I think this series of stories needs a disclaimer of sorts. Here it is: Mom and I had a plan once we left Barcelona and managed to navigate our way out of the city limits of Barcelona. Even getting the car out of the parking garage was an event. Who knew that there was a huge parking garage underneath the Plaza de Cathedral which, mind you, was right outside of the Hotel Colon where we stayed. Never knew that until the car rental representative was kind enough to park it there, conveniently, one would think. But there is the paying for the parking at the automated machine, having the correct amount of euros, and then trying to figure out which exit will point us in the right direction...oh, heck, any sign that translates to Exit will do us just fine. We will figure it out when we surface to street level which opens right into the far end of the Plaza de Cathedral with more pedestrians that I care to interact with during my first foray driving a stick-shift car in Spain. I want to shout out, "Watch out pedestrians. Driver here that is a little rusty when it comes to driving stick-shift and directionally-challenged right now. Cross in front of our car at your own risk".
Yes, we had an itinerary of places to see and things to do. We knew that Andorra (a country Mom has not visited so it would give her an opportunity to put yet another stick pin in her World Map poster of Countries-She-Has-Visited) beckoned to the North. We knew that we could explore the coastal towns of Cadeques and Figueres with its Gaudi-inspired influences. We could visit inland hill towns with their medieval ambiance such as Tarragona and Zaragona; basically any town that ended in gona. After all, have car, will travel.
How many of those planned locales did we see?
None.
Zero.
Nil.
...and yet we saw more than we planned.
"I give up. It's time to stop and ask someone for directions. We're lost", I say with a fair amount of impatience combined with exasperation in my voice as I swerve our rental car into a parking space that I know is illegal. I am frustrated at no one in particular but before we get ourselves into an accident the best thing to do is just...stop.
It is 95 degrees in the shade today on this uncharacteristically hot September day in Spain. We are in the town of Vic located about 75 miles northwest of Barcelona. This much we do know. We have no GPS. Purposely. I wouldn't exactly say we like getting lost but here's what relying on a map and a prayer gets us. We meet people. Getting to a location becomes an adventure. We also rely on instinct. Sometimes that instinct works; other times we end up on an alternate route where we can at least stop the car and see Andorra in the distance or pass through quaint hillside towns dating back to the 10th and 11th centuries such as l'Estany and St. Eulalia. Never mind the fact that neither Mom or I know how to use the GPS. We would spend more time arguing and trying to figure out how to use it, night would fall and we would end up having to sleep in our car having gone nowhere.
"Mom, you stay with the car." I tell her simultaneously hoping she does not realize I have parked us in an illegal spot. She is no dummy; she knows. She also knows we have been circling down and around the same streets for about 30 minutes so she knows I'm done. These formally medieval towns in Spain have some common characteristics. They are designed to be confusing. They were designed to keep invaders out and keep the residents safe. Fast forward to 2013? I am not an invader. I promise. But these medieval walls that still exist in these towns make it not only hard to drive into town but once inside the walls, makes it hard to find a way out. Ugh!! Double ugh!!
I start walking with the intention of finding someone whose cell phone I can use. I always offer to pay for the call. I simply want to call the parador where we are meant to be staying and get directions. This will be a little challenging because yes, I know we are in the town of Vic but I can not find any street signs to explain where in Vic we are. Oops, I forgot to mention. We had directions to get to the parador but those directions were based on us staying on the main highway. Our decision to take the more through-the-little-towns route has rendered our original directions useless.
Did I mention how hot it is?
Why is everything closed? Stores. Cafes. The streets are so empty it has that ghost town feeling. It is 1:30 in the afternoon...siesta time but usually even during the break time of 1:00p.m-4p.m. there are eateries and cafes open. But today? Nothing....and I just keep walking. I later find out that it is a regional holiday so everyone has the day off.
Finally, an open coffee shop. I tell the servers my tale of woe.
"Could I use your phone to make a call to Parador Vic?" The gentleman says yes. He also does not leave my side whilst I have the cell phone in my hand. Maybe he thinks I made this whole story up to steal his phone. But all the people in Spain throughout our trip have been so kind to us, I would prefer to think he stayed close to offer further help if need be.
He would accept no money so I thank him and with new directions in hand, I head back out into the hot, blazing sun-baked streets of Vic. "Back to the car I go...here I go," I think to myself as I realize, "Wow, I walked far". I didn't pay much attention to where I turned right and when I decided to turn left. The old-world charm of Vic suddenly feels like a rather complicated labyrinth of alleyways and narrow-cobblestoned streets.
