I live my life on the ocean. From my “office” in the galley of the yacht I can see saltwater 365 days a year. Sunlight streams through the windows onto my workspace. As many dream of escaping to a beach for vacation, my mind wanders to the majesty of mountains. This week it became more than just a fantasy as Patrick and I headed north from Barcelona to the Pyrenees.
We weaved back and forth across the valley, into the foothills, and up through the mountain passes. I felt like I were back in Alberta, except where Canmore would be we passed old stone castles and Kananaskis held fields of grapes for cava. Here, dairy cows roamed the fields. Large square cowbells hung from their necks, clanging to announce their location to shepherds as craggy as the hills around them. White-fleeced sheep filed across the road, bringing us to a stop to wait for their spindly legs to carry them out of the way. I yearned to stop and taste the cheese their alpine meadow milk produced. But we were on our way to Andorra, a country sandwiched between France and Spain. One of us went to snowboard, the other to taste the local cuisine.
Patrick became giddy as we ascended to where snow dusted the treetops. Like icing sugar out of a shaker, snow began to fall from the sky. Whiteness surrounded us. We could see no more than a boat length in front of us. I wrapped the puffball jacket that I hadn’t worn since my days in the Rockies, tighter around my body. This was a long way from the beach.