Waiting in line at the border to cross from Spain into the principality of Andorra, where people seem to go to shop duty-free amidst the scenic Pyrenees. The Andorrans did not care one whit who came into their country, but the Spanish were creating a bit of a jam on the other side checking trunks to see if anyone bought one too many bottles or cartons of tax-free vice. I zoomed by the drivers on my bike and entered Andorra and its lifestyles-of- the-rich-and-famous Ferrari boutiques without delay. While I passed on the duty-free luxuries, I did go hog wild at the supermarkets so that I could later prepare camp meals fit for royalty. The night before I hit the border an old Spaniard threw rocks at me in the campsite when I was setting up in the darkness. When I started walking toward him to find out what the story was he said he thought I was a "Gato." I understood the mistaken identity. (7/27/04)
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Andorra/Spain Border |
