Since then we’ve stayed in four hotels, one traditional cottage, a country house, a Provençal villa, and dined in a dozen restaurants. The experiences tore down those prison walls, but it has also been interesting to observe how different places have responded to the challenges of dealing with COVID-19. These contrasts were highlighted as we drove through three countries, from Portugal’s Atlantic coast to Provence, not only switching from stuttering along in one language to another, but trying to figure out what COVID-19 restrictions applied where.

Portugal
We leave our house near Portugal’s west coast at just after 7 a.m. When we cross the border into Spain it’s still breakfast time (if we don’t add on the hour time difference). Subsequently we don’t stop anywhere on Portuguese soil; however, our trip to the north of Portugal just over a week ago gave us plenty of examples of how Portugal is responding to travel post-COVID. Many establishments displayed ‘Clean & Safe’ stickers issued by Turismo de Portugal, which did their job in that they helped allay our fears somewhat. In hotels, breakfast buffets were completely revamped. In one, individual trays were brought to our table. In another, waiting staff filled our plates from a roped-off buffet. Eating in restaurants felt remarkably normal, especially after being seated when masks could be removed. If anything, dining experiences were enhanced as there was more space between tables than usual.

There’s no requirement to wear masks in Portugal’s streets, but in Arcos de Valdevez many of the older residents did so anyway. Generally life meandered on as normal, albeit at a two-meter distance. The only time social distancing wasn’t respected was by a sour-faced woman in a supermarket queue who jostled the folk in front of her, impatient to get her goods on the conveyor belt, and by a large group of teenagers in a riverside bar who, bolstered by the immortality of youth, mobbed a table, adding chairs and more tables till they encroached on everyone immediately around them.

Spain
A ‘break and bocadillo‘ stop at motorway services just across the border illustrates the inconsistencies which can surround the adherence to COVID regulations. Spain’s regulations have been among the most severe in Europe, and the wearing of face masks in public spaces is compulsory. Aside from the fact the place serves the worst bocadillos we’ve eaten, inside is COVID chaos. People entering wear face masks, but some of those who have already eaten wander around ‘sin‘ masks. Next to where the pre-ordered food is left on the counter for a waitress (with face mask) to collect are two wizened old men drinking cafe con leche. As they’re drinking, neither wear face masks. There is hand gel available everywhere, but when I visit the toilets I see some men not bothering washing their hands after using the facilities. I’ve had a bugbear about personal hygiene since long before COVID raised its head, believing inconsideration and poor hygiene habits of dirty buggers to be the cause of many a disease spread around resort areas. Inedible bocadillos aside, it’s not a place I want to spend a lot of time in.

Eight hours later, and having crossed Spain’s endless, hot dusty plains we arrive in green and scenic Catalonia, at the Hotel Gran Claustre in Altafulla near Tarragona. As we check in the receptionist points a gun at our heads. It’s a relief to find that our temperatures are normal, even though it’s 35C outside.
There’s a summer holiday ambience to the streets of the old town, if we ignore the fact everyone is wearing masks. Being used to restrictions in Portugal which are more relaxed, we occasionally forget to put ours on when we stroll along the cobbled streets, but there are no Invasion of the Bodysnatchers type scenes of people pointing at us and screaming accusingly in ear-piercing, alien voices.
The hotel smells slightly of disinfectant perfumed by essential oils, whilst the hotel’s restaurant has a novel way of ensuring there’s no menu-touching going on; the menu is accessed via a QR code on the table. It’s a neat idea except for one thing. Not everyone has a smartphone. Not only that, my phone declares the hotel’s wifi to be dodgy and refuses to open the menu. By the time the waitress returns to ask if we’re ready to order, I still haven’t a clue what’s on offer.

France
Most of the journey across Portugal and Spain was relaxing and traffic-free. The South of France is a very different prospect. It’s busy. Our villa is in the village of Éguilles, which isn’t busy; it’s one of the areas not badly affected by COVID the owner, Laurent, tells us… as way of reassurance as he isn’t wearing a mask when he shows around the property. This part of France’s COVID restrictions seem to fall somewhere between Portugal’s and Spain’s. Face masks are compulsory in enclosed busy places, but also outdoors in busy locations like Paris, Nice, Lyon etc. When we walk into the village to buy croissants each morning, we only put on masks when we enter the boulangerie. Wine tasting in the village’s winery is probably not much different from normal. We wear masks to enter, but thereafter remove them as we’re introduced to a generous selection of the area’s rosé and red wines.

