Andorra and Back Again

That's pretty much how it felt, anyway. We just got back to Mérida from one of the most interesting and amazing adventures we've had. The good people here in Spain decided that our mid-year meeting should take place in Andorra, so we were forced to travel halfway across the world to get there (it seemed about that far, but was really only 10 hours driving each way...). I was initially a bit confused by the decision to do the mid-year conference for Spain grantees outside Spain, but now that I've actually been to Andorra (and spent some time there - I think I was there in 1990 or so, for a few minutes...), I believe the decision was fully justified. My description of the Andorra visit is going to have to appear in two parts, as I'm right in the middle of an important project for my research and I can't really afford to sit here for half an hour and describe all that there is to experience and enjoy in Andorra just now. Suffice it to say that Rick Steves is kind of a travel snob now, and the more I experience of Europe the less I trust the things he has to say. Don't bother reading up on Andorra from his perspective, it's one of the places he claims he goes "so you won't have to." I say, it's well worth a visit, especially if you're already in Spain, Portugal, or even southern France.

Of course, I have to admit that my experience of this wonderful little mountain principality was heavily tainted by a few factors. One of those is that we were given exceedingly nice lodgings in a hotel I would not be able to afford on my own. Another is that we met many of Andorra's dignitaries and were hosted by these and other kind souls of the place in a way that I am unlikely to ever experience anywhere else. It is also a true fact that Andorra is at least half-full of Portuguese people, which is generally a good thing, as they are almost universally kind, friendly, outgoing, and cheerful. Oh, and they love good coffee, which means the Andorrans must have good coffee, which means I had access to good coffee, which I brought back to Spain in bulk. So I probably didn't experience the Andorra that Rick Steves visited. And I still encourage my readers to consider it a worthwhile destination.

I dedicate the remainder of this posting to one of the highlights of our visit to Andorra la Vella. A number of people advised us to go to a place called Caldea, which is Catalán for hot springs or something similar. When we arrived in town, one of the first things we noticed was the building that houses this Caldea, a tall spire of glass pointing jauntily toward the sky. I was originally hoping to sneak in an afternoon of snowboarding on our only free day, but by the time I figured the cost, the number of hours, and the amount of work that would be, it was 3pm and I wasn't feeling much like slamming my body into the icy slopes for the next few hours. I discarded that idea and decided to give the hot springs (technically, it's a spa. That's right. I went to a spa instead of snowboarding.) a chance. And I'm frightfully glad I did. It just so happens that a wonderful human named Lan is a member of the exclusive club that is Caldea. She invited us to accompany her as guests to the members-only section of the health spa, where we were given bath robes, towels, and sandals for flip-flopping around the grounds. We were also each given a free bottle of ice-cold water, which was really the icing on the cake for me.

Caldea is a 3-story indoor hot springs resort. Technically, it only has interesting pools and experiences on two levels, the intermediate floor being basically a large restaurant. Technically, it's not all indoor either, as there are two jacuzzis outside on the members-only upper level and some other pools outside on the all-access level (to which I did not venture). We were fortunate enough to have access to both levels of water wonderland, but after having explored most of the facility we decided that there is really no reason to go downstairs when you can go upstairs. Aside from the foot-scraping lazy river, the grapefruit pool, the saunas, and the huge hot tub, the members-only floor has a Turkish bath feature known as a hammam. As it turns out, this is apparently a feature originally introduced to Spain by the Moors, and is technically a part of the Arabic baths, though I really cannot say what the differences would be between these two complexes. Neither here nor there.

This particular hammam is a large-ish domed structure that looks something like a bread oven from the outside. Upon entering, one is greeted with a blast of hot vapor, smelling heavily of eucalyptus. Once the door has closed behind the visitor, s/he realizes that there is nothing to be seen, and the only sound is that of trickling water. Waiting patiently for the pupils to dilate sufficiently to offer some visibility, one gradually realises that if one had, as one initially intended, walked forward heedlessly upon entering, one would have smashed one's face into a tall column of three inverted cones, one on top of the other. It is down these cones that the deliciously cold water trickles to create the cavernous chamber's only ambience sound. As the darkness is lifted from one's eyes, it becomes apparent that the walls are lined with alternating seats and settees, each of the latter having under it a small opening from which the chamber's fragrant steam emits in a constant plume. For convenience, or perhaps to ensure proper sanitary conditions, each settee is also accoutred with its own water hose.

Sitting in that dark, steamy room, cold water trickling down the central column, skin pressed hard against the hot, (hopefully) clean tiles of the settee, I had the rare, increadibly peaceful, blissfully welcome experience of nearly forgetting my place. Would that it had lasted forever.