transmission spain: baqueira

p1010366 7:26 a.m.above the clouds looks a lot different than 7:26 a.m. below the clouds.

Yep, two six hour flights with an entire row to myself, a jet-lagged whirlwind afternoon in Barcelona where we walked up and down La Rambla—the main shopping thoroughfare filled with street artists and pickpockets, and here I am up in Baqueira, a tiny town in the Pyrenees near the Spain/France border.

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La Rambla.

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Sagrada Familia by Gaudi—as seen from the "nightmare" side.

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Zac and Pierre at the Aero Puerto.

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Please appreciate the glory of this guy's "German tourist" outfit: socks with sandals, pants under shorts, a vest for camera and cigarettes.Nearly perfect.

Anyway, we drove about five hours Northwest from the city to our mountain destination on Sunday, and when I wasn’t desperately trying to stay awake like that old cartoon with the bulldog who uses toothpicks to keep his eyes open, I was taking in the dusty countryside out the window—all rolling fields, old brick barns, and orchards laid barren for the winter.

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The moon rose at dusk, and in the darkness we wound our way up a steep canyon with sheer cliffs falling away to the right. How far down it was to the water was only revealed when, every now and then, a metallic moonlit river popped out of the blackness hundreds of feet below. p1010422

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Zac, spinning 900 degrees over a view of the highest mountain in the Pyrenees.

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Eric, bottoms up with his first glass of caña, or "tap beer."

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Anyway, Spain so far? Just fine. It’s easy-style over here. People sleep till 10, and no restaurants serve dinner before 8 p.m. Plus, every meal is a three hour affair. Good livin’ if you ask me. p1010418