Road Trip!

We drove from Barcelona to Carcassonne via Montserrat and Girona on Friday, and Carcassonne to Nice – really, Villefranche-sur-Mer on Saturday.

The drive between Barcelona and Montserrat is “30 minutes” plus slow time zig-zagging up the last hill to the monastery. Well, it took us more like three hours. In fact, it may have been even more than that. It was awful. We had general directions from several guidebooks, but not turn-by-turn directions, and Spain is not as well-marked as France. So, we went in circles – big blipping circles. We asked for directions three – no, wait, FOUR – times: the gas station, another gas station (where when I walked in, I said (in Spanish): “I think we’re lost. We’re trying to get to Montserrat,” and the manager-type gentleman said, “no, you’re right. Go straight, then left, then right, and you’re there.” Ha. HAHAHA. A road-construction worker, almost asked one of the three road-side hookers (who qualified for social security), and a truck driver who was stuck
in a backup along side us. Not sure exactly what happened to get us there, except that I’d given up and Jonathan said, well, let’s just try this. And lo and behold. Note to future travelers: get explicit directions before taking the “short drive to Montserrat.” We did manage to make it in time for the 10-minute “mini-mass” where the boys’ choir sings. We grabbed a pretty good lunch, and headed north.

I was very interested in stopping in Girona, and we managed to have a nice, short trip. I enjoyed the Jewish Museum there very much – and hope that on our way south, or on another trip, we might be able to spend more time walking around this beautiful mountain town with incredible history.

Eventually, we were back on our way toward France – a friend had said it was just 2-3 hours from Barcelona to Carcassonne; she didn’t take the “scenic route.” Getting a sense of the quality of life in the car on Friday? Yeah, not good. We (I, okay, me, my idea) thought it would be nice to take the A-whatever part way, and then drive along what was, according to the map, pretty, almost equally fast highways that would be more scenic. Well, I don’t even know how long that took. It was awful. No, wait. The first two hours on the pretty route were great. Before the sun set, there were beautiful vistas – vineyards, crops, farms, and gorgeous mountains. But then it was narrow, windy, windy (I mean both spellings) and dark. Whimper. LONG drive. We arrived around 8:45 – putting new meaning to “we’ll keep the light on for you” – and managed to scurry up to the fortified village in time to find few if any restaurants open, or appealing. That said, just as we give up, Jonathan stops at a menu, we ask if they’ll seat us, they agree, and we’re in. And, highlight of the evening, it was the restaurant we’d planned to go to had we arrived on time… four hours earlier.

All this sets the stage for our drive to Nice. We took all the A-whatevers. I have never “pagaed” so much for tolls. I think we paid more than $30 – a lot more – but it was well worth it. In spite of occasional rain, we made great time. So much so, that we managed to arrive to the “greater Nice area” by early afternoon and made a great stop in St. Paul du Vence, which has come to be known as where Marc Chagall is buried. His grave is in a Christian cemetery – and was fairly hard to find… what caught my eye was a very simple sepulcher with scores of small stones on it. The headstone is virtually covered by a rosemary plant. St. Paul a lovely mountain town and the site of a museum called the Fondation Meaght, which houses an exceptional collection of modern art and sculpture. Having spent the entire morning in the car, the hike to the collection was nice, and walking through the very swanky art gallery-filled main-drag was a pleasant change.

From St. Paul, it was a short 20-minute drive to Nice itself, and the directions to our hotel in Villefranche-sur-Mer took us along side the swanky shores of Nice. Even in the off-season, as apparently this is, the boardwalk and street in the mid-afternoon were both packed. Our little hotel – very, very simple – is located across the street from the port of Villefranche, which has highly entertaining views of the huge cruise ships which pull into the port – not to dock, just to moor. I think that’s what I mean. The captives remain on the boat.

And look – we match. Totally unplanned.