Mask-wearing aside, life in the village seems comfortingly normal. It’s only when we venture further afield that we realise the fear ingrained from months of scare stories in the press hasn’t totally dissipated. There might be a lack of British visitors in Provence, but French holidaymakers are there in their droves. Last time we visited the underground art installation of Carrières de Lumières we simply parked the car and wandered in. That was late September when summer holidays in the south of Europe were over. This time there are lines of cars parked along the road for miles. The place is mobbed. We’ve pre-booked and breeze past the queue waiting to get in (after passing another temperature test). Whereas the number of people entering Carrières de Lumières is regulated, the number of people on the streets of the picturesque town of Les Baux-de-Provence overlooking the quarry isn’t. We spend ten minutes on its too-crowded streets, where some people wear masks and some don’t, before deciding to escape. COVID has influenced our hasty exit for sure, but we’d have done the same pre-virus as it’s an overcrowded tourist trap.

The large town of Aix-en-Provence is better… in parts. Some streets and squares are uncomfortably crowded, but those not on the main drag aren’t. Away from the mobs there are lovely Provençal streets and alleys, lined by elegant honey-coloured buildings. These are home to the sort of tiny, atmospheric restaurants you hope to find in the back lanes of a French town. We pick one with an enticing menu de midi – i.e. it has moules frites – and spend an enjoyable couple hours tossing empty shells into pans, sipping a summery rosé, and marvelling at the fashion sense of the chic young French women who pass by. It is exactly what we would have done if we’d visited the town a year ago.

COVID has obviously changed how we travel, but in the last month our experiences have taught me that in many ways, it hasn’t.

Not all walking routes have to notch up the kilometres and, as we were staying in Llanars, a pleasant Pyrenees walk from Llanars to nearby ‘pretty as a picture’ Camprodon was the obvious choice for some easy walking. For one of us at least.

Whilst I mostly meandered through hill, vale and quaint streets (aside from an ascent involving chains and much heavy breathing), Andy followed a route which led to precarious peaks and confusing paths.

Initially we walked together, leaving the Hotel Grevol, where you are as likely to see tractors parked outside as you are cars, to wander along the riverbank the short distance to Camprodon.

By the time we arrived at the 12th century market town, the streets still felt sleepy and the shops were yet to open, save for a supermarket where we stocked up on water. We went our different ways at the town’s famous humped bridge, Pont Nou (New Bridge).  It’s an ironic name given it dates back to the 16th century.

I crossed the River Ter via the humpy bridge, passing tall anorexic houses as I made my way through historic streets, carved from granite-hard stone, that were at last showing signs of beginning to wake up. I looked forward to returning and exploring when things were more lively. First I had a small hill to climb. I wanted to see the views from the Ermita Sant Antoni above the town. I just couldn’t find the start of the path.

An old woman pulling at the branches of a tree pointed me in the direction of an underpass – a portal to another world. Maybe I should have taken heed at her cackle as I thanked her and moved on.

At first all was fine and foresty as I passed La Mare de la Font to start the gentle climb. Ten minutes later I was dragging myself up a commando assault course using chains. In truth it was more fun than just strolling through the forest, but it did work up a sweat and a thirst. Although the 360 degree views from the Ermita de Sant Antoni at the summit were pretty impressive, I was keen to get back to town to cool down at a café on a pretty plaza.

The downward path was more gradual, bringing me out at a part of the town I hadn’t seen yet – all narrow streets with houses whose balconies jutted out over the river. There was more than a look of a mini Girona about some scenes.

I’d taken longer to get to Sant Antoni than I’d planned which was a good and a bad thing. The good thing was it was lunch time. The bad was that all the shops had shut for lunch and the streets were once again deserted. I’d arrived in Camprodon for the second time when much of it was closed.

