Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  The material clung so tightly to her curves that for a moment I thought it’d shrunk as her hips and buttocks and breasts stretched every inch of that dress to its very limits. Breathing heavier, she appeared to be surveying her own handiwork, her eyes casually passing over my thighs and abdomen as I felt my breathing tighten from the added water weight and constriction of my dress until a damp clump of red fell over my eyes and I swept it aside with the backs of my fingers.

  More men were leering from atop the aqueduct and then the boys wolf whistled and almost as one, we jerked around to face them and waded back to the bank.

  Dan nodded his approval and stroked his chin as his eyes completely ate up every inch of Arwen, the constriction from her dress enforcing small steps upon her. “You guys look awesome.” He turned to continue glaring at her arse as she trudged past.

  “Not sure about your forward planning though, or lack thereof,” Gabe said lightheartedly, concealing what I knew to be a subtle reprimand as he doubtless hoped I wasn’t aware he was tracking Arwen’s damp buttocks from behind his sunglasses. “And I hope you’re dry by the time we get back to the camper.” He said in a lower voice, reserved only for me.

  I flicked water over his sunglasses. “Oh, you’re such a drongo.”

  “Am not.” He returned to the back of my head.

  Before leaving Carcassonne, I dashed into the new town to buy something for Dan and upon returning to the hostel, made a second embarrassed apology to the language guy. Finally, we made our way on foot, out through the walls, across the drawbridge and down the slope to the camper from where I sat in the passenger seat next to Gabe.

  “Barcelona.” He declared profoundly.

  And my chest was hit by a sudden thud.

  * * *

  It would have been a journey of a mere three hours had we taken the fastest, most direct route to Barcelona through the Eastern Pyrenees. But Arwen, having been denied the French Alps, had expressed her regret at the thought of also missing what she’d been told were some of the most picturesque mountains in Europe.

  “Right!” I’d said, needing no more convincing before pestering Gabe to take the scenic route.

  The consequent drive through the central Pyrenees was indeed nothing short of spectacular and I took more photos during this stretch than everywhere else combined so far. It was the snowcapped mountains that ranged into infinity, the lakes and their tiny islands, the rivers and streams as pure now than at any other time past, the beautiful roads that meandered in countless loops sending us up and up to bring those perfect views of the sun reflecting on the water below, the hamlets, the birds, everything surrounded by thick forest and the knowledge that nothing had changed from time immemorial. Arwen’s camera clicked constantly and I do believe there was the occasional gasp even from Dan.

  And then we arrived at the Andorran border.

  As we queued, Gabe opened Wikipedia to learn more about this strange microstate. “Andorra is the sixteenth smallest country in the world and its capital city is the highest in Europe. Hear this … the people of Andorra have the highest life expectancy in the entire the world.”

  There was an “ooh” from the back, followed by Arwen saying, “must be all this mountain air.”

  “Doesn’t mean they’re happy,” came Dan’s voice, “just look at this miserable lot.”

  He meant the extremely bored and almost redundant border guards who, because of the Schengen agreement, simply waved us through despite being in a UK registered vehicle.

  From there it was a short drive to the capital, Andorra la Vella, and despite the one road leading directly there, Gabe still insisted on using Google Maps, perhaps because he assumed that with it being the capital city, he’d somehow get lost. As it transpired, Andorra la Vella had a population of only twenty thousand people, which made it equivalent to a small English town.

  We stopped for a late lunch before splitting up to take a look around and from then it required only one minute to realise the purpose of this entire country. It was, after all, a tiny nation sandwiched between two great powers and there had to be a reason as to why it had been allowed to exist. That reason - Tax-free goods.

  Doubtless, Andorra had been the place that for centuries the French and Spanish had travelled for cheap tobacco, fine clothes, jewellery, alcohol and God only knew what else. Its principal street possessed shop after shop selling these items as well as prescription, electronic and other such modern goods at exceptionally tempting prices.

