Sarah's travels: Nackered! 3 re-charge weekends

Taking a quiet moment in the heat!

We've been in Perarrua now for about 7 weeks. It's been a busy time, during which a couple of quiet weekends have been called for. I'm not sure it'll catch on, but once the work is done my motto has generally been "when the going gets tough, check into a hotel in the next town".

So far I've ventured out of the Perarrua metropolis for three weekends - two with Nick, and one by myself in preparation for the village fiesta (pics to come!). So, I thought I'd share some pictures of where we/I went, as there are only so many photos of our village/river that are post-worthy...

Fiesta preparation weekend: Graus

Plaza Mayor, Graus

Graus is the 'big town' 9km from Perarrua. It has one street of shops, and a beautiful painted plaza to sit in the arcade out of the sun and sip iced coffee. The Palace del Obispo was my chosen retreat - a beautifully renovated old house belonging once some old-timer bishop. (The concierge attempted to explain the history to me, which culminated in graphic gestures relaying the terror and violence of the Spanish inquisition... awkward.)

For two blissful days, the air-conditioned oasis was almost entirely mine, and included a library stocked unexpectedly with art-history books, featuring high-quality colour plates including artists from the renaissance through to modern Spanish painters. Needless to say, I didn't veture out much - books, air con, three big peaches and a block of chocolate proved excellent rations for the retreat.

Reading room stacked with books and featuring a fabulous view of the monastery

I did venture out for a drink and some dinner, and was so pleased to find a Belgian double-malt beer on offer that I had two, which in 37C promptly put me on my backside. On the way home I enjoyed a merry walk through the picturesque hillside monastery - in the 8pm twilight (potentially enhanced by the double-malt), it was really something special, and the arcade was pure Fra Angelico's Annunciation.

Monastery, Graus

I did manage to miss the sign showing the opening hours, and was momentarily considering a daring descent from the arcade down a cliff-face when I was rescued by the ancient caretaker with a large golden key to the wrought-iron gate that had me imprisoned. Feeling very charming damsel-in-distress I tried to express my gratitude in my bad/drunken Spanish - poor guy.

The next day, Nick picked me up at 12 - Spanish check-out times being very civilised - and we returned to the village and the heat for the Fiesta de Perarrua.

Alpine retreat: Hospital de Benasque

Our original departure date from Perarrua was 13 August. However a quick look at Jochum and Judith's busy booking schedule after that date saw us all agree it would be best if we stayed on 'till the 27th-ish, with a couple of opportunities for us to take a little 'adventure break' on the few days when guest numbers were lower.

Our first of these little breaks we spent in the Spanish Pyrenees, in a hotel at the foot of a national park. The hotel is on the site of an old hospital, which treated people from the mountain villages as well as traders who used the nearby pass through the Pyrenees to transport goods by mule between Spain and France. Today the site is a popular apres-ski venue, and in summer it is also popular with hikers.

Hotel Hospital de Benasque

On our first evening, we joined the Nordic-ski-pole-toting nongs and strolled into the hills, spotting young deer, marmots and a plethora of exotic wildflowers along the way. The evening treated us to a wild thunderstorm with lightening and heavy rain, which made for beautiful waterfalls the next day.

Tiny orchids along the path

Nick used the weekend to hike up a waterfall to the border with France, while I read Spanish Vogue and sampled the coffee at the hotel's cafe - great success all 'round. On our second and final night we enjoyed a wonderful dinner at the hotel restaurant which culminated in a dessert of pears simmered in local white wine, with cinnamon - amaze.

We returned to Perarrua refreshed to face the next influx of Dutch and Belgian families.

Getting our city fix: Barcelona

Courtyard off La Rambla - the umbrellas are guys selling antiques/bric-a-brac and weirdly a huge number of stamps...

Barcelona. Not one to over-use the latest in social media punctuation, but - Barcelona. Was. Amazing.

Potentially because we hadn't been to a city/restaurant/shop for about 7 weeks so we were primed to appreciate, but Barcelona completely won me over. The mash-up of fabulous architecture, the fashion (mental note Spanish jewellery = best), the SHOES...

The first night Nick and I heeded the advice of the trusty Lonely Planet and headed into a neighbourhood on the border of the Gotic area, which rewarded us with hilarious vintage fashion stores, some of the best Lebanese street-food I've ever had, and a quiet, charming square in which to relax and watch the goings-on (which generally included regular sightings of fabulous guys who looked like they'd stepped straight out of a D&G photo shoot - supergay, and super chic).

Nick reading in a Barcelona square

Our continued ramblings took us through a leafy open-air cathedral courtyard with a cafe in the corner with a quiet Spanish guitar, and past a number of beautiful, inviting bars and restaurants which we wouldn't have be able to explore all of if we'd had a month!

Crowd waiting for a water-and-light show from an enormous fountain near the harbour

Our accommodation for the weekend was a modest pension a short distance from the tourist strip of La Rambla (incidentally, although people roll their eyes when you mention La Rambla, it was one of the least-aggressive, most charming 'tourist strips' I've encountered. The artists' quarter even had some pretty fantastic painters amidst the obligatory charicaturists advertising pictures of Angelina Jolie). Our host was Rosa, who we met after we'd stepped through the wrought-iron door inset into the large wooden doors to the building, and lurched up an antique art deco lift shaft.

Our room at the hostel San Remo

I love crazy floor tiles! Also, curtains in Spain = amazing quality linen, light-filtering capacity = stunning.

The rest of our weekend in Barcelona was a huge success. At breakfast on the Sunday I owned up to the fact that, even though it potentially condemned me uncultured-philistine status for all eternity, I'd rather shoe-shop than see the Sagrada Familia. (If this urge to cafe-hop rather than climb eiffel towers resonates, I thoroughly recommend this article which helped to absolve my guilt!)

I have for a long, long time harboured a fantasy to shoe-shop in Spain. Whenever I pick up an 'oh-my-god' shoe at home in NZ, nine times out of ten the underside greets me with the stamp 'made in Spain', which has conjured for me images of a place where every man, woman and child is shod in butter-soft calfskin sapatos. Turns out I wasn't far wrong - and so the Sagrada Familia will wait for another day.

Nick headed off (in search of a bakery and a rock-climbing harness, of all things) and left me to it. After seven weeks working in a bar in a small Spanish village my Spanish is progressing slowly, and so I had a wonderful afternoon chatting to the shoe-assistants of Barcelona ("this one is beautiful, but not so comfortable... how about this in another size...?") Until finally - "I want THESE!": They are bright red, suede, a complete dream to wear and like nothing I would buy at home. In summary, perfect.

Triumph! Shoes, glorious shoes

Still on my endorphin high from splashing some cash on my all-time favourite commodity, Nick and I used the rest of the weekend to kick back and enjoy the city. The fresh produce market in the centre of town is famous for very good reason, and strangely enough the pharmacies all seemed to be complete fantasties of modernismo tile work and floor-to-ceiling old-school shelving. Every little detail which could so easily be mundane seemed to have been delegated to a designer to sort out - including of all things the street-cleaners' uniforms, which looked like some kind of 1960s mint-green air steward getup.

Berries beautifully displayed at the fresh produce market

Nick outside a bakery featuring beautiful tile work and stained glass

Our weekend ended with coffee in the most fantastical, Alice-In-Wonderland inspired cafe (complete with Spanish apple cake; the recipe hunt is on...) before we boarded the bus back to our little village, completely contented with our fix of city life (and trying really hard to resist wearing my new shoes).