I plonked myself down at a table in a tranquil square (of course it was tranquil, the whole town was tranquil) and ate a chorizo bocadillo washed down with a cool beer. By the point I was finished eating it was time for me to make my way back to Llanars.

I arrived in Camprodon when the town was still waking up and I left when it was still lunching. Camprodon is as pretty as people say it is, but as for its personality? I’m the wrong person to ask. Despite spending some hours there, I’ve yet to see it fully open.

Factfile: If you want to be sure of visiting Camprodon when the streets are buzzing with life, there’s a market every Sunday in Plaça Doctor Robert.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

I’m all alone, standing on the top of Serra Cavallera in the Catalan Pyrenees, almost 4hrs into a 6hrs 40mins walk that has included a strenuous, 1000 metre ascent of the ridge. My iPhone battery is down to 10% and without it I have no GPS, no compass, no phone and no clock. From my vantage point all I can see is endless valley and ridges, every direction the same. I cannot see a house, a road or a path. I try not to panic as I search the terrain desperately, reading and re-reading my directions and retracing my steps to the last waymark but as time and the battery slips away, the frightening realisation that I am hopelessly and utterly lost can no longer be postponed.

I sit down and weep.

Jack and I are re-walking routes in The Pyrenees, updating, amending and adding to the existing directions. We’re four days into a seven day trip and we have a tight schedule of what we want to achieve today which we can only do if we split up. With only one Garmin GPS between us, we’ve agreed that Jack should compile the new walking routes around Comprodon while I re-walk the 16 kilometre Serra Cavallera ridge using Wikiloc. It’s a sound plan and everything is going fine until the existing directions go missing. Most of the ridge is on the map until it gets to the mysterious Coll de Pal where the five paths converge and where, on the map, the route drops off the end of the page. The path I’m looking for descends on the south side of the ridge, off the map.

After a snivelling couple of minutes I realise that sitting here isn’t helping. Time is slipping away and I need to get down from here.

Half running, half sliding down the sheer and rocky ridge face, I arrive at the valley floor and use the last of my battery to call Jack and tell him I’m lost. In a frustrating, 2 minute call with poor reception where Jack can only catch snippets, I blurt out my predicament. Jack tells me to stay calm, read the landscape and find yesterday’s path which will take me back to Llanars. Before I have time to declare my undying love in a drama queen speech that begins “if I don’t make it…”, the phone dies. I’m on my own.

I have no way of knowing how much time is passing or what distance I’m covering as I search the valley for any recognisable landscape but it feels like the best part of an hour. Then, joy oh joy, I spot the huge, stone water trough that we passed yesterday. I’m so elated I nearly start weeping again. But my joy is short lived as I realise I cannot remember which of the multitudes of cattle paths leading off from it we took, nor in which direction we walked, and fear returns to sit in my chest like a stone.

I don’t have the directions from yesterday so I’m reliant on memory and instinct alone. I force myself to breathe deeply and concentrate. It takes a while and two false starts but eventually I think one direction looks vaguely familiar and I follow it. After, I guess, around ten or fifteen minutes of walking with breath almost bated, scanning the landscape like a search beam, I see vague painted stripes on a rock ahead and my heart leaps with joy.

Two and a half hours later I arrive back at the Hotel Grevol in Llanars where I expect to see Jack, ashen-faced and pacing. But he’s nowhere to be seen. I make my way upstairs to the room and run into him in the corridor.
“Hiya! I was just coming downstairs to see if I could see you. I thought you should be back around now.”
I don’t know whether to be angry or upset, or both.
“Weren’t you worried?” I ask in a whiny voice.
“Nah. I knew you’d be fine once you stopped panicking. But from now on, you’re doing all the map reading!”

And so I did.

For me, that day in The Pyrenees was the most frightening experience of my adult life and it did actually occur to me at the time that if I had a fall or suffered an injury of any kind I might not be found. In the cold light of hindsight it was highly unlikely that would happen. For one thing Jack knew, albeit vaguely, where I was and what time I was expected back. For another, it was summer so even if I had to spend a night on the mountain, hypothermia wasn’t going to be a factor. Plus, I still had my packed lunch, having been too freaked out to eat it, so I wasn’t going to go hungry.