I look up and whisper to no one in particular, "Where did I leave my Mommy?" As I turn the next corner, I see the car. I also see two police officers walking ahead of me. I rush to catch up with them.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. Could I ask you a question?" Time to clarify that all these conversations that I have mentioned have been taking place in Spanish. Yes, I speak Spanish. Castilian Spanish. The region where we are traveling? The Spanish being spoken is Catalan. Distinctly different. To me, it is unrecognizable in comparison to the version of Spanish I know. What I am very grateful for is that not only have the people of Spain been very kind and friendly to Mom and I but every person I interacted with, without exception, as soon as they realized I did not understand Catalan Spanish immediately switched to Castilian Spanish so I could understand them....including the police officers.
"Certainly. How can we help?", they ask as all three of us are walking toward the rental car.
"I would just like to make sure I have the correct directions to Parador Vic," I explain, adding that my Mom has been waiting for probably an hour in the car.
"Do you know Parador Vic", I ask them. They then speak the only English words I heard from them during our entire conversation.
"It is fantastic".
I think to myself, "Thank God. Now if we can just find it".
I make my way back into the driver's seat, introduce Mom to the police officers, make a show of fastening my seat belt (never mind the fact that I am illegally parked), lean over and tell Mom, "They know Parador Vic. They say it is fantastic". I roll down the driver's side window so the police officers can give me their directions.
"From here you go up the street, take your 1st right, then go to the traffic light then..." Did I mention - a handsome - very handsome police officer tells me all this?
Maybe my eyes started to glaze over. Maybe it was when I said to him, "I think I am about to cry. Really. I live in New York City with 8 million other people. I manage to get around just fine yet I can not manage to find my way around this small town. I know it should not be this complicated. And I feel bad that I have had my Mom waiting all this time".
The other - did I mention both police officers were handsome - officer says, "No, we can not let you cry. How about if you follow us. We will take you to the road that will lead to the parador".
That's sounds like the best idea ever. They climb onto their motorcycles. We are now being police escorted out of town.
"No one is going to believe this," Mom says. "Only you would manage to get us a police escort", she says as we both giggle because remember, we do have a rather good-looking police escort too. :) :)
One would think the story would end here. Oh no, they being municipal police officers could only ride as far as the town line. We know we are meant to follow a sign we will see that we are told will read Parador Vic. What we are not told is that the full name of the parador is Parador de Turismo de Vic-Sau. Here's the problem...for example, in NYC there is the RFK Bridge...all the road signs refer to it as the RFK Bridge but we New Yorkers? We call it the Triborough Bridge. Always have; always will. Now apply that phenomena to Parador Vic.
Please do not ask how many times we passed the sign where we were meant to turn toward the parador (8 times??!!) I knew we had gone too far when we saw a black and white town sign for La Roca de Ter. I knew we had truly gone way too far when I saw another sign for La Roca de Ter with a big red line diagonally across it which meant we were now leaving this town. Oops, we need to turn around and go back toward Vic.
We see the Parador de Turismo de Vic-Sau - 10km sign.....again .
"Mom, I am not exactly sure but I think that's OUR sign. What the hell...we've tried every other road so..." Up we drive past the hillside towns of Tavernoles and another town that starts with the letter F which we called Frijoles and a sign for Fussimanya which we called Fussy Manana or Fujiyama depending on the day.
"We have to check out these towns", Mom said. "but we have to find the parador first".
"You think this is it?", we said together as we see a large stone building surrounded by flowers, terraces sitting across from a gorgeous canyon with a beautiful body of water which we later found out was a reservoir. To me, it looked like a mini-Grand Canyon...truly.
"This better be it because this is the end of the road." I laughed.
Yes, we could have taken the more direct highway route with the instructions we were originally given. No one forced us to veer off the highway because we saw a sign indicating there was a church...up there, that way. We knew we would be going off the beaten path. We do this more often that not . It is all my Mom's fault :). Sometimes it is the road less traveled that is most rewarding. Sometimes it is the road that is traveled over and over and over again that reaps the best reward.
We check-in, get our room keys and make our way to our room...and directly to our terrace. We collapse into the chairs on the terrace. There is a collective sigh as we gaze upon our reward...a brilliant, unobstructed, gorgeous view of the mini-Grand Canyon with the sun glistening on the water.....nice.....
"How about some café lattes from room service, Mom?"
"Sounds good, kid".
"Wait I have snacks - biscotti and cookies from Montserrat", I add.
"....and I have fruit, ham, cheese and bread from Manresa", Mom says.
The treasures from our prior travels to Vic...the fruits of our labor...the spoils of our victory!!
"Oh, and we have the pastries from our favorite pastry shop too so we are good". There will be time later to drive back down into town and stock up on necessities. We will certainly know how to find town. Maybe.
