The wind has blown ferociously all night. Some overturned porch furniture has been rocking in the gusts and banging against the house. To sleep, I must get up and go out and bring in the chairs at 3 a.m.. Anything light will be blown about. In the morning, we don’t get up  in a hurry as the wind is still pummeling the condo. Today is not a beach day, and neither one for hiking by the sea. 

We want to go to Figueres and buy our fast train tickets so we can arrive in Barcelona early in the day, Tuesday. We have midday tickets to get into Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia, and don’t want to miss our admission time. It has taken us several days to learn that Figueres has two train stations, one in the city for the slow train and one outside town for the fast train. Getting our train tickets in advance, along with a dry run seems a very good idea.

We have heard that Girona, the capital of this area,  has a nice old town and a cathedral. We get the train tickets and head south for Girona on an expressway. Once in town we are traveling through newer areas, but seeing nothing of interest. The GPS is not particularly helpful. I am ready to throw in the towel on Girona after driving in circles. But we need gas, so I send Ana into the station to ask the attendant. He greets her in French, which, logically, surprises her. I think he saw the bright red French license plate on the front of our car. France is only 60 miles away, which might explain this as well. Of course, he speaks Spanish. Better yet he is quite proud of what Girona has to offer. The attendant is soon handing her a tourist map with Girona old town parking areas circled. 

Of course, the parking, which is free is filled. Soon we are on the narrow streets of an old University where we find a parking spot, that we are both suspicious about. Ana speaks to a workman nearby. We will be towed there. We retreat and somehow find a parking ramp with spaces. From there we begin a walk into the old town using the map and are quickly delighted with the place we find. 

We have been following some advice given by a UNH professor on traveling in Spain. “Never eat at a restaurant with a plastic menu.” It is a very good rule of thumb. So, we proceed down a cafe lined plaza to a place  with white table cloths. (I have come to believe one can judge to some degree the quality of a restaurant by whether it has table clothes and the size and shape of the wine glasses. At least, they are good secondary indicators.) A waiter comes forth and says to Ana that the food is good and the prices are fair. I don’t like to be hustled, but somehow it seemed like he was just doing a good job on a slow afternoon. There were people eating there that didn’t look like tourists as well. 

We find a table out of the mid-day sun, and pursue the menu more closely. Ana has trouble with the Spanish menus. Often she does as well reading an English version if the place has one and many do. The Spanish have a different name for fish and seafood than the Puerto Ricans. Shrimp in Puerto Rico are camaronies, but in Spain they can be gambas or lagustinas or other words. But in Girona there is another problem. They are Catalonians and have a different language. (They all speak Spanish, of course, but probably not to one another. For example, exit in Spanish is salida but in Catalan its sortida) So, we struggle with the Catalan menu and decide on an appetizer and a pizza. The appetizer seems to be a plate of hams and salmon and vegtables. When it arrives it is thinly sliced salmon, perhaps smoked, but definitely not cooked. Top very lightly with some other things, small bits of ham and herbs. We could not have miss judged it more. Fortunately, it was delightful. Nothing we have ever had, and nothing we would normally order, until now. Lucky us. The pizza comes and we again our surprised; it doesn’t look like our order, but we decide the cheese is covering our toppings. It is delicious as well, but it is the wrong pizza. No harm done still a great lunch in an outdoor setting in a lovely old town. 

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We walk the town and Ana shops a bit, leaving me some time to notice how much separatist sentiment is being express with Catalan flags and other banners hanging above the commercial streets from the apartment balconies. In the Catalan country side we have seen many bridges covered with banners and rocks painted with protests. “We are a Republic!” They often say. There has been a great deal about this movement in the American news lately; so it is not surprising to run into it. Clearly, Spain is under great pressure from the Catalan people, but it is unlikely to give in as the Basques and the Galacians pretty much feel the same way, as we have seen throughout the trip. 

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We walk the old town streets for a couple of hours and visit the cathdral, skipping the musem and the basilica. One could stay longer in Girona, but we are pleased to have found it for the afternoon. We visit a larger supermarket on the way back to Roses and buy some milk and veal steaks again cut thin by the butcher. They will be good tonight when Ana cooks in tonight. We are eager to use up some goat cheese we bought in Prioro as well as salad fixings. We have become a bit weary of late dinners out.