stage of the Tour de France schedules across the border from our village in Spain, we stood on a misty hillside with fellow enthusiasts, scouting for the best vantage point and awaiting the first signs of the Tour caravan.

Coming into France through the Bielsa Tunnel, the temperature instantly dropped - 25C on the Spanish side, 13 on the French.  We drove through fog and the sound of cow bells in the hills to a small village for coffee and  black-currant/custard flan (worth the drive already), before hiking up the valley to the course.

Hiking up to the course.  Fellow hikers carried nordic walking poles and wore the full kit.  Skirt-as-dress, red bag and sandals? Check. Don't want to look too prepared, now. 

Our view down the course

We arrived early, soaking up the atmosphere and wandering up to the finish line before settling on our spot close to the summit, with a good view down the zigs and zags of the climb.  There were plenty of others doing the same - tanned Spanish cyclists stocking up on the latest, tightest team kit, families enjoying the oompa-band, and Aussies - so many Aussies, doing their country proud by necking stubbies, peeing in public and waving flags of boxing kangaroos.

Camp Aussie

The red speedo proclaims 'City of Perth'.    All class.

Admittedly my racing days are a little distant now (ahem, 9 years...), but every year when the Tour rolls 'round the excitement of watching it with friends, remembering how we used to follow every rider and the details of the race so intensely, puts a misty look in my eye.

I can see how some might argue it isn't the ideal spectator sport (we waited 5 hours for 20 minutes of riders passing us...), but I love the story that unfolds over a race that ridiculously (almost a month) long -  and to be honest, the hilarious Euro glamour.  Open shirt with gold medallions? Check.  Impossibly white booties? Check.  More drama than an episode of Jersey Shore? Love it.

Support vehicles rolling through ahead of the riders

The organisation on-course was loose, to say the least.  It seemed that every man and his dog was having a go riding up the hill, until about 6 minutes before the riders rolled through.  With hours to spend waiting on a sideline, a certain atmosphere develops and it was a lot of fun laughing with the Spanish, Norwegian and Basque supporters near us and cheering on the brave souls giving it a go.

Lollies!

Eventually the fog burned off and the race caravan began to roll through with outrageous floats throwing out a ton of free crap (nylon frisbees, vouchers for 1% off bread, sachets of laundry liquid showered from a float complete with male go-go dancer).  It was priceless watching grown men running about, lolly-scramble style, for packets of jellybeans and novelty key rings.  I have a suspicion that guys value free stuff far beyond anything they pay for - the caravan madness certainly did nothing to dispel this theory.

Random bakery-on-wheels in the caravan

Nick's dragon-hoard of free crap

After the thrill of free plastic crap and male go-go dancers advertising laundry liquid, the helicopters descended upon the hillside and the riders rounded the corner.

Helicopters descending on the action

Bradley Wiggins casually caning it up the hill

The main peloton

After about a decade of thinking 'it would be so great to go to the Tour one day', it felt surreal to suddenly find myself casually on the sideline as a yellow jersey passed us, then a green, the peloton only just preceded by a grumpy looking polka-dot jersey... to see the action as team riders helped one another up the hill/through the bunch, was such a thrill.  

And then, after the hours of waiting, the riders had passed - the last few straining up followed by tail-end motorbikes ('straining' = still going at a clip I could only dream of managing...), and folks either headed to the bars or packed up their flags and started down the hill.

We did the latter, to our little French village, hot pizza and a long drive back over the mountains.  A full-on day to ready us for the following week of hectic preparations for/participation in the village fiesta - more on that soon.  For now: one happy camper.

Lots of love,


Sarah

Hard at work in the Spanish sun

Hello from the sunny Spanish pyrenees.  Since I last wrote, Nick and I have left London and now find ourselves in the Northern-Spanish village of Perarrua, where we are working for Nick's cousin Jochum in his holiday business, Chill Outdoor.

Leaving London

Our last days in London were full of hectically tying up loose ends (damn you Barclays Bank, sending everything three times in super-secret code in the actual mail...) and dashing to H&M for clothing appropriate for our distant memories of summer.  Amidst the preparations, I did manage to squeeze in a few final 'farewell London' treats:

Henry V at the Globe was completely spectacular, actual tears of excitement...  