But it did teach me some valuable lessons that have held me in good stead ever since:

• Using Wikiloc already drains the iPhone battery quickly as you have to use 3G to get the signal, so only use it on relatively short hikes and don’t take lots of photos and video clips en route!
• The ability to read the contours on a map is essential.
• Wear a watch as a time back-up.
• Read the landscape constantly so you always have some idea of where you are in relation to where you’re going.
• Don’t panic. You’ve got a better sense of direction than you give yourself credit for (okay, the bar’s set pretty low there!).

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+

There are a couple of wonderful sights to behold at the end of a long day’s walking. One is a big, icy glass of lager. The other is somewhere comfortable and welcoming in which to completely chill out.

After a 21km walk from Ribes de Freser to Llanars, the Hotel Grèvol hit exactly the right spot on both accounts. Situated on the edge of the tiny village of Llanars, the Hotel Grèvol exudes the warm, cosy chalet appeal of an Alpine hotel. In winter, with a snowy icing, it must look exquisite. In summer, surrounded by forest covered hills and beautifully landscaped gardens, it was just what our weary bodies needed.

Our View
Located a couple of kilometres from ultra picturesque Camprodon in nature’s garden – aka Vall de Camprodon – the Hotel Grèvol is in a killer of a location. Quiet and tranquil without being stuffy, it felt relaxing and welcoming from the second we staggered through its doors to be met with a smiling receptionist and directions to a bar which looked like the sort of place we’d like to get to know really well. Everywhere is immaculate with loads of space; from the rooms to the bar area to the gardens where we sank our first beer. A bonus is the food which is a sophisticated cut above the tasty but traditional fare often found in the Pyrenees. For people like us who love hiking and dining, the Hotel Grèvol was perfect.

Rooms

The big rooms have all the allure of a cosy, log cabin but with all the essential mod cons – hairdryer, wifi, LCD television, minibar and bathrobes with slippers. There’s loads of space to dump the muddy/dusty clothes in favour of the hotel’s bathrobes without making the room look cluttered. My favourite part was the private wooden balcony overlooking the gardens and the Vall de Camprodon. A post-walk beer with my feet up on it tasted about as good as it gets.

Facilities

Having a spa & wellness centre ticks off just about all you need to pamper the body after a day walking, or skiing, in the Pyrenees. The heated indoor swimming pool, jacuzzi, sauna, steam bath etc. all sounded perfect for recharging… except our agenda was such that we didn’t have the time to take advantage.
The attractive bar and lounge areas were very easy places to relax in… probably another reason we didn’t make it to the spa.

Breakfast is in the bar area, with distracting views of the surrounding valley, and consists of fresh meat, cheeses, croissants, cereals and a choice of freshly cooked dishes.
Best of all was the cuisine at dinner. The food might have its roots in traditional Catalan dishes but it’s traditional with fancy knobs on and all the more delicious for it. We wolfed down gazpacho of strawberries, melon and mussels in a saffron sauce (summer in a glass); chilled cream potato with mushroom breadsticks; foie with jam sauce; octopus salad with saffron potatoes; anchovy and date salad; marinaded salmon with salmon roe; lamb with thyme and rosemary potatoes; meatballs with squid and artichokes; duck in pear sauce; venison in a red wine sauce; chocolate tiles with eucalyptus ice cream; chocolate in toffee sauce and coconut cake with passion fruit.

That list should tell you all you need to know about the food at the Hotel Grèvol.

There is also a games room with pool table, video games and table football for more competitive guests.

We spent two nights at the Hotel Grévol before moving on. They were two perfect nights in every way. It was simply a massive hit with us.

Hotel Grèvol; Ctra. de Camprodon a Setcases, Vall de Camprodon; Llanars; tel: +34 972 741 013; double rooms with breakfast cost from around €93 per night.

