From the windows of our airplane, I can see the Mediterranean glistening in the morning sun.  Another sparkling day in one of my favorite European cities.  Today, people will walk the La Rambla, shop in the Mercat, eat paella, marvel at Gaudi’s architecture and indulge in some incredible Rioja wine.  But they will be doing it without us.

Raye and I settle in for the long airplane ride home, but not without reliving all the amazing things we saw, food we ate, people we met and roads we traveled.  It was better than we imagined, but at this stage of life, I have come to appreciate new motorcycle adventures for the uncertainty and unmatched sense of discovery you get when you make time for these kinds of experiences.

The last thing we discuss before drifting off to sleep is the one thing that will help me overcome the sweet sadness of leaving: when and where do we go next?  The truth is, I don’t really care.  Just as long as another ride awaits.

About another 90 minutes of riding through a few more small towns and we arrive at Col d’Ares, the mountain pass that is our gateway to Spain.  A quick fill-up on gas, and we cross the border back into the country where we started.  I make a mental note: No more “bon jour”; it’s back to “buenas dias.”  Sort of like when I used to head back to college in Texas every summer and had to switch from my usual Illinois “you guys” back to the more accepted “ya’ll.”

I love passing through the out-of-the-way towns in this part of France and I will miss this charming region.  There are many images I carry with me as we pass through them, particularly the street scenes, such as quaint and welcoming outdoor cafes, cobblestone town squares with fountains, potted plants, bicycles and scooters, narrow sidestreets and of course my favorite image, windows and doors.  One of the doorways that remains vivid in my mind is an old stone building that housed a small garage no more than 12 feet wide with painted wood double doors and the iconic brand name “Renault” above it.  I love the contrast between the ancient stone work, the faded blue paint and the lettering of the sign.  The entire image is perfectly symmetrical and actually quite indicative of colors and textures seen throughout these mountain hideaways.

The wind has picked up noticeably along this ridge.  We can see the peaks of the Pyrenees in every direction from this vantage point.  Years ago, I am sure these mountains helped draw the lines between these two countries.  With only one day left on this trip, I can’t help but feel like we are leaving more than France behind and headed back to reality sooner than I would like.

Within moments we arrive at our hotel in Mollo, a tightly spaced and placed village carved into the side of the mountain.  Our hotel stands several stories tall above the rest of what there was of town.  The tiny rooms are not much larger than the bed itself.  The best part of our room is the balcony, which we both immediately walk out onto.  The mountain region below us is painted with the evening sun’s rays.  A layer of clouds rolls in along a ridge below us.  Again, I feel a twinge of sadness creep in, but I quickly push it aside, eager for dinner with our companions and the hours of lively conversation we have all come to enjoy so much.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with twisties – tight turns – leading us through the base of the Pyrenees Mountains. Today we just got our legs under us, so we only rode about 150 miles. We had a rest stop at a motorcycle museum that all the guys really loved. Then by early evening we arrived in a tiny town called Peramola, near a cross-roads that leads further into the Pyrenees. On the edge of town was our hotel, the Can Boix. www.canboix.cat.

This charming European hotel was a welcome site for us. There is a small church on the property, which is actually a farm, a vine-covered walkway, plenty of amenities like tennis courts and a pool – even a helicopter landing pad, which gives you an idea of its popularity as well as its remote location. Our rooms are very spacious, have hardwood floors, marble bathrooms and the view into the valley from our balcony is postcard-perfect. The hotel has a delightful history, built by the Pallares family in the early 1900s to attract families on holiday from the larger cities in the region. The Pallares family still runs it today, and the land has been in their family since the 1700s.

We spent the evening becoming much better acquainted with our fellow riders and found ourselves still laughing and talking well after 1 a.m. Of course European dinners don’t even begin until 8:30 or 9 p.m., so it’s not as bad as it seems. Plus, our companions are bright, engaging and accomplished individuals each in their own right, and our conversations about their work, their families, their lives — and most importantly their riding experiences! — was a pure joy. We met a Wall Street investment banker, an Oxford law student, a CEO, several attorneys, a successful real estate entrepreneur, an orthodontist, an endodontist (root canals) from California who is really a vintner-to-be, a construction superintendent, a gentleman who runs a plastics company, a lovely lady who used to work in public relations believe it or not, and several other unique and enjoyable individuals. On top of all that, one of our guides plays guitar and sings, so we were serenaded during our after-dinner espressos.

I leave dinner with a gratefulness about our companions. If you are very lucky in life, you might meet a few people like this, but rarely all at once and in such a magical setting like Europe. You come on the trip for the ride, so having a shot at making new friends like this is just a bonus. I think we scored big time.

This morning Raye and I woke up early in anticipation of the trip.  Thinking we would be first to breakfast, we found several of our traveling companions already sampling the spread and drinking espresso, obviously eager to ride as well.  I remember how much I enjoy European food and focused most of my attention on the French baguettes, fresh sausage, prosciutto and a variety of cheeses.  I was completely taken with the self-serve espresso machine and confess I had four cups.  Like I needed juicing up.

We headed out from Barcelona about 8:30 a.m. (that’s 1:30 a.m. central time in Arkansas, but who’s counting…).  We are on a Ducati ST3, which obviously has a lot of power but unfortunately for me, no top box or back rest.  After fighting the traffic of the city, thankfully we veered off the highway and onto the first of many winding mountain roads.  This one took us to the famous mountain of Montserrat, home to the Benedictine abbey, Santa Maria de Montserrat, which of course is named for the mountain.  Montserrat means “jagged mountain” in Catalan, the language spoken along with Spanish here in the province of Catalonia.  Once you see this dramatic setting, you will understand the name. The stark, rounded mountains are very unusual and memorable.