Thought it a waste not to go to the Royal Albert Hall as it's next to work! Verdi's Requiem was a good choice.

Take-away dins from Ottolenghi in South Kensington - I have both cookbooks and wanted to check out the real deal, totes looked like a crazy fan-girl with my camera out all over the show...

Nick guarding the afghans at our morning kiwi coffee spot in Putney

My final afternoon in London was spent in what had become a place of refuge and a solid friend - the Victoria and Albert Museum.  The V&A was my lunchtime 'lucky 8 ball' - with my sense of direction, I never managed to take the same route twice - which meant I saw something new and marvellous every time.  On my last day of work I took a stroll and was entranced by children's fashion from the regency period, an entire baroque bedroom complete with chinoiserie accessories, and a 100% accurate reproduction of Kylie Minogue's touring dressing room - featuring toy kangaroos pronouncing 'you're a knockout!'.  Thank you, V&A.  And farewell, London!

South Bank looking cross-Thames to St Paul's, post-Henry V

Spanse Pyreneeen

Since arriving here in Perrarua - a tiny village in the Spanish Pyrenees with about 50 houses and no shop, we have been hard at work learning how the place runs and how we can best help Jochum and Judith at the busiest point of their season.  Last night Nick and I cooked dinner for 29 hungry dutchfolk - no mean feat!  Thank you, Jamie Oliver ("traditional Spanish recipe"...)

The old school - now rented from the council as the kitchen/bar/HQ of Chill Outdoor

Jochum and his partner Judith organise holidays for Dutch families visiting the little village of Perarrua, in the Spanish pyrenees - hooking them up with a room at a pension in the village, organising canyoning/rafting etc, and feeding them every day.  

Nick and I are here for six weeks, and are helping each day with breakfast and dinner preparations/running the bar, in return for a bunk and some seriously good kai.  We're mostly making Spanish-syle dinners (paella, chickpeas and chorizo, tapas, regional specialty Longaniza sausage...), although I've also busted out a couple of kiwi classics with great success - NZ women's weekly brownie and an Alexa Johnson sponge pudding from the ODT both went down well, which stirred some strange baking-related patriotic sentiment as I ranted to Dutch families about the merits of NZ tucker.

One of the village pensions, where J&J's guests can take a room

Amidst the hubbub of visiting Dutch families and Spanish visitors/old dudes from up the road I'm learning a tiny, tiny amount of Spanish and a little Dutch, which is at times fun and at times highly embarrassing!!  My vocabulary consists mostly of the names of kitchen ingredients, the language of ordering food, and the names of the prize vegetables which the village old-timers present for admiration on their way back from their vegetable gardens most days.

Jochum, Lotte and Nick behind the bar

The village ladies playing cards over tapas and coffee at our cafe

In between shifts we've managed to get out and explore some of the local area.  The hills behind the village are topped by an old castle and an abandoned church - complete with bell tower and frescos of the bleeding heart.  There are also a few abandoned villages in the hills, surrounded by olive trees and old stone walls - insanely picturesque.

Heading into the hills in the crazy heat

View of the valley from the castle above the village

We set out for a bike ride to a Buddhist monastery nearby.  A wrong turn took us instead to this charming way-side chapel (up a not-so-charming vertical dirt track...)

Swimming has also become a bit of a fave, as temperatures are often  mid-30s in the shade... crazy hot. Luckily the local river has some pretty good spots -  the first shot in this post being one of them.  Nick has also been tagging along with the guest families on their canyoning and hiking expeditions.  I'm pretty keen to go on the next hiking adventure, after Nick brought back this shot:

Hiking in Aragon, Spanish Pyrenees - near the French border.  I can basically hear the cow bells.

Tomorrow though is our first whole day off from the business of helping out 'round Chill Outdoor.  A friend asked whether we've seen any of le Tour - a quick search shows that co-incidentally, there is an alpine stage a couple of hours drive from us TOMORROW - so, we're going brave two language barriers, a diesel-powered Saab and complicated Spanish/French alpine roads to try and make it - wish us luck!

Lots and lots of love,

Sarah