  Dan disappeared, despite his supposed financial circumstance and after Gabe and I had purchased several bottles of red wine, Cognac and Cointreau, as well as some spicy Spanish sausages, cheeses and rustic bread, we found him with Arwen, leaning against the wall of yet another shop selling spirits.

  She was standing upright, hands on hips and neither were speaking when we crashed.

  “All ready to go?” Gabe lifted his two plastic carrier bags filled with the good stuff.

  “Yes.” Dan snarled before pushing between the two of us and bounding in the direction of the camper.

  Arwen sighed, “sorry about that.”

  I looked from Dan’s brown man bun bouncing up and down to Arwen’s three coloured braids. “What was that all about?”

  “Perhaps best not repeated in polite conversation.” She had no bags so I assumed whatever it was had stolen her shopping time, not that I had her down as the consumerist sort, even at discount.

  Before reaching the Spanish border, we took advantage of the cheap fuel prices, filling the tank to the top whilst undergoing the usual routine of Dan’s silence and Arwen’s insistence on paying more than her fair share. I waved her away on this occasion and gave Dan a cold stare.

  At the border, we had to stop for an inspection and we waited outside the camper whilst a gloved woman examined the contents of our shopping. Satisfied we weren’t taking the piss too much, we were sent on our way.

  Spain.

  But because we were still in the central Pyrenees, it still very much resembled France, at least from the inside of our camper.

  Gabe’s phone chimed, he read the message, scrunched up his face and smashed his hands against the wheel. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  There was a dash of feet from the back and then two heads were poking between the seats.

  “What on earth?”

  He handed me the phone and I read the news that apparently, because he’d been using his data constantly whilst in a ‘rest of the world zone 3 area,’ he’d accrued over four hundred pounds in charges.

  “Gabe?”

  His hands were clenched around the wheel as the sweat began to shimmer on his forehead. “Fucking maps.” He swept a hand through his hair, dislodging the neat parting and propped up his glasses.

  Arwen made a tactful retreat back to her seat but Dan made his presence known by bursting into laughter.

  “Wait, wait, wait, you mean, you passed through a zone 3 country without switching off roaming?” His head thrust further through the gap as he slapped Gabe hard on the shoulder, barking out loud.

  A vein in Gabe’s neck bulged, something I’d never seen before. “I needed to use the maps.”

  “Watch where you’re going,” he said sternly before returning to a mocking tone, “there was one road; from France to a capital city, to Spain. How hard could it be?”

  Gabe flushed and not from the Spanish heat. “Did you or did you not see the European flag at the border crossing?”

  “Andorra is not in the European Union, you idiot.”

  I turned on Dan. “Return to the back at once. Gabe, pull over and let me drive.”

  He did, we switched sides and I waited thirty minutes for him to calm down before reaching over to rub his knee.

  “It’s just one of those things, Gabe, it could have happened to any of us.”

  He turned away and growled. “But it happened to me and now you all think I’m stupid.”

  “Well, we’ll see how stupid people think you are wh
en you’re saving lives, right?” Although he had a point. If it were to happen to any of us, it was always going to be him, or me a close second. A result of spending a life in education, of not getting out and experiencing that life but I was determined to use this summer to put that right.

  “Are we really in Spain?” Arwen asked in a rhetorical tone.

  I knew what she meant. One could be forgiven for thinking we were in fact in some other country, that country being Catalonia because thus far, the only Spanish flag we’d seen had been at the border crossing. Ok, perhaps the Spanish weren’t big with the flag waving, we British were similar but what soon suppressed that thought were the hundreds, thousands of red and yellow horizontally striped Catalonia flags that adorned every lamppost, every tree, every road sign, every parked vehicle. It became even more apparent as we drove through the first town, a place that went by the name of La Seu D’urgell, and it was here we were provided with answers.

  ‘Catalonia Is Not Spain’ and ‘Independence For Catalonia,’ the signs declared in English, which was the remarkable thing. ‘Freedom’ and ‘We Are Ready’ were other popular slogans.

