Today, we went to Escuaín early. Escuaín is the place where the woman at information center in Ordesa had told us to go to find Lammergeiers. It took us about an hour and a half to get to the small town. Throughout the entire ride, I read a book that Mama had recommended to me: Belong to Me by Marisa de los Santos. Wow, what a book. The characters are so well-developed that I came to know them better than my distant friends, and my feelings became intertwined with theirs. I most definitely recommend it.
We stopped at a camping store in the small town of Escuaín and were lucky enough to find two pairs of hiking pants, one for me and one for O; a pack of quality hiking socks, and hiking pants for Daddy. After the successful shopping, we were directed to the hiking trail and overlooks fourteen kilometers away.
An hour later (yep, it took us an hour to drive 14 kilometers, because of the ridiculously curvy, narrow, and unsafe mountain roads), we reached a deserted town. My family and I sat on a stone wall and ate lunch, surrounded by abandoned houses and about 20 stray cats, who we, of course, fed. Soon after, we made our way to the hiking trail that would lead us to two overlooks.
A summary of our hiking/birding adventure of the day: staring at a rock wall for three hours, seeing a Lammergeier, beard and all; and running down a mountain trying to not get struck by lightning in a hailstorm.
Yeah, it was a great adventure. After seeing the Lammergeier, the obligatory screaming obscenities/jumping up and down celebration was interrupted by a loud roar of thunder and a spark of lightning, plus more hail. What is it with hail and the Pyrenees? Maybe us Merritts are cursed. I'm pretty sure that's the closest I've ever come to death, other than choking on a piece of hotdog when I was like 2.
After the adrenaline-filled hiking trip, my poor dad drove us all down the perilous, 14 km mountain road in the hail and rain. We were all really hungry by the time we reached Escuaín again, so we approached a restaurant, dripping wet and huddled down from the thunderstorm. Were we invited in to have a seat and served a lavish feast? Nope. Although another family was there, eating a glorious assortment of food, we were told that the kitchen was now closed. Off to another restaurant, where we were met with the same luck. Oh well. My family and I drove off toward our house in Orós Bajos and stopped at a restaurant in the town nearby. I ordered fried calamares and a salad, while Olivia and Daddy each got sauteed chicken breast and fries. After trying their decadent chicken, I wondered why I never ordered chicken at Spanish restaurants, because I always seemed to envy my family member's dish when they ordered it. Mama ended up getting a splendid salad with mixed greens, walnuts, fruits, balsamic vinegar, and an entire wheel of goat cheese in the middle. Earlier, the waitress had said that the large salads like that one were not being served yet (it was about 6:30 pm), and when Mama had also asked about the Spanish tortilla only to find that they had run out, she said she wouldn't order anything. The young waitress (likely in her early twenties), in beautiful Spanish, said, "No, no, nothing, no," just like a Spanish grandmother. "You want a salad? I'll fix you a salad." Talk about hospitality and a culture where food conquers all!
No comments:
Post a Comment