Play it Again, Sam: Overnight Trip to Roses, Spain
Spain is only a little over an hour by car from the Haute Valley. The first half hour of the drive is spent negotiating twisting D117 through magnificent gorges along the Aude. It’s stunning scenery if you are riding, but driving requires “every man on deck” mentality to avoid ending up as a hood ornament for a logging lorry. The Defile of Pierre Lys is literally carved from the mountain’s rock face. Trucks, tour buses, bikers and caravans (RV’s to Americans) contribute to an interesting drive. Once you near Perpignan, the road widens and the A9 takes you to Spain.
Roses is a seaside village with a beautiful beach. Europeans vacation there, but for us it’s only a two hour drive and the four couples who spent the early days of coronavirus confinement in Denia, Spain hoped for better luck on an overnight excursion. Julie and I were the only ones who had not stayed in this Mediterranean beach destination, so our friends served as guides and mentors. The women’s itinerary featured shopping, but mine again focused on tapas in a quaint village bar, sangria by the beach (I’ve never liked sangria, but by the beach in Spain it has to be good), and lots of seafood. Being with good friends enriches any experience and Cam and John, Clive and Kay, and Nigel and Gill certainly fit that description.
The trip to Roses was uneventful until we passed into Spain and came to the first toll plaza. Traffic was diverted from six lanes to one; the National Police were looking for something or someone. For 20 minutes we edged toward the corridor of heavily armed cops. We were only four cars from passing the blockade when “Dancing with the Stars” broke out. As if they practiced daily, the six holding automatic weapons turned in unison and sprinted toward the six waiting SUVs while six others scooped up the cones which had blocked lanes. Those providing the firepower opened the back doors of the vehicles allowing those toting the cones to dive into the SUVs. Doors were slammed shut, the Police detail sped away, and we proceeded. A judge from the show would have scored at least a 7. Only one explanation could apply. It was nearing noon - the wine must be poured and food must be getting cold.
Lunch by the beach crossed off one of my “bucket list” items. Fried squid and cubed potatoes with a spicy sauce qualified as tapas. Accompanied by a couple of cold San Miguels, it signaled my first triumph. A quick nap after check-in was a prelude to wine and cheese on the balcony overlooking the bay amid stories and laughter. The scenery was enhanced by a couple of sunbathers.
A great dinner at Ci (pictures of the specialties on the façade suggested a burger joint - stereotypes are dangerous and this one was totally out there) eliminated another item: copious amounts of seafood. My paella featured langostines, moules, clams, and calamari with the rice. A rich fish sauce flavored it all. Wow! Other main courses (duck breast, salt cod, and monkfish) brought rave reviews. Our personable waiter Pedro aided in the wine selection. Food was great, the service was special, and complimentary cognac followed dessert. It was a wonderful evening with friends….. but still no sangria.
The next morning I eliminated the final item. Julie and I rose early, packed the car and ate the hotel’s free breakfast. It was a beautiful morning for a stroll. Normally alcohol before noon is not a vice of which I can be accused. But to cross sangria off, I went without espresso. I could conclude with a lie, but Sangria still ranks right there with warm beer and soggy nachos.