Jack is co-owner, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

Buzz Trips View
After a long trek through inspirational countryside we like to drag our tired limbs back to somewhere that is not only full of character but which is also sigh-inducing comfortable. Hotel La Coma delivers both. With an attractive, low-rise Alpine design it’s small enough to feel intimate but big enough so that you don’t feel claustrophobic. An outdoor covered terrace beside the entrance is perfectly placed for falling into a seat with a cool cerveza in hand after a long descent from Ulldeter.

Setcases is a pretty and quiet town (anyone who arrives in a rural valley expecting anything else isn’t living in a fairy tale land they’re living in cloud cuckoo land). But there are a handful of bar restaurants and a cracking local shop, Ca La Núria, where you can pick up wine and the sort of local produce that will have the juices flowing like one of the nearby mountain streams.

Best of all, everyone at Hotel La Coma is incredibly friendly – from Agustin and Carmen, who gave us fantastic tips for walking routes and told us all about the area, to Arlington who showed us how to geocache and poured lashings of whisky on my ‘whisky tart’.

Rooms

The twenty two bedrooms are exactly how you’d expect a mountain lodge to look – lots of pine. Ours had contrasting slate-coloured walls which added a stylish, modern feel. They have loads of space, perfect for spreading out maps and walking gear. All rooms have TVs, wifi (yay) and bathrooms have a hairdryer which Andy found especially useful after we were caught in a thunderstorm up at Ulldeter.
A big balcony is also useful for drying out, or airing, clothes as well as for lounging about with a glass of vino and just enjoying the views. They are exactly what I want from a hotel where I’m doing a lot of outdoor activities – lots of space and comfortable.

Facilities

We didn’t get to try them out, but there is a swimming pool and mini wellness centre with jacuzzi and sauna. There’s also mini golf and a games room for younger visitors. The communal lounge is cosy and there always seemed to be the delightful aroma of woodsmoke in the air.

The dining room is decent sized and, like the rest of the hotel, has a casual atmosphere which immediately relaxes. There’s a varied menu; the food is definitely of the traditional hale and hearty Catalan country fare with some interesting local dishes (snail and rabbit). There’s a typically Catalonian breakfast selection including breads, chorizos, butifarra, hams and the ever present pan amb tomaquet.

For a rural hotel, there are more facilities than you’d normally expect.

We were there to explore the countryside and Setcases and Hotel La Coma was an ideal base for us, offering easy access to some quite diverse walking that included some of our favourite routes in the Pyrenees. We thoroughly enjoyed our stay in Hotel La Coma; it provided exactly what we wanted, was comfortable and the family and staff couldn’t have been more helpful.

By the way, the whisky tart was so good, I had it the next night as well.

Hotel La Coma; +34 972 136 074; double rooms with breakfast cost from around €85

Jack is co-owner, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to lots of other places. Follow Jack on Google+

Walking in The Pyrenees – Pure Air & Intoxicating Vistas
As far as the walking goes, it’s The Pyrenees – so no great revelation that the walking is inspirational.

Our routes took us through perfectly preserved Medieval villages where it required superhuman displays of willpower not to give in to the lure of wickedly inviting bars; across high pastures with bright and perky displays of Alpine flowers and alongside exuberant mountain streams that danced their way down the verdant slopes.

Personal favourites include around the almost ‘too pretty to be true’ Valle de Nuria which on a clear summer day is just about as good as it gets when it comes to WOW views – and, as a bonus, is family friendly as well. Another outstanding hit was around Setcases where there are secret waterfalls to be discovered and the route from Ulldeter back to Setcases blends mountain-top drama with the most wonderful high meadows where cows, horses, chamois and marmots live together in harmony.

The mountainous terrain means just about every walking route involves a muscle stretching ascent which adds that essential and satisfying challenge. In most towns you can step outside of your accommodation and straight on to the trail, which makes any hiking destination especially attractive as far as we are concerned.

Wining & Dining in The Pyrenees
The food in Catalonia never fails to have our tastebuds applauding (metaphorically speaking). It’s one of those destinations where you feel you’re never going to run out of new things to try. Just when you think you might, Catalonia’s creative chefs come up with something different.

