When we rented the car, the grand plan was simple enough: pick it up in Nice, drive through the mountains to Andorra, then head to Barcelona and drop it off there. Easy, right? Except that returning the car in Barcelona apparently costs a casual €600. (for that price, I’d expect the car to drive itself home, maybe stop for a croissant on the way).
So, we revised the plan. The new drop-off point became Perpignan, the nearest French city to the Spanish border. The only catch? We had to be there by 9am, or face a late fee. The plan was to leave at six, meaning most of the drive would be in the dark. But then, last night, a thought struck: if we leave before sunrise, we’ll miss it—the mountains, the clouds, the first light of the day. When would we get this moment again? So we agreed: if it costs us an extra hour or two, so be it. Some things are worth more than punctuality.
At seven sharp, we hit the road. Around half past seven, the first hints of dawn began to stretch across the sky. A soft pink glow rose behind the mountains, and the valleys below filled with drifting white clouds - like a giant sea of cotton. The air was crisp, the silence broken only by the hum of the tires, and for a while it felt like driving through a dream. The peaks turned golden as the sun climbed higher, the whole landscape bathed in warm light. And then, as quickly as it appeared, the magic faded. By eight-thirty, we were back in the real world - sunshine, traffic, and Gaili, ever the mapreader telling us to take the next exit.
We dropped off the car in Perpignan, planning to stroll around, grab breakfast, and maybe explore a bit before catching a ride to Barcelona. But travel plans have a mind of their own - apparently, only a couple of buses and trains leave Perpignan each day. So, after handing over the keys, we went straight to the bus station, grabbed something to eat, and waited for our fashionably late bus.
By three o’clock, we were in Barcelona. We checked into our hotel, dropped our bags, and immediately went hunting for something sweet. The first cookie café we found was good enough - huge cookies, cold milk, and the satisfaction of being back in Barcelona.
The rest of the day was pleasantly uneventful: a bit of wandering, a dinner of arepas, and an early night. After all, we’d already had the best part of the day long before breakfast - somewhere up in the mountains, chasing the sunrise and driving above the clouds.
So, we revised the plan. The new drop-off point became Perpignan, the nearest French city to the Spanish border. The only catch? We had to be there by 9am, or face a late fee. The plan was to leave at six, meaning most of the drive would be in the dark. But then, last night, a thought struck: if we leave before sunrise, we’ll miss it—the mountains, the clouds, the first light of the day. When would we get this moment again? So we agreed: if it costs us an extra hour or two, so be it. Some things are worth more than punctuality.
At seven sharp, we hit the road. Around half past seven, the first hints of dawn began to stretch across the sky. A soft pink glow rose behind the mountains, and the valleys below filled with drifting white clouds - like a giant sea of cotton. The air was crisp, the silence broken only by the hum of the tires, and for a while it felt like driving through a dream. The peaks turned golden as the sun climbed higher, the whole landscape bathed in warm light. And then, as quickly as it appeared, the magic faded. By eight-thirty, we were back in the real world - sunshine, traffic, and Gaili, ever the mapreader telling us to take the next exit.
We dropped off the car in Perpignan, planning to stroll around, grab breakfast, and maybe explore a bit before catching a ride to Barcelona. But travel plans have a mind of their own - apparently, only a couple of buses and trains leave Perpignan each day. So, after handing over the keys, we went straight to the bus station, grabbed something to eat, and waited for our fashionably late bus.
By three o’clock, we were in Barcelona. We checked into our hotel, dropped our bags, and immediately went hunting for something sweet. The first cookie café we found was good enough - huge cookies, cold milk, and the satisfaction of being back in Barcelona.
The rest of the day was pleasantly uneventful: a bit of wandering, a dinner of arepas, and an early night. After all, we’d already had the best part of the day long before breakfast - somewhere up in the mountains, chasing the sunrise and driving above the clouds.
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