travel report 5 Carcassonne to Barcelona

Honestly, it was about time that I did some bitching for my last post. I have been so happy with my cruise around EU land, that it was down right un-natural. I was in a veritable wonderland filled with wine and whatnot. Cheese, provence, lavender fields, cassis, and now Carcassonne, Pyrenees, Andorra, Barcelona. It just dont end. Cousin Philipp thought that EU is amazing because there is so much nice stuff bunched together. I am just glad it was a European who told me that, not an Auslaender. I agree with him, I have somewhat of a spinning head from it. I feel like them tourists that sleep in a bus, like chickens in a box, while they are beeing carted to the next european city. 20:20 or something like that. I talk french to catalunians, spanish to french, catalan to italians, and i say s'cusi, pardon, tschuldigung, excuse me, excuse moi a lot. A very large amount! I get asked about my american accent a lot. Which only leads to more s'cusi, pardon, tschuldigung, excuse me, excuse moi on my behalf. Sometimes I wish I would talk MORE like Aahnold - operative word here being of course more. Maybe then I wouldnt have to make sure that I justify my existence. I think I need a canadian flag.

So after my lovely day driving towards the Pyrenees, via Bézier, the Canal du Midi and my favorite viaduct, I ran around this huge bastion of a burg. Without fail I arrived at the appointed time of just pre sunset. Which you must surely be able to tell from my amazing previous pictures of sunsets at prime evening camping locations. Right? If you dont believe me check this one out before I arived in Aix en Provence.

Bettah b'live me nau! Do you know how hard it was to calculate the exact moment, on the exact day that the sun would set in exactly that spot when I drove my car through this tunnel at 120 KM/hr while holding the camera out the window to take a completely random picture? Me neither, it was just luck.

Anyways, I thought we had Burgs in Austria, of good size and imposing nature. Sadly I must report that my sweet little Kreuzenstein fits into the servants toilet of this baby. However not sadly because their Burg is bigger than my Burg. Burg, Schmurg, I always say. But sadly because I do not like my education to be this chauvinistic. We all know that our respective countries transport a certain message of patriotism and why our leetle home is the bestest leetle home in the whole wide world. Mine was that we presented the world with Mozart and Sexdreams of phallic symbols. Yours might be flowers or punctuality. Or eating dogs, whatever. Leave my Burgs out of it. Just let me know that my Burgs in Austria are not the mightiest of the mightiest of bad guy vanquishers. Then I dont suffer shock and awe on sight of the real thing.

I know its from a distance, but only way it all fits in one pic. I notice I am really starting to love perspectives. Its more a rediscovery, I used to draw these geometric views of the transamerica pyramid in SF, when I was 14. I guess school was good for something.

Sinnister Zinnen Perspektiven













I told you its huge








She didnt care though






So I got outa there, too







That night I camped out high in the Pyrenees. Found myself a little nook and put my friend Wolfgang's Tent up - grazie Wolfang and Romana. Yes, it's really German name. Sigh. Fresh and crusty I drove on in the morning to get across the Pyrenees and Andorra into Spain and to Barcelona. On the road up those anthills I saw this guy standing by the side of the road. Of course, being the gentle soul that I am, I gave him a lift. He was a clown from Quebec hitch-hiking his way to Barcelona after a summer of tomfoolery in the south of France. I give you Louis-David, the cowboy:








He is not wearing his custome there. What can I say, a couple of kindred travelling souls, although I must admit his international style of travel is a little too hard core for me. Props to his endeavor though. We spent a cool day driving to Barcelona and checking it out quickly, before retiring to our on personal Penthouse high above the oceans of El Mansou. But european into the wild is not an episode I wanted to be part of. Too much of a chicken in my middle aged days.

Luckily my first couch surfing host provided me with hearth and home on the next day, and since I was a couch surfing virgin I could not be happier at the way my CS cherry was popped. He and his Girlfriend fed me the most amazing ham, served me the nicest local wines and I enjoy me a can of Catalunian beer any day of the week. I know most of you think that this is typical Peter to sleep on random couches, and you are of course right. However, and this is a huge HOWEVER. I promise you that you will never get to see a city the same way as when you couch surf.















And in case you didnt know: Parma Ham is a copy of Catalunian ham, Cheese in France is crap, French soccer is the worst, and if you got any more questions go to the Dali Museum. If too lazy this will also do:

This is Gaudi Park up on the hill. Come early, no touristas and great shadows. I finally bothered to use the Selbstausloeser. You know, the thingamajic that makes you look like a fool when you put your camera on a rickety perch, sprint into a possibly advantageous position and try to seem to be completely relaxed in the ensuing picture perfect moment.

Amazing, isnt it :D

I spare you the rest of my perspective mania.

And leave you with a nice Jack Johnson song line from What You Thought You Need:

'...And talk about the road behind How getting lost is not a waste of time'