But for now, in this moment, we are exactly where we are meant to be ...and we ain't moving :)
I think it was only 30 miles from Manresa, where we started this day, to Vic. It should take at the most 30-40 minutes. How long did it take us? 3 1/2 hours? Easier roads we could have traveled. We could have let technology lead the way. But then it would have been just another Monday to just another destination.
This way? Well, let me start from the beginning again....We had a plan....we always have a plan.
Yes, we had an itinerary of places to see and things to do. We knew that Andorra (a country Mom has not visited so it would give her an opportunity to put yet another stick pin in her World Map poster of Countries-She-Has-Visited) beckoned to the North. We knew that we could explore the coastal towns of Cadeques and Figueres with its Gaudi-inspired influences. We could visit inland hill towns with their medieval ambiance such as Tarragona and Zaragona; basically any town that ended in gona. After all, have car, will travel.
How many of those planned locales did we see?
None.
Zero.
Nil.
...and yet we saw more than we planned.
"I give up. It's time to stop and ask someone for directions. We're lost", I say with a fair amount of impatience combined with exasperation in my voice as I swerve our rental car into a parking space that I know is illegal. I am frustrated at no one in particular but before we get ourselves into an accident the best thing to do is just...stop.
It is 95 degrees in the shade today on this uncharacteristically hot September day in Spain. We are in the town of Vic located about 75 miles northwest of Barcelona. This much we do know. We have no GPS. Purposely. I wouldn't exactly say we like getting lost but here's what relying on a map and a prayer gets us. We meet people. Getting to a location becomes an adventure. We also rely on instinct. Sometimes that instinct works; other times we end up on an alternate route where we can at least stop the car and see Andorra in the distance or pass through quaint hillside towns dating back to the 10th and 11th centuries such as l'Estany and St. Eulalia. Never mind the fact that neither Mom or I know how to use the GPS. We would spend more time arguing and trying to figure out how to use it, night would fall and we would end up having to sleep in our car having gone nowhere.
"Mom, you stay with the car." I tell her simultaneously hoping she does not realize I have parked us in an illegal spot. She is no dummy; she knows. She also knows we have been circling down and around the same streets for about 30 minutes so she knows I'm done. These formally medieval towns in Spain have some common characteristics. They are designed to be confusing. They were designed to keep invaders out and keep the residents safe. Fast forward to 2013? I am not an invader. I promise. But these medieval walls that still exist in these towns make it not only hard to drive into town but once inside the walls, makes it hard to find a way out. Ugh!! Double ugh!!
I start walking with the intention of finding someone whose cell phone I can use. I always offer to pay for the call. I simply want to call the parador where we are meant to be staying and get directions. This will be a little challenging because yes, I know we are in the town of Vic but I can not find any street signs to explain where in Vic we are. Oops, I forgot to mention. We had directions to get to the parador but those directions were based on us staying on the main highway. Our decision to take the more through-the-little-towns route has rendered our original directions useless.
Did I mention how hot it is?
Why is everything closed? Stores. Cafes. The streets are so empty it has that ghost town feeling. It is 1:30 in the afternoon...siesta time but usually even during the break time of 1:00p.m-4p.m. there are eateries and cafes open. But today? Nothing....and I just keep walking. I later find out that it is a regional holiday so everyone has the day off.
Finally, an open coffee shop. I tell the servers my tale of woe.
"Could I use your phone to make a call to Parador Vic?" The gentleman says yes. He also does not leave my side whilst I have the cell phone in my hand. Maybe he thinks I made this whole story up to steal his phone. But all the people in Spain throughout our trip have been so kind to us, I would prefer to think he stayed close to offer further help if need be.
He would accept no money so I thank him and with new directions in hand, I head back out into the hot, blazing sun-baked streets of Vic. "Back to the car I go...here I go," I think to myself as I realize, "Wow, I walked far". I didn't pay much attention to where I turned right and when I decided to turn left. The old-world charm of Vic suddenly feels like a rather complicated labyrinth of alleyways and narrow-cobblestoned streets.
I look up and whisper to no one in particular, "Where did I leave my Mommy?" As I turn the next corner, I see the car. I also see two police officers walking ahead of me. I rush to catch up with them.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. Could I ask you a question?" Time to clarify that all these conversations that I have mentioned have been taking place in Spanish. Yes, I speak Spanish. Castilian Spanish. The region where we are traveling? The Spanish being spoken is Catalan. Distinctly different. To me, it is unrecognizable in comparison to the version of Spanish I know. What I am very grateful for is that not only have the people of Spain been very kind and friendly to Mom and I but every person I interacted with, without exception, as soon as they realized I did not understand Catalan Spanish immediately switched to Castilian Spanish so I could understand them....including the police officers.
