Where Mountains meet Magic. Above the Clouds in Pyrenees

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.

Where Mountains meet Magic. Cold Coffee, Clean Bins, and Mountain Views

After yesterday’s long day on the road, today’s plan was simple: take it slow. Since we were still full from last night’s dinner, we decided to just pop out for coffee. The morning air was freezing — think 10°C after yesterday’s 25°C in Nice — so I was already dreaming of sipping a steaming hot latte.

Scott ordered a cookie frappuccino, and I, for some reason, very confidently asked for an Iced Brown Sugar Latte. I walked up to the counter, took my drink, and was genuinely shocked that my iced coffee was… cold. To this moment, I still have no idea what I was thinking ordering an iced drink when all I wanted was warmth.
Luckily, Scott once again saved the day. He chatted with the barista, explained my tragic coffee miscalculation, and somehow managed to get me a free hot cappuccino instead. The barista even threw in a few pumps of syrup — bless them.

Coffees in hand, we headed back to the hotel, grabbed the car, and drove up into the mountains. Near the village of Canillo, we paid €6 per person and took a walk up to a spectacular viewing platform with nearly 360-degree mountain views. We were among the first ones there, the weather was perfect, and the scenery was absolutely worth it.

Back in the village, we stopped for a quick snack — or so we thought. What arrived could have easily fed a small African country. My buckwheat galette with goat cheese, walnuts, and honey was delicious. Scott only managed to eat half of his salmon salad before surrendering.
As we sat there, people-watching and digesting, we noticed something fascinating about Andorra’s dedication to cleanliness: apparently, it was trash bin washing day. Yes, an actual truck was driving around washing the street bins one by one. Sparkling clean!

After a short rest back at the hotel, we went for an evening walk — admired some modern tube-and-bath-style sculptures (don’t ask), wandered along the river and through the old town, and noticed that Andorra has the same quirky pole-top statues as Nice. We then lingered around until 8 p.m., waiting for the restaurants to finally open.

We chose a cozy-looking place in a side street. However, since we weren’t guests at the hotel attached to the restaurant, our food apparently wasn’t a top priority. Luckily, we weren’t in any rush — and when our dishes finally arrived, they were absolutely worth the wait. Maximum deliciousness.

Where Mountains meet Magic. When you have to cook your own breakfast in the hotel

 

Today's breakfast deserves its own spotlight. As loyal readers know, the hotel offered us a free breakfast to make up for the less-than-glorious first night. At first glance, the buffet didn’t look like anything to brag about. But then we noticed the real treasures. First: a juice press where you could squeeze your very own glass of fresh orange juice. Forget cartons, this was hands-on citrus glory. Then there was a pot of hot water where you could cook your egg exactly the way you wanted - soft, medium, or “I could use this as a bouncy ball.” And to top it off, a little pan for warming up pancakes. It was almost à la carte… except you had to do all the work yourself. Still, we loved every minute of it.

Bags already packed, we walked to the train station to pick up our rental car. Everything went smoothly, and within half an hour we were out of the city, heading straight toward Andorra. Since the day promised a long drive, we didn’t plan any major detours. Just one stop at a supermarket where we stocked up on baguette, hummus, ham, cheese, and wine. A quick picnic later, and we were back on the road.

Google Maps led us through postcard-worthy French villages, each one cuter than the last, and by evening we found ourselves winding into the Pyrenees. Scott was clearly enjoying the mountain roads. I, on the other hand, was mostly busy not enjoying them.

About half an hour before sunset, we pulled up to our hotel. And what a location - right on the edge of a roaring river that sounded like a waterfall on steroids. Scott, in his usual charm, even managed to secure us a room with a river view. The room? Pure super-lux. Spacious, modern, a bathroom that looked like it belonged in an architecture magazine, and a bed really huge and fluffy.

Before calling it a night, we wandered into the city. Andorra la Vella, as it turns out, recognizes only two seasons: summer and Christmas. Since it wasn’t summer, the town had gone all-in on holiday cheer. Christmas trees and twinkling lights everywhere - it was like stepping straight into a snow-globe… just without the snow.