We successfully caught our cab and got a very honest driver for the short trip to catch the bus for the Pueblo Ingles adventure, the English language immersion program for Spaniards. This week, the Spaniards are all from El Pais, a Spanish newspaper. There are 20 of them, from departments all over the country – editors, journalists, HR, marketing, accounting, administration, etc. We Anglos are from US, Canada, UK, and Australia. We were on the bus for 4 hours, riding to La Alberca, a remote little town in the north near Portugal. We are staying in a resort, just outside of town, made up of the central lounge, dining room and meeting room, and a group of cottages, each with 2 bedrooms/bath and a central living room and kitchenette. We are sharing our cottage with Juan Carlos, an archivist, responsible for providing the background information for journalists' stories. Both lunch and dinner are 3 course meals – lunch at 2:00 and dinner at 9:00. So far, the food has been very good, and there is always a big jug of red wine on the table. On the first night, we started with a couple of “ice breaker” exercises, i.e. pairing off with a Spaniard and then introducing each other to the group, etc.

The level of English proficiency of the Spaniards varies widely, although they all have at least a basic understanding. In Madrid, we had commented on how few Spaniards speak English. Apparently, during the Franco regime, the learning of any other languages was discouraged. Several of the Spaniards here have said that they are now really having to catch up with the rest of the world in order to compete. The primary activities of the day are “one to ones” where Anglos and Spaniards are paired off for 50 minute individual sessions discussing anything they want, two on twos where we discuss suggested subjects, or telephone conversations simulating everyday situations. The English language is very hard to learn, because we have so many words with different meanings, and phrases that do not adhere to the rules of English they have been taught. The Spaniards are not allowed to speak Spanish at all the entire week, even to each other, the waiters, etc. It is very hard work for them, but their attitudes were great. At each meal, there are to be equal numbers of Spaniards and Anglos at the tables......talk, talk, talk.

Each evening there is a different group session designed to require communication of ideas and teamwork..... and usually silliness. To relieve some of the stress, we had a party with a DJ where folks danced early into the morning. A couple of women from Reno, NV introduced line dancing, and we had a great display of Spanish dancing. We were “treated” to a local ceremony designed to drive away the witches, culminating in sipping a concoction of alcohol, fruit, and spices that had burned dramatically for 15 minutes – great presentation! There were a few excursions into the beautiful local town. The primary product of the region here is jamon (ham). The best of that is the Jamon Bellota – black pigs raised stress free, eating acorns. I have a package in the frig that we will open soon. All in all, the whole experience was wonderful and the program is very professionally run. We became quite close as a group and there were lots of tears at the final meeting.....but on the bus ride home there was very little talking – we were all exhausted!! We exchanged information with the Spaniards and will look up the Barcelona folks when we return in November – it will certainly enrich the visit. I am sure we will see some of the Anglos again as well – great group.

Spending a week doing nothing but talking, gives the opportunity for lots of discussion topics. One thing I found interesting, is that, while the Spaniards certainly respect the US and were great to us, only one said she would like to live there. Its primarily a lifestyle issue. They love the fact that they do not have the pressure to pay for their kids college education, that their healthcare will always be provided, and that retirement, albeit not lavish, will be secure. They know that Americans at the same “level” have a higher income, but the Spaniards are very satisfied to live on less without the uncertainty. I have read that It is a fairly consistent belief throughout western Europe. I am not trying to stir controversy here – I just thought it was interesting and thought provoking. Are our frenzied, harried lifestyles ( not ours :-)), larger houses, bigger cars, bigger bank accounts, etc. necessarily better than basic security, 6 weeks of vacation, and a slower pace? I am glad we have the choice, but it made for interesting conversation.

We spent our last night in Madrid, hitting some tapas places with other Anglos from the program. Madrid is really a spectacular city, and quiite easy to visit in that the central part, where most of the sights are, is walkable and easy to navigate. I highly recommend it.

Saturday was another dreaded travel day – our last mass transportation move with luggage until November. The trip to the airport in a taxi was uneventful, and would have been about $10 cheaper if I had remembered the right terminal. It was the first of two times that day, that reading the information I had so diligently printed out and carried with me, would have been oh so helpful! I have to remember NEVER to assume that things are like they are in the US, i.e., signs for departing airlines outside each terminal.

We arrived in Toulouse and called the number for the shuttle to take us to the Puegot lot to pick up our car. No answer. After a fairly tortuous conversation with a French rental car agent (nice, but not a lot of English), she called our Puegot guy at home! Kemwel, the third party agent in the lease deal, had neglected to tell him that our plane did not arrive until 7:30 Sat. evening. He tried to talk me in to waiting until the next morning to pick it up – he, too, had only very basic English. I explained that we had no transportation to our hotel (no shuttle to the cheap hotel we stayed in), but it was only after I told him we were hungry and had not had dinner (also not available in our cheap hotel), that he said he would be there in 30-40 minutes. The French always understand dinner! That's one of the reasons I love them.