There’s a lot of hearty fare in the hills and some places relish serving generous portions of meaty dishes and stews – it’s good honest, country cuisine and sometime’s, after a long day yomping around the hills, you just want to gnaw on a big chop or wrap your mouth around a savoury butifarra sausage.
But too much of it can get weighty on the stomach which makes places like Cal Sastre in Santa Pau, Hotel Grévol in Llanars and the Hotel Calitxo in Molló perfect for balancing the hearty with the  creative. These three gastronomic shrines serve lighter and more sophisticated takes on traditional Catalan cuisine.

For adventurous foodies even the most traditional menus can throw up some interesting choices like rabbit and snails, or pony whilst the three establishments mentioned above conjure up culinary creations that positively woo the tastebuds. At Cal Sastre, Jesús’ violet marmalade elevates foie to the giddy culinary heights whilst we’re sure it’s against some sort of local law not to try his ‘famous’ cannelloni.

As for the wine, well the local vino tastes immensely quaffable at the end of a long day’s walking and, as well as local specialities like ratafia, there are surprises to be had. Ramón’s gin palace in the Hotel Cacadores is a revelation.

Overall, and simply put, we award The Pyrenees a giant sized thumbs up for being an exeptional gastro-hike destination that ticks all the right boxes and then some.

Jack is co-owner, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to lots of other places. Follow Jack on Google+

In the case of our last visit to The Pyrenees it was the latter. Long walks across rolling hills, over sharp peaks and through drowsy villages presented us with a smorgasbord of local flavours; each one adding a little piece to a jigsaw that, as it slotted together, revealed a satisfying snapshot of life in The Pyrenees.

Santa Pau

The perfect Medieval film set. It was our second time in Santa Pau and the compact streets were as enchanting as we remembered. Long, chatty dinners were taken below golden arches outside of the restaurant Cal Sastre. We heard all about, and ate, the local speciality, fesol beans and listened to tales of a mysterious owner of one of the historic buildings in the main plaza. The absent owner never visited, letting the building fall into disrepair, and refused to sell. What was his gripe with the town? It sounded like a plot from the mind of Carlos Ruiz Zafón.

Hostelat d’en Bas

Cobbled streets jiggled the buttocks as we cycled through Hostelat d’en Bas which was like an artist’s impression of a quaint Catalan village; all stone buildings with wooden balconies filled with sprawling vines and perky geraniums. Ca L’Esteve was one of those leafy pavement café/bars that would be a crime to pass without stopping. So we didn’t.

Beget

With buildings the colours of the stones that lined the banks of the two streams flowing through it Beget sang in perfect harmony with its surroundings. We picnicked by a translucent slate-coloured stream before having a coffee in the village where the owner offered me cream for an oversized mosquito bit on my neck. As we supped, we watched an elderly local builder insist on driving a mini dumper truck backwards through the village at speed, crossing a humpy bridge that was barely wider than the truck without slowing down. He was clearly the village show-off.

Pardines

Whilst I pondered the existence of an iron dragon, Andy negotiated lunch in a small bar beside the town plaza. In Pardines it takes 30 minutes to make up two baguettes with ham and cheese. This is slow travel. Admittedly they were big baguettes.

La Roca

A misleading town. From below it looks as though it sits perched on a rock. It’s a bit of an optical illusion which we were glad about as it didn’t actually mean we had to climb a rock to get to it. The street through the village is narrow and at one point a tractor and trailer blocked the path above a hay barn. The only way past was to walk under the ladder. The farmer offered to move it but Andy walked under. I awkwardly fumbled my way around the outside, trying not to fall as I explained about it being considered bad luck in Britain.

Llanars

We wanted to buy water and wine and I’d clocked a likely looking shop; not difficult as there were not a lot of shops to choose from. As it was closed, I asked a man who was sort of doing nothing by the roadside if it sold vino. It took him five minutes to ponder the question and confirm that it did sell water and wine and that it was due to open again in 5 minutes. He then gave me directions to get there  – “see where that little girl is playing, it’s to the right of her…”. This surprised me as A) I obviously knew where it was as I’d pointed it out to him and b) it was right across the road from where we stood. It was a great little shop, one of those places that sells everything even though it’s size of a big cupboard .

