the Costa Brava

We are on the Mediterranean coast now, and each section of it has its own name. The northernmost Spanish coast, between the French border and Barcelona, is called the Costa Brava (Strong or Wild Coast). Just the name draws me. We thought we’d check it out.

Cadaqués, home of Salvador Dalí

Our first stop was Cadaqués, home of Salvador Dalí. We stopped at a little place called the Bar Marítim, which was listed in Fodors, and checked out the menu placed out front for passersby to review. Looked good, so we selected a table right on the beach. We ordered beverages and asked for the tapas menu. No menu; chips or olives. He must have misunderstood me; we saw the menu. Marcus went inside, retrieved one, and brought it back. We made our final selections, waved the server down, and ordered. No, only chips and olives. ¿Por qué? Because the kitchen is closed. ¿Por qué? Because the kitchen is closed. He walked away. At lunchtime? On a Tuesday? We finished our drinks and decided to head inland from the beach to find an open kitchen.

olive groves

olives turning from green to black

We found a cute little place with tables in a cover courtyard called Don Quijote. What’s not to like? At least the owner has a love of literature. We were the only people in the place. It was a bit early by Spanish standards, 12:30. The Spanish lunch “hour” is from 1:30-4:00. [They used to call it siesta, but I was corrected when I called it that. I think Spaniards are trying to up their image and not appear too sedentary or noncompetitive.] We had a delicious lunch of fried eggs, French fries, and pork filet (me) and chorizo (Marcus). Some of the most flavorful food we’ve had in Spain! [They always warn us when food is picante, or spicy, and it always so mild we can barely taste the spice.]

The owner of the restaurant was sitting at a table reading his newspaper. After we finished, Marcus went up to him and thanked him for the great meal and service. He leaped up from his table, shook Marcus’s hand, slapped him on the back, thanked him, turned to me, thanked me, shook my hand. OMG! I think we made his day!

Cap de Creus

We drove on to the northeastern-most point of Spain, Cap de Creus, only a few kilometers from the French border. If I had known how gorgeous this place is, we would have spent the whole day here hiking! (Okay, maybe not. Our feet were killing us from the four straight days of personal-best walks in Spain: 18,000+ steps.) So many amazing trails with so many gorgeous views!