Postcard from the Costa Brava - Postmarked 08 October 2019

Consider this: you are outside and it is completely silent, no wind not even a breeze. Unearthly sensation. Silence.
The sun is just now rising at the horizon far away to the east. When you look down, you get an eerie feeling in the pit of your stomach... because you are 3,000 feet above the ground, nothing below but space, you are floating freely in a basket suspended below a massive hot air balloon!

The feeling is magical, as you and the balloon are indeed floating horizontally about 20 km/hr, exactly at the speed of the wind. Thus the air is perfectly still inside the basket as you drift along within the current of wind.
If you think that this feeling is no different from staring out of an airplane window midflight, think again. Firstly, you are outside -- there is no window! And, you can very distinctly see all the details below: the trees that make up the forest, the streets, houses and people that comprise the towns, the farms, the cows and even the chickens. You can even hear the cows mooing, the roosters cock-a-doodling, and especially the dogs barking. It seems the dogs get spooked by us above and respond as all mutts do.
As exciting as the flight is, it pales in comparison with landing this huge contraption! First a large field or meadow must be identified ahead amongst the forests and farms, altitude lost just so, structures, power and telephone lines avoided at all costs, and finally plenty of margin for error as the actual point of impact can only be estimated. And... surprise... the basket will bounce, become airborne again and bounce again a few metres downwind. Depending on the pilot's skills, there may be two or three bounces before we stay put. Once the immense balloon is deflated and rolled up, out comes the obligatory bottle of champagne, glasses are filled, clinked together and then quickly emptied!

The network of hiking trails in this part of Spain is impressive. The trails are poorly marked, unfortunately typical almost everywhere round the world, however intersecting trails here are well identified with signposts giving the distances in each direction to the next towns, as well as the "names" of all the trails. What has impressed me is that there are so many trails criss-crossing Spain -- some of them are hundreds of kilometers long -- that these identifying signposts are very helpful. The Grande Route, or GR trails cross all of Europe and most are thousands of kilometers long. We drove up to a tiny town in the Spanish Pyrenees, Queralbs, which was literally the end of the road. Then took a cog railway 6 km uphill to, of all things, a ski resort. Naturally, there was no one skiing yet, but still there were people about everywhere to enjoy the views, mountain air, and excitement of being at the end of the line. We started on a hike uphill into the Nuria Valley, a spectacular range of Pyrenees' foothills, with enough criss-crossing trails that we could adjust our course to allow for more or less time available. Missing the last train downhill would have necessitated an additional 8 km of trekking back down. Still being a little jet-lagged, we elected to avoid the extra stroll.

A cog railway is one whereby a column of teeth is bolted into the ground midway between the two steel rails for the entire length of the track. An electric motor (or likely two) turns a gear under the car which exactly matches the stationary teeth. And so the railway cars climb up or down the steep mountain. There is no chance of slippage as when steel wheels are pulling the cars on steel rails. As I mentioned, the hiking here is magnificent. Being above the tree line, the entire hike affords incredible views of the mountains, varying with each twist and turn in the contours of our path. With the additional chance arrival of fog here and there, now and then, our views often arrived at random intervals, revealing awesome sights to the faraway peaks. Hiking uphill in nature has been proven to be beneficial to both our mental and physical health, but I can now add one additional collateral advantage: it cuts a couple of days off of jet lag recovery!

The raison d'être of my adventure is about to start: seven days and 500 km of cycling starting from the idyllic French port village of Banyuls-sur-Mer, then south across the border and along the Spanish Costa Brava, ultimately to Barcelona. In summertime, thousands of tourists flock to Banyuls-sur-Mer to spend a week or two. Aside from its beautiful Mediterranean beach, the many local wineries and the charming outdoor seaside restaurants, the town is the starting point of the trans-Pyrenees Grande Route, the GR10, which ends at the Atlantic Ocean, 875 km to the west. It boasts 48,000 m of elevation gain over its route! As probably half of those brave GR10 backpackers start at the other end, we can see small, sometimes confused groups of tired, dusty, but excited hikers arriving in Banyuls-sur-Mer at the very end of their month-long hiking quest! Alas, our stay here is but for 24 hours as we collect our bicycles and start out in the morning. The first two days witness us traversing the Pyrenees, too (but from north to south) with lots of long steady and tiring uphill cycling, always followed by exhilarating stretches downhill at speeds that even the cars cannot match, thanks to the many tight curves that favour us cyclists. The photo opportunities are unique and numerous so we stop often to capture the sea views framed by the craggy shorelines, the waves smashing against the rocks below and in the distance. Often a spray of sunlight pierces the clouds like the spokes on our bicycles, radiating down to Earth, as our first day of riding is thankfully not blue sky. I say this because all the following days of riding and beyond greet us with exceptional500cloudless days and a broiling hot sun, thoroughly baking us below. Applying sunscreen twice a day turns out to be insufficient as my arms and legs evidently require even more protection from the strong Catalunyan sun!

