A drunk is a drunk is a drunk. It does not matter if they are Spanish, German, Mexican or American. Borracho is the Spanish word for drunk and last night we had our share of them. We camped just outside of a small town in the Spanish Pyrenees and did not realize it was Fiesta weekend until we had waited outside of the towns only grocery store, for a 5 pm opening, and it never came. Back at the campground we found out that this was the town's annual celebration of "la Virgen" and there would be a big fiesta with fireworks at 12:30 am. Sure enough, the fireworks came along with case loads of M-80's which were exploded ALL (really) night long by very drunk and obnoxious men. They were roaming around until dawn and I actually laid in the tent wondering what object I was going to use for a weapon when they discovered our car with French license plates. My fears were never realized and at first light we got out of Dodge.
The day was redeemed quickly with a stop in a wonderful supermarket. We had been down to just bread and cheese for 2 days as we had been in rural areas with no services. We also scored on an ATM which actually worked and filled the car with gas. It's amazing how we take things for granted sometimes, like food, cash, and gas. To make things better we hiked for an hour and a half up to a gorgeous lake on the French side of the Pyrenees for a picnic lunch.
The French (north) side of the range is very different from the Spanish (south) side. The north side gets the rain and it is green with dense forests. The south side resembles California's dry foothills at the end of summer. It is a rugged range and it is easy to see how the Moors never advanced further north than Spain.
As I write this we are in southern France and I can see the Pyrenees in the distance. The almost full moon is rising and the coolness of the evening is refreshing after a hot day. There are only old folks with motorhomes in the campground with us and we look forward to a long, quiet, good nights sleep.
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