Camprodon

You have to take a photo of the Pont Nou, everybody does. They claim it’s the most photographed bridge in Catalonia. I couldn’t find the starting point of a walk in Camprodon. After a couple of aborted attempts at engaging with locals (they weren’t locals) I decided that an old woman pulling branches from a tree must be home-grown on the grounds that nobody else would vandalise a tree in broad daylight. She was and she knew where I was looking for. When I told her where I was going, she cackled. A sweaty half hour later my screaming thighs knew why.

Setcases

We struggled to find the best time to have a drink or lunch without disturbing people in pretty Setcases, named after seven houses built by a family of farmers. First time was a post-walk beer at around 4pm. We walked into a bar to find the owner and family sitting eating a meal and watching TV. They served us the beer but we felt like intruders. The following day we arrived back in town after another walk in time for a late lunch about 3pm. It was a different restaurant and a different time but again the owner and family were eating and had to break from the meal to serve us. Maybe people just eat all the time in Setcases. Maybe they were addicted to their own fritters in the second place; they were addictively good.

Molló

Sleepyville when we arrived, the following day it was fiesta time as Molló celebrated the Temps de Flors with witty and often acerbic floral-ish displays. As we strolled around the small town, two women motioned that we follow them up a street dedicated to the ‘creesees‘ where both matriarchs doubled over in howls at each visual satirical dig at Spain’s Government. We liked Molló’s wicked sense of fun.

These are all little things. There’s no ‘wow’ involved and no adrenalin pumping experience. Just the pleasure of interaction on various levels.

We weren’t travelling slowly but we were basking in the warm glow of slow travel.

Jack is co-owner, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to lots of other places. Follow Jack on Google+

Ca La Núria, la Casa de la Mel is one of those shops where, if you’re a foodie, it’s virtually impossible to walk past. The outside doorstep in spring and summer holds baskets brimming with wild mushrooms, walnuts, chestnuts and pistachios while behind them, beehives act as a table for golden jars of home produced honey backed by a sticky honeycomb and a huge jar of bee pollen.

As we chat, a tray of cheeses has been produced for tasting and Marc is talking us through the different varieties. A cheese made from fresh goat’s milk and left to mature for two to three months; one made from fresh sheep’s milk and matured for 10 months; one made from pasteurised goat’s milk.

“We don’t produce the cheeses ourselves,” says Marc. “These are all from producers in those hills.” He nods towards the pine covered slopes that frame the horizon behind us. “They bring them to me because they know many visitors come here to buy local produce.”

Once inside, the range of locally produced cheeses is enough to send your decision-making skills into apoplexy and if they’re hoping to find solace in the choice of cold meat cuts, they’ll be fatally disappointed. Rows of butifarra and fuet, Catalan’s outrageously tasty sausages, hang behind the counter, while llom embotxats hang from a mug tree like the fruit on a haggis plant. At the far end of the counter locally produced wines mingle with more commercial labels, a fraternising trend clearly encouraged by Marc whose shelves are stacked with locally produced goodies such as chocolate bars, cheek by jowl with Kit-Kats and Twix.

Perusing the aisles of the shop is difficult as there are boxes of stock all over the floor waiting to be unpacked and shelved. It looks like complete chaos but Marc seems to know where everything is and how much it costs; he’s like the Arkwright of Setcases. Except that he’s more than just a shopkeeper, he’s also a mushroom collector and a beekeeper. Using mobile hives, he takes his bees up to 1400 metres above sea level in summer for them to gorge on the profusion of wild flowers that populate the Pyrenees once the last of the snows have melted. The resultant high mountain honey is a sweet, delicately perfumed health boost that finds its way into everything around here from the morning cup of tea to the sweeties behind the glass in the counter.

“These morels are €400 a kilo,” says Marc, holding a fistful for me to breathe their heaven-on-earthy scent. “If you travel just 50 kilometres from here to cross the border into France, you’ll pay €600 a kilo.”
Visitors to the Catalan Pyrenees and mushroom lovers of Provence take note; a visit to Ca La Núria pays tasty dividends.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+

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