I have written you previously about the sheer pleasure and joy of leaving one seaside village in the morning on a bicycle, riding into the mountains passing through random picturesque towns, stopping in one of them for a tasty lunch outdoors, then continuing on back to the coast, again cycling through one amazing port village to another similar village before ultimately, 80 km later, arriving at our destination. I would be ecstatic to spend a few days visiting any one of these villages, it is almost sad to say hello and goodbye so quickly as we cycle on. At home, an 80 km ride takes between three and four hours, including the odd stop for a snack. Over here, the same distance invariably includes so many photo stops plus the deserved lunch that even as we depart at 9:30am each morning, we usually arrive at the day's destination only after 4pm.

Still, plenty of daylight left to head to the beach for a refreshing swim in the cool salty waters and a stroll through the Old Town before returning to our hotel to prepare for the evening's tour of castles, stores and restaurants. When we say Old Town at home, we think of buildings and streets dating back a couple of hundred years. In Catalunya, or anywhere in Europe, the Old Town's stores, apartments and churches date back 500 years and more. The streets are narrow, winding, often made of stone. I find every one of them, mesmerizing in its unique charm. I suppose if ever I move to Europe, I will choose to live in the Old Town neighbourhood of whatever city attracts me.

I am presently finalizing this postcard to you from my comfortable living room back home and am already longing for my next adventure overseas!

Postcard from Lyon - postmarked 13 March 2019

I last wrote you from Lyon over a decade ago. France's second largest city -- some say its third largest -- hasn't changed much in 200 years let alone during the last decade. I remember then recounting to you about this amazing experience I had. With the tap of an icon on his phone, my French friend, Christophe, liberated two public bicycles from their stands, and he treated me to a two-hour bicycle tour of his town. I remember writing how I must inform Montreal's mayor about this bicycle sharing concept. True to Canadian form, the city invested, created and mismanaged Bixi until it went bankrupt. But Lyon is not resting on its laurels. Once again I am charmed by the latest: there are little electric scooters left about everywhere. I really do mean everywhere. On every block, in every park, at random places there is a scooter perched on its teeny kickstand. Anybody with the app simply scans the QR code affixed to its handlebar, steps on the tiny platform, accelerator on the left handle and brake on the right, and scoots away, always standing while riding. They are such popular means of transportation that you can see somebody scootering this way and that every minute or two, anywhere you may be, day and night. Some of the more brave, or more stupid, not sure which, can be seen weaving around in traffic at 30+ km/hr sans helmet, rather than sticking to the bike lanes and the usual cycling speeds.


In spite of the charm that this city offers, there is one aspect of this year's version of Lyon that I find troubling. I have never had to breathe in so much side smoke as here. It seems that every second Lyonais is a smoker. A chain smoker, likely. As France has finally caught up with the rest of the world and banned smoking in restaurants and cafés, smokers here have to double down on their addiction by puffing away on every city street and sidewalk. In other words, I am nearly always downwind of somebody's cigarette smoke. By design, I normally refrain from reporting on negative experiences however I believe I am marked now, and cannot shake this trauma from my thoughts. I am racking my brain for a solution which I would gladly pitch to the local authorities.

Thinking back to a time in my early 20's when I first visited France, I note another big change in French culture. Back then, most everybody bought a fresh baguette at the bakery, tasty cheese at the fromagerie, meat at the boucherie, and voilà lunch was ready to be eaten during a break from work. These days, the average Lyonais will stop instead at a local café, eat a ready-made sandwich, have a coffee and cigarette, while seated outside regardless of the weather. Twice the price and half as healthy since the sandwiches are mostly bread and mayonnaise. I know this firsthand as I had to eat one to learn about their popularity. It seems to me that the culture here is in decline. Healthy food appears to be out of financial reach of the average French citizen. Unless they make wine cheaper than water, as the Russians have engineered with vodka pricing, I understand why the population continues protesting in Lyon, Paris and elsewhere every Saturday -- you can Google gilets jaunes for the latest news. When the day comes that a single banana costs 60 cents at home, too, we may yet see Canadians marching in the streets demanding affordable groceries.

Every place you visit invariably has its pros and cons. One lovely aspect of Lyon is its nightlife. Sprinkled around town are concentrations of clubs, lounges and bars. The weather in March is already warm so many of the revelers are seated or standing outside in front, the easier to smoke for sure. Vieux Lyon is one of my favourite areas. I am the first to admit that, like Old Montreal, it is somewhat touristy, although less so at night. Unlike Old Montreal, however, Vieux Lyon is very old. The streets are uneven, narrow, nowhere even close to being parallel or perpendicular, laid down as cobblestone. The buildings are 300, 400 years old, two or three stories high, mostly. What I find appealing is that the shops, bars, etc., are inside these antique structures. Normally, there are multiple rooms, connected at odd junctures, ancient brick walls, thick wooden beams holding up the low ceilings. Depending on the decor, it all comes together as being one establishment. Easy-going the Lyonais are, no bartender or shopkeeper is rushing you to buy something. It's rather a pleasure just to breathe it all in, relax, and enjoy the evening over strong European beer or a renowned French wine.

Here's to us all sitting back to relax sometimes, no matter where in the world we may be.

Barry from Lyon