He actually arrived in about 10 minutes (I think the 40 minutes was an attempt to discourage me), and was very nice about signing us up for our car. I turned on our Tom Tom and tried to type in the address of the hotel (which our guy had never heard of), but the street name wasn't in there. We knew generally where it was so started driving. We finally realized that we were almost downtown, and had definitely passed all the airport hotels. We pulled onto a street to turn around, saw a little neighborhood type restaurant, and decided it was time to eat. I looked again at the hotel information, and read that the front desk was only open until 9:00 – this was at 9:03. I called the number anyway and got some convoluted message about making reservations, cancelling reservations, etc., but nothing about talking to a live person – there were so many restrictions – cheap doesn't come easy – that I was convinced that we had missed our check-in opportunity. Dick has a way of becoming very calm in a crisis, a wonderful quailty, and said that we would still eat dinner, and find another hotel later. The restaurant was very local, which I normally love, but that also translates into no English. I couldn't convince the waitress that I did not want the Sangria she offered, and ended up with the Sangria. We finally figured out the menu, and had a nice meal, considering the fact that I spent the whole time rationalizing the fact that although we had already paid for one room, we were now probably looking at $200 to get another one at the last minute. We drove back towards the airport in the rain, and when we were almost there, I remembered that I could go to Hotels in the Tom Tom, and voila!! Our hotel was listed...and open. What trauma could be avoided with a little more thinking! Now I know why I hate travel days.

After breakfast at McDonalds (our first ever in Europe), we started the journey to our next home. When the Tom Tom asked if we wanted to avoid toll roads, we decided that would be the most scenic (and economical) choice. Good decision – we really saw lots of very pretty countryside, lots of small town, and found a really nice little restaurant for lunch. By this time, I had found my menu translator books, remembered to say Bonjour and Merci, and ordering was much smoother. I had a wonderful goat cheese salad, and Dick had mussels and fries (moules and frites). That and a yummy chocolate mousse made for a very good experience. I do love a continent where wine is cheaper than soft drinks or bottled water. We have also noticed that the resistence to serving tap water, rather than 4 Euro bottled water, has lessened. I was emboldened when I learned last week that Richard Branson refuses to order the bottled water either.

Villa Capcollioure is a very interesting place. It is a huge home sitting on the top of a big hill overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. It was built in 1949 by a couple after the war. In 1939, she was a single American woman, traveling the world alone (gutsy gal), who fell in love with a French man. They lived in Casablanca until the war broke out, and then moved to America. After the war, they returned and built this large three story house. It is now divided into 7 or 8 very basic apartments, each with a terrace and spectacular view. Although prices here are high, the Europeans have a wonderful way of allowing you to choose your amenities. One example is the hotel room in Toulouse. There are a number of these very clean but very basic hotel chains (Etap, Formula One, Premiere Classe). They look like dorm rooms, with bathrooms that make RVs look roomy, they charge extra for breakfast, but they are only 45 Euro a night, In our current apartment, there are no sheets or pillowcases (which we brought with us), no towels, no kitchen linens, dish soap, bar soap, etc. All these amenities can be rented, at a pretty steep price, or you can bring your own. The first night, we bought a kitchen towel at the neighboring campground, so that we could at least dry our hands, and the next day (no towels, hence, no showers), we went to the store. It wouldn't make any sense on a short trip, but since we have a car and will be here for 6 months, it works for us. Also, the regional airlines are incredibly cheap, with absolutely no frills, no free soft drinks, fees for checking bags, but we only paid 24 Euros apiece to fly from Madrid to Toulouse. I really like the option to choose where we spend our money.....and you all know where that is!

Collioure is a beautiful little town, just 20 or so miles north of the Spanish border, in the Languedoc Roussilion region. It is very hilly, near the Pyrenees mountains, and while there seem to be more trees than in our part of southern California, we have seen prickly pear cactus, and grapes are the primary crop. There is supposed to be lots of fish, but apparently the local fisherman are on strike, protesting oil prices. They are blocking the oil tankers from delivering their oil to the larger vessels as well. We have run into a British guy a couple of times, who skippers a small yacht for a German businessman. He was on his way from Majorca, Spain to Monaco to meet up with the owner, but weather forced him to dock here. Now, he can't get out because the fisherman are blocking the entrance to the port, and he can't get diesel. The French love their protests – they are a feisty proud bunch. It also explains why the fish markets are all empty, and the skipper says that the restaurants are struggling to find fish for their menus.

We drove south to Spain yesterday on a twisty turny road along the water. The cliffs are rugged, and many of the views reminded us of the Big Sur in northern California.