The abbey is serene and as beautiful as its setting.  There are a number of walkways and a set of stairs leading up the side of the mountain to the main courtyard.  A long, large building serves as a place of residence for the monks.  Next to it are several small outlying buildings and then, of course, the cathedral.  No pictures are allowed in the sanctuary.  While we were visiting, a service was in progress, so we quietly stood in the back and just watched for a few minutes.  The marble floors in the courtyard are works of art in their own right, so I quickly photographed them from various angles and in different lights.   I took up card-making last year, and these pictures should help inspire several new ideas.

Near the buildings visitors can see a Holy Grotto, which is a spot where local people claim to have seen visions centuries ago.  Montserrat is also well known for “the black Madonna,” a statue of the Virgin Mary carved out of dark wood.

Click here to listen to the monastery church bells ringing or the boys’ choir singing.  We heard the bells, missed the boys.  But it was an incredible destination to experience nonetheless.

How is it I have never dreamed of Barcelona?  It is precisely the kind of city dreams are made of.  This spicy Spanish town is filled with sights, sounds and smells that intoxicate the senses.  From musicians to markets, cathedrals to coffee, Barcelona is a vibrant, undulating place that you just simply give into – and enjoy every minute of it.

We have been here a mere 12 hours for our Pyrenees motorcycle adventure, landing at the city’s very contemporary airport after an all-night trans-Atlantic flight from New York City.  Jet lag doesn’t stand a chance here, as our early afternoon stroll turned into an all out walkathon through some of the most intriguing parts of the inner city.

Our nesting spot for the next two days while we acclimate in Barcelona is Hotel Regina, located just off Placa de Catalunya, a central plaza in the heart of the city.  From here, it is an easy stroll to reach La Rambla, a pedestrian street that runs east to the waterfront.  It is named after a riverbed that ran through the city in the 14th century – I can picture a rambling waterway making its way to the mouth of the Mediterranean Sea.  Easy to fast-forward seven centuries and see the similarities.  Crowds of people flow easily up to and then around florists stands, street vendors and fountains, slowing here and there to take a side trip through an alley, but always joining the larger throng.

We make two side trips: one to the Mercat de la Boqueria, an open-air market; and one to the Barri Gotic, the Gothic Quarter, an ancient part of the city filled with palaces, convents and cathedrals.

The Mercat is as much a treat for the eyes as it is for the palate.  We wandered around this emporium pretty much with our jaws slack, thinking how much the Food Network would have loved to tag along.  Every stall, whether it was seafood, chocolate or produce, was artfully arranged and dazzlingly displayed.  So many exotic things — I wasn’t sure what everything was.  We jumped right out there and bought an unusual pink fruit that tasted much like a kiwi.  Real dare-devils, those Mitchells.  Somehow we managed to resist the temptation to buy fresh eel, although the prawns didn’t look so bad.  But since we were saving our appetites for dinner in the Barri Gotic, I made a note of some of the nuts and chocolate stands I might stop back by tomorrow.

From the Mercat, we headed toward the Barri Gotic.  Diving off the main pedestrian walkway, we found ourselves winding our way through narrow streets with charming Spanish names such as Quintana, Portal de l’Angel, and Duc de Victoria.  Nothing is marked very well, so a compass head like me had to really work at getting and keeping my bearings.  Raye just followed along whenever I turned a corner, pretty much trusting I was going to get us “there” wherever there was.

There was La Catedral, the magnificent cathedral in the heart of the quarter.  Even though it is under an intense renovation, the immense building did not disappoint.  Built in 1358, the church holds dozens of shrines and places of worship.  I sat for a while in a quiet and secluded prayer room, thinking of how blessed we are and how grateful we have been lately for the health of our family and friends closest to us.  Life is a gift, lest we forget.

As was everyone else, I was quite taken with the elaborate architecture, stained glass and spires.  Such environments tend to inspire somber spiritual thoughts, no doubt.  But we enjoyed laughing at a flock of white geese who appear to live in the lap of luxury next to a courtyard fountain located just outside the main hall of worship.  People fed them freely and they had their own little house next to the water.  Like living in a sacred spa, I guess.

Our hunger finally got the best of us, and we were lucky enough to get an outdoor table at Taller de Tapas, a small restaurant that specializes in, well, tapas.  This is of course the famous Spanish style of eating appetizer-sized portions of a variety of foods, a little like indulging in dim sum but with a splash of paprika and anchovies to spice things up.

We ordered fried calamari, sliced artichokes, tomato and olive marinated salad, beef filet with chiles, and a chorizo omlette.  Top it off with an espresso and you have the near perfect early-evening meal.    Fortunately, I found a gourmet chocolate shop on the stroll back, and we enjoyed dark chocolate with pistachios and white chocolate with hazelnuts.  Bonus: I found some chocolate-covered ginger for my mom, which I intend to bring home as a small surprise.  She loves this rather unique sweet treat, and I hope she enjoys this sampling.

Once we made it back to the hotel, Raye just crashed and seems to be enjoying the comforts of our small but well appointed room.  Of course my heart skips a beat when I find wi-fi anywhere, and I immediately got connected so I could download photos and post to the blog.  So many images and thoughts are swirling in my head.  I learned on our last European motorcycle trip two years ago that there is too much stimuli to keep inside, and it’s much better to let it all flow out of my fingers and into the keyboard.  Otherwise sleep is slow in coming.

Speaking of sleep, I think I’ll succumb.  The city of dreams awaits.