  Arwen was busy with her camera, “I wouldn’t want to be the one guy flashing the Spanish flag around here.”

  I smiled at that comment, which I found to be funny.

  “A bit overkill, don’t you think?” Gabe remarked, finally coming around, to my delight. “We get the message, you don’t like Spain.”

  “Best not stop, they might not like outsiders either.” Dan chirped in.

  “Well, Barcelona is Catalan. You know, that place you want to go so badly?” I said, watching him in the rearview mirror. “What will you do when you get there? Hide?”

  He shuffled and had nothing to say but it served as another reminder to me that it would be our last stop together as a group and loathe as I was to admit it, I’d taken at least a small shine to the oaf, as well as to…

  “Are you scared to visit Scotland?” The girl asked him in a testing tone. “There are people there who also want independence and they wave lots of flags too.”

  For some reason, the mention of my home country, coming from her, whilst being so far from home warmed my heart and I peeked again into the mirror to see she was already smiling back at me.

  “I’ve been to Scotland loads of times.” Dan returned.

  “Yet you think some big, bad Catalan’s going to hurt you? Oh, bless.” She spoke with such playful mockery that I snorted and had to reach for a tissue. Other than a grunt, no response from Dan was forthcoming.

  We emerged from the town and I checked Google Maps, Spain being a roam free destination, and found we were a little over two hours from Barcelona. My lips turned down and I called into the back. “Hey, Dan, what will you do when we arrive?”

  There was a pause and when I checked, he had his nose in a magazine, despite the scenery. “Huh? Oh, we’re off to a beach party.”

  His response was a little ambiguous and I glanced across at Gabe. “Are you going to this?”

  He was filming a large lake in a valley and answered without moving. “He means he and Arwen are going to a beach party.”

  “Oh,” I squirmed, “I see. Gabe, my Ibuprofen’s in your side pocket, could you pass it over please with my water?”

  He did and I took a few pills before rolling my shoulders and flexing my neck.

  I remained silent as we descended for several miles, the air gradually heating to what we’d come to expect, before entering the Parc Natural del Cadi-Moixero.

  We were parting ways tonight then.

  I wound the window down and checked the map again. “How about dinner tomorrow night?” I called over my shoulder.

  Arwen perked and swiped the hair away from her tiny nose. She seemed about to answer but Dan spoke first.

  “Dinner? You’re being serious?” He spoke in a sceptical tone with eyes narrowed and it stung more than a bit.

  I was quick to answer on the defensive. “Of course, why wouldn’t I mean it?”

  He didn’t answer and I exhaled, turned my attention back to the scenery and decided the national park we were driving through was probably on the southern edge of the Pyrenees as we were indeed in lowlands now, a valley green as anything in the English Lake District.

  Catalonia.

  It was a different kind of beauty. Of green meadows, picture perfect ancient villages of uniform grey stone, of more than one waterfall tumbling from the always present distant mountain ranges, of timber bridges spanning streams and of wild deer keeping a safe distance.

  Catalonia was even more beautiful than the Scottish Highlands and, feeling so agitated about Barcelona’s proximity, of what that city would mean, I hated not being able to enjoy the moment.

  Just ahead, a small dirt road veered further down into the valley, isolated and perfect.

  It was a split second decision.

  And I surprised even myself by taking it.

  * * *

  “Um, this isn’t the way to Barcelona.” Gabe bounced and swayed in his seat, giving his voice an odd vibrating rhythm as I drove over bump and mud and dirt.

  Ahead it was only green and what I optimistically hoped to be a crystal clear stream that meandered through the short grass. We passed a barn on the right and there was another not far in front, which is where I assumed the track finished.

  “I just fancied taking a look. It’s really beautiful, don’t you think?”

  Dan, slow to react, wobbled up front and held onto the countertop as he came. “Freya?” He said cautiously, his eyes scanning to his bro as in, why are you with this mad woman?