"Certainly. How can we help?", they ask as all three of us are walking toward the rental car.
"I would just like to make sure I have the correct directions to Parador Vic," I explain, adding that my Mom has been waiting for probably an hour in the car.
"Do you know Parador Vic", I ask them. They then speak the only English words I heard from them during our entire conversation.
"It is fantastic".
I think to myself, "Thank God. Now if we can just find it".
I make my way back into the driver's seat, introduce Mom to the police officers, make a show of fastening my seat belt (never mind the fact that I am illegally parked), lean over and tell Mom, "They know Parador Vic. They say it is fantastic". I roll down the driver's side window so the police officers can give me their directions.
"From here you go up the street, take your 1st right, then go to the traffic light then..." Did I mention - a handsome - very handsome police officer tells me all this?
Maybe my eyes started to glaze over. Maybe it was when I said to him, "I think I am about to cry. Really. I live in New York City with 8 million other people. I manage to get around just fine yet I can not manage to find my way around this small town. I know it should not be this complicated. And I feel bad that I have had my Mom waiting all this time".
The other - did I mention both police officers were handsome - officer says, "No, we can not let you cry. How about if you follow us. We will take you to the road that will lead to the parador".
That's sounds like the best idea ever. They climb onto their motorcycles. We are now being police escorted out of town.
"No one is going to believe this," Mom says. "Only you would manage to get us a police escort", she says as we both giggle because remember, we do have a rather good-looking police escort too. :) :)
One would think the story would end here. Oh no, they being municipal police officers could only ride as far as the town line. We know we are meant to follow a sign we will see that we are told will read Parador Vic. What we are not told is that the full name of the parador is Parador de Turismo de Vic-Sau. Here's the problem...for example, in NYC there is the RFK Bridge...all the road signs refer to it as the RFK Bridge but we New Yorkers? We call it the Triborough Bridge. Always have; always will. Now apply that phenomena to Parador Vic.
Please do not ask how many times we passed the sign where we were meant to turn toward the parador (8 times??!!) I knew we had gone too far when we saw a black and white town sign for La Roca de Ter. I knew we had truly gone way too far when I saw another sign for La Roca de Ter with a big red line diagonally across it which meant we were now leaving this town. Oops, we need to turn around and go back toward Vic.
We see the Parador de Turismo de Vic-Sau - 10km sign.....again .
"Mom, I am not exactly sure but I think that's OUR sign. What the hell...we've tried every other road so..." Up we drive past the hillside towns of Tavernoles and another town that starts with the letter F which we called Frijoles and a sign for Fussimanya which we called Fussy Manana or Fujiyama depending on the day.
"We have to check out these towns", Mom said. "but we have to find the parador first".
"You think this is it?", we said together as we see a large stone building surrounded by flowers, terraces sitting across from a gorgeous canyon with a beautiful body of water which we later found out was a reservoir. To me, it looked like a mini-Grand Canyon...truly.
"This better be it because this is the end of the road." I laughed.
Yes, we could have taken the more direct highway route with the instructions we were originally given. No one forced us to veer off the highway because we saw a sign indicating there was a church...up there, that way. We knew we would be going off the beaten path. We do this more often that not . It is all my Mom's fault :). Sometimes it is the road less traveled that is most rewarding. Sometimes it is the road that is traveled over and over and over again that reaps the best reward.
We check-in, get our room keys and make our way to our room...and directly to our terrace. We collapse into the chairs on the terrace. There is a collective sigh as we gaze upon our reward...a brilliant, unobstructed, gorgeous view of the mini-Grand Canyon with the sun glistening on the water.....nice.....
"How about some café lattes from room service, Mom?"
"Sounds good, kid".
"Wait I have snacks - biscotti and cookies from Montserrat", I add.
"....and I have fruit, ham, cheese and bread from Manresa", Mom says.
The treasures from our prior travels to Vic...the fruits of our labor...the spoils of our victory!!
"Oh, and we have the pastries from our favorite pastry shop too so we are good". There will be time later to drive back down into town and stock up on necessities. We will certainly know how to find town. Maybe.
But for now, in this moment, we are exactly where we are meant to be ...and we ain't moving :)
I think it was only 30 miles from Manresa, where we started this day, to Vic. It should take at the most 30-40 minutes. How long did it take us? 3 1/2 hours? Easier roads we could have traveled. We could have let technology lead the way. But then it would have been just another Monday to just another destination.
This way? Well, let me start from the beginning again....We had a plan....we always have a plan.
Great story, I could picture the whole thing! Part knowing you two, and part the excellent prose.
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