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Having returned from Europe in June 2024, and expecting to launch my 3rd journey in October, a variety of circumstances intervened, so I stayed home through the winter. Come on, I had stuff to do. Delaying my departure had a number of benefits. In September, I flew out to Berkeley California (at the time, I thought my schedule was too tight to drive cross country) and spent a few weeks with daughter Helene and family. During that time I got an unexpected weekend in a Lake Tahoe home and reunited with long time friend and associate, Jeremy.
I also did an October/November road trip to see my oldest friends Tom and Lynn in Daytona Beach. They are about the only thing that can get me into Florida. What a crappy state — bad climate, worse voters and politics, no hills or mountains, only a few areas that aren’t ugly, PLUS it’s one of the only places you can murder someone and not even get arrested, just by saying, “I was afraid for my safety” (but be sure there are no witnesses to contradict your story). I tried to watch a SpaceX rocket launch, which required a long drive and hours of waiting, but the takeoff was canceled in the last 2 minutes. I leveraged the trip by visiting other seldom seen friends: long ago employee John in Stuart FL, European Couchsurfing friends Paul & Erika in Columbia, South Carolina, another ex-employee Linda in some remote but attractive part of SC, Fran and Steve in Asheville, North Carolina, and ex-client Shelly in Charlotte NC. All people that are very important to me but have made the irrational decision to live in the South. Asheville, in particular, was still recovering from the devastation of Hurricane Helene but Fran and I hiked two loops in the Blue Ridge along trails that had escaped major damage.
The drive home from Charlotte was uneventful, even though, between storm damage and snow, most stretches of the scenic Blue Ridge Parkway were closed. As I neared home through northern Pennsylvania, I ran into a substantial snowstorm. Rather than detouring around it, I decided to take the back roads directly home. This led to an entire night of dodging fallen trees, downed power lines, and unplowed roads with my trusty Subaru. I found out later that one person had died by inadvisedly stepping out of his car after it got entangled in live wires. The moment his foot hit the ground — ZAP! After a lot of trial and error, I finally made it home about 10 hours late, Lots of fun.
The Catskill winter was unusually severe — almost 3 months of subfreezing weather with no thaws whatsoever. On our coldest night it was -18 F (-28 C). At the same time, at my sister’s house far to the north in Alaska, it was an unheard 55 F (31 C) degrees warmer! Welcome to the new climate. Being home then was also fortunate because we were having intermittent furnace problems, so I was there to handle them directly instead of recurring $400 calls to the plumber. Add to that, the needs of my clients, the chore of tax preparation, house and car maintenance, the fun of holiday socializing, and general laziness, and the winter slipped away into spring.
As the end of March approaches, I’m REALLY eager to hit the road. We make reservations to finally fly on March 31 and I can’t wait.
Getting to JFK for us (125 miles, 200 km from home) is usually a giant pain in the ass. There’s no affordable car service and taking bus and subway laden with heavy luggage is a real slog, and pretty much out of the question for Susan. It’s hard to pack light when you’re hitting the road for 6-8 months, through different seasons and climates. Living in a rural area, almost everyone we know thinks driving 3 hours into New York City is a fearsome trip into the belly of the beast, so Susan and I have ended up expensively hiring younger friends to spend the day getting us to the airport in our own car.
This time, my Manhattan friend, Anurag, makes a very generous last minute offer. He will store my car indefinitely in the secure parking lot at the Bronx school where he teaches. This means we can drive to the city, pick him up, drive to the airport (with a stop at one of the world’s best pizzerias), and he would take the car back to park it. On the return, he’ll pick us up at the airport and we can drive ourselves home. This scheme is incredibly more convenient, and cheaper, than the alternatives. However, at the last minute Susan decides to delay her departure until the fall. I could now solo it via public transportation, but this is so much easier and faster. Thanks, Anurag!
My overnight non-stop American Airlines flight to Barcelona is unusually easy. The cabin crew is very friendly and one flight attendant directs me to an empty row of four seats, which allows me to sleep comfortably through most of the flight, except to consume the two mediocre meals I’m offered. The food comes with useless wooden utensils instead of useless plastic ones. They seem to made of balsa wood and are so delicate as to be barely functional. They look and feel like the wooden parts you would detach from the matrix of an old airplane model kit. The best part was imagining these items, before being approved, being tested by some anti-terrorism commando unit, spending a week figuring out if the flimsy balsa utensils could be used to kill the crew and take over a plane.
Another unusual thing is the failure of all the overhead electric in the cheap seats cabin. No seat belt warnings, reading lights, or call buttons. A very minor issue, especially since I’m sleeping anyway.
We land in Barcelona in early Tuesday morning. With my German passport, entering Spain is very simple, but it takes effort to get to Eric’s house. Dragging my camera bag and 3 backpacks like a loaded burro, I make the walk/bus/walk/train/walk/train/walk/taxi trek and finally reunite with son and delightful girlfriend Gemma 4.5 hours after touchdown.
Since this is now an unexpected solo trip, I can no longer just rely on facilitating Susan in whatever route interests her. Suddenly, I have to decide on a path of my own. Since the same thing occurred at the start of Road Trip II in October 2023, I’m confident I’ll make a rewarding new plan. Initially, I think I’ll loop through the southeastern part of Span I skipped last year.
