Bor is a town in the Pyranees to the north of Barcelona where Mar’s parents have a house. As I write this I am sitting on the couch watching the sun shine down on the large mountain in front of me. Birds are chirping. Cowbells clank on cattle grazing just meters away (remember I’m in Europe so meters, not feet). The grass is green and soft, and the town is as charming as it is rustic. We came here last night in a summer reprisal of our visit last January. This time there would be less skiing, but hopefully no less fun.
Along the way to Bor (coming from Barcelona) we stopped at Montserrat, an extremely rocky mountain that appears to have no business sitting among its tree-covered neighbors. The mountain is about an hour or so away from Barcelona, and halfway up it sits a monastery famous as the home of both a chorus of young boys and the relic of Saint Montserrat. The monastery was built sometime around the eighteenth century (miraculously, since it is halfway up a mountain that would make it difficult to build even with today’s technology). Luckily, instead of climbing up the mountain to the monastery two options exist for super tourists, such as us, to reach it, a funicular and a tram. We decided to take the tram, which offers extraordinary views of the surrounding mountains and valleys. The tram runs every half our and takes only five minutes to reach the monastery.
Upon arrival at our destination, I was surprised to realize a small town exists near the monastery. This town is largely invisible from the base of the mountain but comes complete with a restaurant, campground, and even a hotel. Mar had stayed at the campground once when she was a child in, as she calls it, boy scouts. During the night she was here, her troop was so loud that the elders (I think that’s what they call adults in the boy scouts) made them walk barefoot in the middle of the night to a shrine nearly a mile away from the campground. Apparently Catalans are good at disciplining their children!
Along this walk, huge rock spires tower above you to the right, looking almost as daunting as they do from the valley below. To the left Catalonia stretches out into the distance, as far as the eye can see. The visibility reaches all the way to Mount Tibidabo, which forms the northwestern border of Barcelona. Mar looked out upon this land with the same set of eyes that I have used many times over as I gazed over Northeastern Pennsylvania from the top of Bald Mountain. This land holds, and always will hold, a special place in my heart. I got the impression that Mar felt much the same way as we stood halfway up Montserrat and looked out on Catalonia.
The monastery itself was quite beautiful also. It holds the remains of kings, monks, and some other important Catalans at the entrance. Further in is the relic of Montserrat, which was hidden in a nearby cave during one of the many civil wars fought in this area. Upon recovering the relic, the monks maintaining the monastery were shocked to see that it had turned from white to black, but they decided to hang on to it anyway, and now the catch phrase for Montserrat is “black but beautiful” (for the record I don’t know why it has to have the “but”). And it was beautiful – beautiful enough for me to give it a little kiss…
The monastery is up there! It's difficult to see because it has the same color as the rocks. We went up with a tram.
We left Montserrat, returning a couple hundred meters back down to reality, and continued to Bor.
Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I love my eggs in the morning. Rather, I love my sandwich with an egg over easy and melted piece of American cheese on an everything bagel with hot sauce and mayoketchup (also referred to as special sauce in many fast food places) in the morning. I haven’t had one since leaving Clarks Summit (and have been shedding a single tear every morning since). Upon coming to Bor I decided enough was enough. It was time to triumph over a bagel-less country by taking matters into my own hands (baking bagels, not conquering Spain). Since taking up cooking a few months ago, I have developed a serious interest in the practice. In my quest for the perfect dish, I have made goat cheese, hummus, roasted red peppers, and countless batches of foccacia to name a few of the better ones. How hard could bagels possibly be? A dough, boil, and bake later and I had five relatively healthy looking bagels coming out of the oven (and they don’t taste half bad either).
Resting and cooking in the Pyrenees.Energized by the old morning standard, Mar and I went out to meet friends of her family, Ricard and Anna, for a hike. Ricard and Anna were the first ones Mar’s family knew to buy a house in Bor. Since then, many have followed suite. They also know quite a bit about the area since they have been coming here for years now. In their infinite knowledge they took us to a nearby natural park (I asked, but still don’t know the difference between a natural park and a national park) for a hike. After driving up and up and up a dirt road on a mountain, we arrived at a trailhead. The view from here was already spectacular – mountains and valleys spread out everywhere. Growing along the trail were wild strawberries and spices (oregano, thyme, etc.). It’s no wonder such amazing food comes from a country where such things are so plentiful that they fall by the wayside.
Wild strawberries.
A short hike and about 20 wild strawberries later and we had reached the top of the trail. We climbed to a rocky outcrop above us to see the incredible view of a valley sprawled below us. No matter how many and what adjectives I give you, I don’t even think I can do justice to this view by explanation, so I will let the pictures do the talking here. Enjoy!
So I have been here for longer than I can even remember now (I think it has been about five weeks) and so far virtually every meal I have had at someone’s house has been noteworthy. As Ricard and Anna prepared lunch I thought maybe the time has come for a meal to pass without being memorable (just from the law of averages, not because what they were preparing didn’t seem good). Oh how I was wrong! We started with an ordinary looking salad that had an extraordinary taste due to the inclusion of honey drizzled across the top. I never expected adding honey could change a salad so much. It took an ordinary salad to a very high level. I will definitely keep this one in mind for the future. Next were hamburgers (or hamburgesas as they are called around here). We ate these with a sauce made of mustard, local mushrooms called ceps, olive oil, and Parmesan cheese – very good as well, but not mind-blowing like the salad. Finally, we had a Spanish omelet, which, as has been the case with every Spanish omelet I have eaten thus far, did not disappoint. So I was delightfully wrong in my assumption and analysis of law of averages. Maybe the average here is simply elevated to begin with when compared to mine (I actually thought this months ago… I just thought it would make more interesting writing above to put it the way I did).
A short siesta followed lunch and then a walk around town to look at Ricard and Anna’s previous house in Bor. Next door to this house stands a farm with pigs, cows, and dogs (and plenty of each). I thought Mar was going to lose too much air and suffocate from all the times she went, “oiiiii!” while we were there. Then someone brought out a puppy. I’m amazed she didn’t pass away from its preciousness right on the spot (I even came close).
We went to buy fresh cow milk to prepare the flan and mató.This post has to come to an end now, so I will finish by saying dinner was even better than lunch and consisted of three different types of sausages, bread with tomato that I have come to adore, potatoes with tomato and a very good sauce on top, flan, milk curd with honey (called mato here), and plenty of wine. Goodnight!
-Greg
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