Andorra

It's a land-locked country between France and Spain, half the size of New York City, and it's where I decided to venture this Saturday.  I figured I'd never be this close again!

I love an early start, so it was still dawn when my train started south. The two and a half hours felt quick after the six-hour trip to Paris and back.  Andorra is so small and mountainous that it has no airport and no train stations.  Only by car, bus, or helicopter can you get in, so my train stopped on the French side of the border and left us to go the rest of the way by bus.  Thing is, the bus only runs every so often-- not often enough, it would seem.  Ninety plus people poured out of the train, all of us going the same direction, but the bus only held fifty.  The next bus wasn't coming for perhaps an hour, creating a chaotic scene.

The mob of people could be split in two: young people in snowsuits carrying skis and snowboards, headed for the slopes, and older, rough-looking people going to stock up on cigarettes and liquor in the duty-free zone. The latter group outnumbered the skiers.  I was at the very back of this "line" and saw that I'd be stuck at the train station if I didn't make a move.  I skirted around the back side of the bus and wedged myself right into the door.  I don't think they noticed amidst the shouting and jostling (a convenience of traveling solo).  It took a while to push my way onto the bus; one rude lady told me to respect the line; I got hit in the head by someone passing their shopping cart over the crowd to someone on the bus.  People got separated-- one person on the bus and the other not going to make it, so they were passing tickets out and making plans to meet later.  By the time I paid and was on the bus, I found the only remaining seat, in the back near a rowdy group of men speaking a convoluted style of French (definitely not civilized Parisians, these guys).  As I sat and the bus took off, I was proud of my pro-active self, glad I wasn't stuck with the forty people left behind.

The guys played Indian (?) music out of a little boombox, making me feel like I was riding through the Himalayas, not the Pyrenees.  The road was a series of switchbacks across the sides of mountains.  Within a few minutes, we reached the Andorran border, where it dawned on me that I didn't have my passport.  I had completely forgotten it, hadn't switched it from one purse to the other.  When I went to Spain we hadn't so much as tapped the brake at the border; I hadn't needed my passport, so I didn't even think of a border check, but there it was.  Turns out Andorra isn't part of the EU, that's why.  As the bus pulled over and the guards got on and everyone took out their National Identity Cards, I found my TX driver's license, however much good that would do.  I wasn't really nervous-- what could they do? Send me back; my trip would be short-lived, but all I'd suffer would be the minor embarrassment of getting kicked off the bus in front of all those people.

They let me in!  Where did I live? Where I was going? What I was doing?  They told me with a frown not to do it again.  The ordeal gained me some attention from the people around me on the bus.  "Une americano!"  Did I speak French? When was I going back to the U.S.?  "Great, I'm coming with you!"  Despite their gruff appearance, I could tell they were joking.  A sweet Moroccan lady sitting next to me took my hand, stroked it and cooed comforting, protective words-- I must've looked shaken up, but I really wasn't.  

With the uncertainty of getting back into France looming over me, I cheerfully went about my day in Andorra.  I shopped with the rest of them.  I wasn't in the market for alcohol or cigarettes or perfume, but I did buy shoes.  European shoes, you might envision heels and boots, but I got these babies:

First sneakers I've bought in four years. No more UT freebies. They didn't have any in burnt orange unfortunately.

Thankfully I found what I was looking for because if I hadn't, I would've had to buy things just to prove to the border patrol that I had shopped.  The shoe place gave me a huge bag so I looked legit.

I took another bus further into Andorra, to the capital city (not a drive for the easily car-sick).  Lots of ski stations along the way and a city full of stores.  A river ran through it, lined with beautiful trees:

Andorra-la-Vella

Andorra is reputed for its scenery; at least that's what's advertised to Europeans, but I wasn't blown away.  The mountains were nice, but not overly impressive, nothing compared to the Rockies.  The buildings and towns in the valleys could have been more aesthetically pleasing.  Andorra-la-Vella and Pas-de-la-Casa had nothing other than stores, hotels, and restaurants, which makes one appreciate well-rounded cities like Toulouse, London, Paris.  But it's unfair to compare it to cities twice the size of the whole country.  Eighty percent of Andorra's economy is in shopping and skiing tourism, so it serves its purpose and people enjoy going there!

Walking around, peeking in stores, reading in the park, watching the day change from sunny and 60 to snowing, drinking hot chocolate.. then catching the bus back out.  The moment of truth arrived when we pulled over at the border, but to my relief the guards got on, walked the aisle, gave us a look over, and sent us on our way without checking passports!  I was safe and sound back in France, headed home to Toulouse.