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).

'Pudding' cafe, Barcelona

Children's corner - Pudding cafe.

Nick even made a new friend on the bus home:

Well, that's been us in between Perarrua life - three weekends away, and two village fiestas - more on that soon :)

Lots of love, 

Sarah

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

An offering wrought amidst the maelstrom of London life

With Nick At Brighton Pier

Well, Nick and I have been in London for about 2 1/2 months now - and it has flown.  We're here for just two more weeks, before the Spanish Pyrenees become our home for another 6.

What's been happening? Weekends away, catching up with old friends, a friend's wedding, numerous trips to the V&A and to Liberty's... I'll start at the beginning (and, as alway, strive to be concise!)

For our first month in London we stayed with Nick's relatives Marie and Clive at their home in Crouch End (also the 'burb of choice for food god Nigel Slater, just incidentally).  

It was lovely to be in a family home, with all the comfort and the feeling of permanence that a whanau home has - lunch boxes, coat hooks, tea pots and a linen cupboard - bliss and sophistication!  Clive and Marie are the parents of Nick's cousins Leo and Joseph, and it's been fun getting to know them better and at the same time gaining a new respect for the work of parents!

Joseph's birthday party

Reading in the Crouch End sun with family cat Stella

Joseph (front) and Leo at the zoo

Clive's family are culturally Jewish, and are part of a very liberal group of families in the neighbourhood who've banded together and hired a rabbi, to do their traditions and religion 'their way'.  For them, this means observing major holidays in a way that educates their kids about their history, whilst at the same time considering the modern, wider meaning of traditional stories and values.  It was fascinating talking to them about how they're making their inheritance work for them now.  We also went along to their pesach celebration, which was a lot of fun and involved a lot of very good food.

Work

Nick got a job pretty quickly at an engineering company in town, and I followed suit a couple of weeks later with a temp job at Imperial College London.  Apparently a pretty swank university; more importantly, Hyde Park is at the end of the road, with the V&A parked conveniently opposite my work - happy!

London life

On coming to London, Nick and I promised each other we wouldn't fall down the rabbit hole of London life - not getting out of town, spending all our fresh-minted pounds on British ales and hanging out exclusively with kiwis.  Well, we've mostly held to that.  But a word in our defence - London is crazy!!  

Soggy trip to Portobello markets 

I hadn't anticipated just how big it is - how long it takes to get from one place to another.  I'm heading to Camden market this afternoon (it's Sunday here) - and that'll be my one activity for the day.  So, I've had to acknowledge that and get very 'be here now' about how long it takes to get from A to B.  Adventures have been mostly confined to weekends, with social outings dictated by the convenience of tube stops and the level of madness on the roads.

This has had the effect of enforcing strict prioritisation of the things we do fit in - which isn't all bad; we've fitted in some pretty fun stuff:

Weekend with Rose:  Brighton, Eastbourne and the South Downs

Brighton beach

Boat sheds, Brighton

Fish & chips with mushy peas on Brighton beach

Walking with Rose in the South Downs

Nick on the cliffs of the South Downs

Tessa and Paul's wedding, Delly End - Oxfordshire

My friends Tess and Paul were married in the local green

Daily life

Bike ride just outside of London - Princes Risborough to Great Misenden (not even making these names up...)

Chelsea FC won two major European football competitions and celebrated in the common next to our house

The V&A

At Kew Gardens

Happy as can be, with old high-school friends Andy and Jess

lunchtime walks in the neighbourhood around work

lunchtime walks in the neighbourhood around work

Dunx at Zoo Lates - Ellie works at London Zoo and got us tickets to their grown-ups-only late-night festival

Zoo lates

Zoo lates

Day trip to St Albans Abbey 

The Cathedral/Abbey - longest sustained place of worship in England (3rd Century) - a fabulous mash-up of architectural styles and fascinating histories.

Painted ceiling in the Norman tower of St Albans

Altar cloth in the Lady Chapel at St Albans

What to make of London?  I think after about three months I'm just starting to get into the groove.  The key seems to be not stressing about what to see, but going with the flow and letting things unfold.  This seems obvious and it's not as if it's the first time this has occurred to me - it's just really hard in practice!!

Here you can rest assured that whatever you choose to do, it will be pretty fabulous. The Royal Albert Hall is next door to work, and I've just booked myself a ticket to The Royal Choral Society's 140th anniversary performance - Verdi's requiem - next week.  This weekend, Nick and Rose and I have 5quid standing tickets to Henry V at The Globe - you can't really argue with that!

Maybe my frustration has been that, amidst all the fabulosity and the bustle, I can't really hear myself think.  And I have been trying to use this time overseas as a kind of soul-searching/figuring-shit-out chapter.  But, for everything a season - it seems that London is a place not to be introspective and meaning-of-lifey, but to stop asking questions and just get out amongst it (I've said it before, I'm a slow learner...)

So for the rest of our time here I'm embracing this and wading into the London tide.   Starting  with Camden market.  'Till next time, 

Sarah xx