When my new Japanese friend Mayumi asked me if I wanted to join her and another Japanese girl, Mika, on a hiking adventure in Andorra I had no idea where it was, so of course I said yes. It was only a day before we set sail that I learnt that Andorra is a tiny little country literally squashed in between France and Spain, clogging the Pyrenees mountain range (that serves as a natural border between the two countries).
It took us two hours by bus (one that left at 6am in the morning!) to literally go from humid sunny Barcelona to cold and frosty Andorra. We caught the lull-season between the sunny hiking time and the winter skiing frenzy, so luckily for us the place wasn’t be too crowded.
Well, that’s what we thought… See, Andorra is a place where you don’t pay any taxes. On anything. Which means that everything you see in the shops are way cheaper than in Barcelona. And on top of that they were having sales. Huge sales, everywhere! Needless to say the shops were filled with people shopping their guts out. But we were there for an adventure, not shopping! So Mika, Mayumi and myself threw our backpacks over our shoulders and commenced a little town called Conillo.
They have the most amazing tourist information office and the people behind the desk fell over their feet and over each other to help us get the best trekking course. With smiles in our hearts and vacuum packed toasted sarmies in our backpacks we set-off on our adventure: a 3 to 4 hour hike up a major hill to the biggest lake in Andorra where we will find a refugee camp site. We were told that not many people use it during the winter, which is why the toilets and showers will be closed, as well as all the rooms, but we are welcome to camp in the main room. At least it won’t be outside. Only then did it dawn on us that temperatures dropped to between 0 and -3 in the mornings and that we were somewhat under-equipped, except for the bottle of Port which ended up being our saving grace for the evening.
Needless to say we survived the night (only just) and with stiff, achy legs made our way down to Conillo. When we got there we quenched our thirsts with ice cold beers and grunted in agreement to skip the next trekking course and book ourselves into a comfortable hotel for the evening. The soft pillows and warm duvets adorned our sore muscles and at five minutes past eight we were all passed out.
The next day we got our fill of duty-free shopping (I’m boasting a brand new pair of Camper shoes…) and then made our way to the bus station. All good things must come to an end and it was with sad faces that we said goodbye to one of the most beautiful countries all of us had seen: as Kansas was to Dorothy, so will Canillo be to the three us… A home away from home.
Ernie Brocker 