First stop: Hostalric. This was a completely accidental stop, as we hopped off the train 6 stops too early. Hostalric is a very barren place, never go there. First proper stop: Girona. This is a lovely little town about an hour north of Barcelona, near the French border. Go there.
Our next stop was in Montpellier, where we were very lucky to be put up for a couple of nights by a family we had met in the Alps. Phoebe was complimented on her enormous progress with French and Felix wasn’t complimented at all. They were amazing hosts, feeding us delicious meals and even letting us borrow their car to explore the region! The next few nights we continued to be spoilt with Felix’s aunt Severine just out of Tarascon (near Avignon). She owns a ‘mas’ which produces apricots, cherries, peaches, apples and delicious olive oil. We ate as many cherries as humanly possible. Felix got diarrhoea.
To top off our first week of Eurail, we spent the weekend with some of Felix’s cousins at their grand parents’ chalet in Chamonix. It was a joyous occasion with much drinking, eating and game-playing to be had. Phoebe’s French vocabulary improved in a not-so-textbook kind of way.. Her prowess at the ‘poker menteur’ game earned her the name ‘flying kiwi’, a name which she lived up to in a more literal sense on the following Monday. See photos below.
Lugging a huge pack around Europe for 3 months is a gruelling challenge, even for the fittest amongst us. This is why we've started a Eurail training scheme to keep us nice and strong. One more push-up, ya worm!
Golly-gee, Girona sure is pretty! Phoebe enjoys practising the dance moves she learnt off Solange in Barcelona.
Some very well done artwork in Montpellier. Making 2D appear 3D!
Getting a little too excited outside the Montpellier Med school. There were posters up for the end of semester med party which we were pretty gutted to miss out on.
Montpellier zoo, which is free!!
The impressive walled city of Aigues-Mortes, near Montpellier. Literally mountains of salt could be seen across the pink salt marshes where they harvest it.
We like our clichés. Wine tasting in a small vineyard in the south of France, why not?
The cute courtyard at Severine's, where we first met the fateful cherries.
It was hard work lugging our fat asses up this hill, but pretty worth it for the fab views over Les Baux de Provence and the surrounding region.
Félix claims he is destined to be a matador. (Outside the bullfighting arena in Arles).
And a professional rock climber.
The Lamarche cousins, a blur of excitement over the cheese fondue.
Putting on a brave face after coming down the steep ridge at the top of l'Aiguille du Midi. Pretty terrifying stuff. What could she possibly do next that would be more terrifying than that?
Oh my god she didn't.
Oh my god, they did. Very patriotic choice of colours for the parachute.
Paragliding off l'Aiguille du Midi at 3842m (roughly 100m higher than Mt Cook) over the Mont Blanc range and the valley of Chamonix. You crazy bastards.
Next time: Italia!!
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