My first job is to integrate the stuff I brought with me with the car contents left at Eric’s — and leave everything non-essential behind. I also have to do some vehicle maintenance in preparation for the upcoming biannual safety inspection. I have to get mine several months prematurely because there’s no forgiveness in Spain even if the vehicle is out of the country on the due date. I’ve already had new tires installed and replaced a tail light I carelessly broke in Morocco. The flimsy cover that hides the luggage in the rear of the Berlingo fell apart last year and I had pretty much given up finding a replacement. To my pleasant surprise, Eric attacks it in his workshop with glue and weights and manages to bring it back to some level of functionality.
It’s fun to spend some time with Eric, even though he and Gemma are quite busy preparing for the imminent bike tour guiding season. On day 6,
Saturday, they drive off to France, bikes loaded in their van. I have coffee with Carme, a nearby host from last year. Many of my Spain contacts speak excellent English or want to practice it, so I’m not generally able to immerse myself in Spanish, which I desperately need to do to recover my language skills. Carme claims she is not a strong English speaker so we spend 3 hours almost totally in Spanish, she patiently putting up with my rusty vocabulary and frequently helping me find the proper word.
Sunday afternoon, I drive off to the nearby lake sports town of Banyoles to stay with a Servas family: parents Tina and Tobal, teenagers Marina and Marcel. They’ve recently joined and I’m only the second person they’ve hosted. Tina teaches English and both children are in advanced study. Tobal’s English is also quite good, so the conversation moves smoothly along, but with virtually no Spanish.
After a walk along the lakefront, we have a good dinner of omelette, salad, and the curious Catalan favorite of bread rubbed with garlic and tomato. Since only the inside flesh gets to the bread, Catalonians discard an enormous amount of outer tomato. Seems like waste to me, but when in Rome… The family eats local food as much as possible, including luscious, sweet oranges from the backyard, and they partially rely on solar electricity and hot water. They live in a large, 3 floor, rented house but are concerned they might have to move or pay much higher rent as their 5-year lease expires this year. At least one of the neighboring houses serves as an Airbnb, which puts upward pressure on residential rents. Even professionals in Spain earn very modest salaries and the lives of many people are financially precarious. That’s why Gemma switched from being a podiatrist to a bicycle group tour guide.
Monday, the family and I are getting to know each other and having a great time. Tobal is kind of a non-conformist — does not have a regular job, creates his own music, and muses philosophically. One of his most common adjectives is “existential”. We spend some hours acquainting each other with our favorite commercial music. He can almost instantly accompany songs he’s never heard before on the guitar.
Tina is a dedicated language teacher. She works in a private language school and also runs home classes. We spend lots of time discussing the nuances of English, which she speaks very well, and I do my best to teach her the crude and colloquial parts of American language. Stuff like, “Put it where the sun don’t shine,” and “No shit, Sherlock,” a phrase she’s already picked up from daughter, Marina. I like to think I’m helping her deliver it with the appropriate tone of condescension.
During the morning, I take a long walk through Banyoles, admiring the ambience of the old town and ending up at Aldi to acquire some fluids, specifically cold, fresh milk to keep me going.
Carme and Tina both fit into the growing category of liberal voters who are so stressed out by the ongoing political disasters that they isolate themselves from current events. It’s the implementation of the old joke, “Why hit yourself in the head with a hammer? It feels so good when you stop.” It’s a means of self defense, but not one I could ever adopt. No matter how bad things get, I want to be aware of the situation and be able to correct other’s misconceptions and misstatements, however futile that effort often turns out to be.
Banyoles is on the shore of one of Catalonia’s few natural lakes, and its largest. During the 1992 Barcelona Summer Olympics, the rowing events were held here. Even now, many crew teams bring their shells all the way from Britain, Ireland, and Germany to train. At the private beach club, there are crowds of rowers and loaded boat trailers.
Tobal and I take a long walk along the shore to the only bathing area. Although, it’s clearly posted, “No swimming October – May,” we jump in for a refreshing dip. The water is cold but substantially warmer than my local Catskill swimming hole, which can easily reach pain threshold. I have no trouble staying in for 15-30 minutes, while Tobal is in and out for a somewhat shorter period. Once I dive into cold water and acclimate, I’m not coming out until I’m done. By the time we walk back home, I’m almost dried out.
Tuesday, Tobal takes me to a low hill with a panoramic view of the lake and town, after which we have another swim before heading home for lunch.
Tina asks me if I would like to come to one of her English classes so the students can talk to an authentic American. I, of course, have no problem being the center of attention in a class of 6 very attractive young women. We banter back and forth for about 90 minutes during which Tina plays a video contrasting British and American vocabulary.
Meeting new people is always a blast and differences in philosophy are no barrier to friendship and understanding. Tina’s family maintains some important principles. The kids’ screen time is strictly limited, Tina has never been covid-vaccinated, they don’t use wi-fi to avoid possible health effects of radio waves. I subscribe to none of these ideas yet we develop a real rapport during my three day visit.
Wednesday after lunch, I make the short drive back to Eric’s house. A German friend, Holger, had invited me to stay with him in Barcelona today but canceled at the last minute, pleading too heavy a workload, I wouldn’t be totally shocked if the fact he has a new girlfriend isn’t a contributing factor [grin]. Budding romance is a valuable commodity and should rightfully take precedence over simple social life.
Thursday, I start start planning my Europe route and Saturday I hit the road, heading south to Valencia. By the way, when I’m traveling solo, I’m always open to someone joining me for whatever period makes sense. If you might be interested, contact me. Traveling by car is a cheap, flexible way to go.
