I was supposed to have a Spanish invasion over the weekend, but something urgent came up which meant he had to go to Madrid instead. Although it was, admittedly, necessary and even urgent that I be neglected this weekend - because yes, that is how I chose to view things - I didn't feel great about it.
That might be un understatement.
Late Friday evening, I knew I had to something for the weekend to shake my mood. Perhaps go somewhere? Anywhere? I tossed around a few places, and for some reason Perpignan stuck. Possibly because I like saying it. There really is no other reason I can think of, for latching onto it as my destination.
But, I didn't decide anything conclusive, and woke up on Saturday morning in such a funk that I ate chocolate for breakfast to try and shake it off. Healthy. By the time 10 AM rolled around, I had decided that I just needed to stay home and sweep my floors. Possibly even mop them. By 10:05, I knew I would end up in the fetal position moaning if I actually did that, so I decided to make a break for it.
This left me half an hour to shower, dress, blow dry my hair, put on makeup, throw stuff into an overnight bag, book a hotel and check train transfers before my train left Couiza. I was like a chicken on crack, or something.
I did present a very well put together self, in possession of a hotel room in the "Historical District" when I arrived in Perpignan. But.......when I walked out of the train station there, I realized something important: the only thing I knew about the city was that it had a strong Catalan influence. That's....it.
I didn't know where my hotel was. I didn't even know the address. I didn't know the major areas for sight seeing. I didn't have a laptop for access to the internet so I could figure either of these things out.
I lost my Blackberry in London a month ago, so I couldn't call the neglectful Spaniard and make him figure these things out. And so I stood there, surrounded by French and Spanish people and all I could say was....."Oh, Shit."
And then...."Oh SHIT."
I did have a scrap of paper, on which I had written the hotel's name, and three vague directions on how to walk there from the station. But I could barely read my own hurried scribbles. I had looked at a map online before bolting out the door, and I remembered the general direction of things and the major road I needed to find and turn right off of, at some point. So I just struck out. Twenty minutes later, bless the angels in heaven, I found my hotel. And you thought I was going to get murdered. Well, so did I.
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Here's the fortunate thing about most European cities: they are actually quite small. Within whatever area is considered their historical district, you never usually walk for more than hour to get to anything you want to see. I might have been vastly unprepared going there, but I did know that once I found the centre of town, I would be able to see nearly everything worth seeing just by wandering around and exploring. And so that's what I did.
The centre of Perpignan is composed of very winding, narrow cobblestone streets. In some way I was reminded of a calmer version of the back streets of Naples. There are cafes everywhere, amazing shopping (not that I partook) (that's a lie) (it was amazing), and even though this sounds cliche, there is buckets of "character" everywhere. I could have walked those streets indefinitely.
That might be un understatement.
Late Friday evening, I knew I had to something for the weekend to shake my mood. Perhaps go somewhere? Anywhere? I tossed around a few places, and for some reason Perpignan stuck. Possibly because I like saying it. There really is no other reason I can think of, for latching onto it as my destination.
But, I didn't decide anything conclusive, and woke up on Saturday morning in such a funk that I ate chocolate for breakfast to try and shake it off. Healthy. By the time 10 AM rolled around, I had decided that I just needed to stay home and sweep my floors. Possibly even mop them. By 10:05, I knew I would end up in the fetal position moaning if I actually did that, so I decided to make a break for it.
This left me half an hour to shower, dress, blow dry my hair, put on makeup, throw stuff into an overnight bag, book a hotel and check train transfers before my train left Couiza. I was like a chicken on crack, or something.
I did present a very well put together self, in possession of a hotel room in the "Historical District" when I arrived in Perpignan. But.......when I walked out of the train station there, I realized something important: the only thing I knew about the city was that it had a strong Catalan influence. That's....it.
I didn't know where my hotel was. I didn't even know the address. I didn't know the major areas for sight seeing. I didn't have a laptop for access to the internet so I could figure either of these things out.
I lost my Blackberry in London a month ago, so I couldn't call the neglectful Spaniard and make him figure these things out. And so I stood there, surrounded by French and Spanish people and all I could say was....."Oh, Shit."
And then...."Oh SHIT."
I did have a scrap of paper, on which I had written the hotel's name, and three vague directions on how to walk there from the station. But I could barely read my own hurried scribbles. I had looked at a map online before bolting out the door, and I remembered the general direction of things and the major road I needed to find and turn right off of, at some point. So I just struck out. Twenty minutes later, bless the angels in heaven, I found my hotel. And you thought I was going to get murdered. Well, so did I.
--------------------------------------------------
Here's the fortunate thing about most European cities: they are actually quite small. Within whatever area is considered their historical district, you never usually walk for more than hour to get to anything you want to see. I might have been vastly unprepared going there, but I did know that once I found the centre of town, I would be able to see nearly everything worth seeing just by wandering around and exploring. And so that's what I did.
The centre of Perpignan is composed of very winding, narrow cobblestone streets. In some way I was reminded of a calmer version of the back streets of Naples. There are cafes everywhere, amazing shopping (not that I partook) (that's a lie) (it was amazing), and even though this sounds cliche, there is buckets of "character" everywhere. I could have walked those streets indefinitely.
Simply by walking around, I got to see Le Castillet, which entranced me for some strange reason. I found the Cathedrale de Saint Jean-Baptiste de Perpignan, which is so beautiful it made me cry. I turned a corner and found the Hotel de Ville, which was interestingly ominous and had a wedding party coming out of it. I explored the Palais des Rois de Majorque - but that is a story in and of itself.
And so when I checked a guide book after the fact, I found that I had hit upon most of the major attractions.
Conclusion: that's how I want to do it from now on, because it is 500 times more magical that way, I had no pre-concieved notions or expectations. I didn't know anything, so everything was a surprise. I hadn't glamourized anything, and so wasn't disappointed by the clash of imagination and reality. In short, it was perfect.
As an added bonus I got some awesome shirts and had some amazing meals. Beyond being disgustingly beautiful.....everywhere, France knows how to do clothing and food. Seriously. I am not sure it is possible to be depressed here. The shopping therapy and the food therapy is beyond excellent.
I don't know if I have a point, except this: throw out your guidebook. Stop planning. Just wing it. It's much, much better that way.
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