  Arwen remained seated from where she bobbed up and down with a questioning frown.

  I rounded the grey stone barn and saw I was right about the track, that it ended, and so turned left onto the pastureland and, remembering we were without a spare tyre, reduced speed and aimed for the stream.

  “She’s not gonna drive us into that, is she?” Dan asked Gabe, not joking.

  “I don’t know, Frey?”

  “Oh, settle down. Where’s your sense of adventure?” I shook my head and tutted. “You’re making more out of this than necessary.”

  Slowly approaching the stream, I angled the camper around, stopped and applied the handbrake. It was approaching seven in the evening, hardly late, especially by Spanish standards but still, it was the perfect time.

  “I’ve never wild camped in a valley surrounded by mountains beside a stream before,” I turned off the engine and pocketed the key, registering Dan’s funny look, “don’t you look at me like that. You’ve done it, you said so, and now I want to do it. Problem?” Anyway, it wasn’t his decision.

  For a while, he remained expressionless, save for the gnawing at the side of his lip and then, almost like the idea was slowly growing on him, his face began to illuminate until finally he glanced slyly at Arwen and clapped his hands together. “Actually, that’s fine with me.” He stepped away, turned and ogled Arwen’s legs, who was leaning with her forearms on the back of my headrest.

  “I’m up for it.” She enthused, to my relief. “Barca tomorrow, no probs.”

  I turned to Gabe, who was tugging on an earlobe, and I knew he’d be uneasy with the idea. Camping? He’d indeed packed a tent and inflatable double mattress along with foot pump but that had been more in the expectation we’d be camping, just the two of us, on an actual campsite with facilities, legally. Wild camping probably wasn’t his thing but we were here to experience life, he’d said so himself.

  “Gabe? We have food, drink, a stove and the most incredible location we could ever hope for.”

  He surveyed the scene outside, the stream that trickled so close then turned to Dan and Arwen who were watching him in expectation. He sighed and pushed up his glasses. “Sure, why not.”

  There was no sign of civilisation anywhere, not a single town, village or house. The barns we’d passed were ruined and probably hundreds of years old. There were, however, some cow
s plodding on the flatland and even a few deer where the slope merged with forest but they were too far away to be of any concern or distraction to us. No, we could have been the last people on earth as far as civilisation knew.

  We exited and breathed the air and I watched Arwen as she held out her arms, closed her eyes and spun around, her grey summer dress flaring outwards from the warm breeze.

  She caught me staring and skipped in my direction. “This was a wonderful idea, Frey, kind of the reason to travel in the first place, right?” There was a genuine sparkle in her blue eyes. “People come to Europe and only go to Paris, London or Barcelona. They forget about all this.” Again, she spread her arms and whirled around as my hand gravitated to my lips.

  I stepped forward and when she stopped, my hand reached out halfway towards her. “I’m so glad you’re happy with it.”

  “Of course. I used to wild camp back in Oz and loved it. People have always done it and never needed to ask permission from anyone. Doesn’t it just annoy you that they make laws stopping you from doing it?”

  Oh gosh, was she serious? It was something that had been at the back of my mind but screw them, nobody could see us and the fact they might have made some prohibitive law stating we couldn’t sleep out in the open, in nature, just as our ancestors had done for millennia, well it just made me want to do it all the more, just to show them.

  “Yes, it annoys me very much, Arwen, so screw them.” And then I felt a renewal of electricity surging through my veins.

  “Yes, screw them. It’s natural for us and for them too.” She nodded in the direction of the cows and stuck her tongue out at them and I found myself still watching her as the camper door slammed shut and two large blurry shapes passed in my periphery.

  The boys were wandering off for a stroll downstream, evidently in clandestine discussion about something and so Arwen and I returned to the camper to sort through the food supply. There was not enough for a banquet but easily plenty to provide adequate satiation. Besides, we had wine.

  Over the next hour, the boys returned, Arwen dawdled off with a backpack for a hike and I headed the other way, into the trees for a call of nature.