France, eventually. For a while, it seemed like we wouldn’t be able to make it. We spent more than three hours waiting for a ride at the Spanish – French border in Pyrenees. The scenery was cool, though. Finally, an old man in the rusty Seat took us on board. As if unaware of his vehicle condition, he drove like nuts so that we sat in silence with terror in our eyes. He couldn’t speak English anyway. However he took us all the way to Montpellier.
Spain welcomed us with the entirely Spanish-only environment. You would think that they would bother to have some signs our announcements in English at the international airport. Fortunately, PJ knows little Spanish so we were able to find our way out of airport and take the right bus to our hostel.