We left Spain yesterday to cross the Pyrnees into France. To avoid heavy traffic on one of the main passes we chose a small B road and were well rewarded.

It's very hard to write about scenery which is probably why I am a landscape photographer. Descriptions are not really adequate because landscape is something which is ultimately not reductible to words. Even photographs fail to capture the impact because the image is two dimensional and the field of view is limited by the lens. Wide angle lenses reduce huge towering mountains to small distant hills and telephoto lenses can only pick out a small section of the whole panorama.  Landscape is almost an emotion when it is on the scale of the Pyrnees. So I'm not going to attempt a description other than to say that the journey was a succession of vistas that might have been created by a Disney scene painter as the backdrop for some majestic fantasy film.

We arrived at our hotel which is in a small village perched high in the mountains. It is an old stone Château with magnificent views towards the snow capped mountains.  The first thing Gill looks for when we arrive in a room is a kettle or some way to make a cup of tea. The restoring properties of tea should never be underestimated on a long journey.

Unfortunately there is no way of making tea in the room. Gill decided this afternoon that she was fed up not being able to make tea and went to the breakfast room where we had spotted a kettle this morning. The only problem was that the kettle had no water and no tap was visible. There was a small kitchenette to the side of the room with an inviting open door so Gill went in there to fill the kettle.  At this point an alarmed owner appeared saying that he had heard sounds and had come to investigate. He must have assumed burglars had decided to make themselves tea before departing with all the breakfast cereal,  bath towels and shower gel they could carry. He seemed cautiously relieved that this was not the case but had a slightly disapproving air in regard to Gill's self-service initiative.  When Gill later went to return the cups to the kitchen the door was now firmly shut in a clear message that further raids on the water tap were actively discouraged.

The château has a restaurant and it is obvious that this is the focus of the owner's efforts. They might not have tea making facilities in the rooms but they claim to run a gourmet restaurant.

Turns out that's not entirely correct. Now this is going to sound like a spoiled pampered first world brat whine so prepare yourselves.

You know how they say that first impressions are very important? Well, when we went to the table the first thing I noticed was that the white tablecloth had not been properly laundered and had dark marks from previous stains.  In a small country Cafe I might not have noticed but in this context the marks stood out like dog poo on a bride's veil as she walks down the aisle. Impossible to ignore but indelicate to point out.

Gill ordered chicken and it appeared smothered in small pea sized round pasta. We concluded this was an error of judgment in the part of the Chef but everyone has different tastes so Gill ate her chicken and left the strange marble pasta.  I had duck in a delicious sauce but I got the impression that the duck had led a long, vigorous and active life in which much time had been spent developing muscle tone and strength.   When the host appeared from the kitchen to take our plates he raised an eyebrow and asked if Gill had not liked the taste of her pasta. Gill had gone to the toilet so I had to answer for her. I didn't want to hurt Chef's feelings so I prevaricated by saying it was more a matter of texture than taste. He seemed satisfied with this answer and disappeared.

Next was pudding although I doubt Chef would have approved of that term. I decided to have the Chef's selection of mixed desserts. A notice on the menu sternly reminded guests that their desserts were made to order and therefore they should be ordered at the beginning of the meal. When the plate arrived it was painfully obvious by appearance and taste that several of the delicacies supposedly crafted moments before by the Chef were, in fact, days old.  To underline this little white lie, two of the desserts made an appearance at breakfast the next morning.

We decided today that we would forgo a second visit to the restaurant and went in search of an alternative food source. We had do drive down the mountain to the local village and all that was available was a small Cafe which also offered cheese tastings. It turns out that we had struck Gold.

The cheeses were from the valley below our hotel and she offered us a cow cheese, a mixed cow and sheep cheese and a sheep cheese.  She seemed very keen that we try a local beer made with  red fruits so we went with her recommendation. Both the cheeses and the beer were delicious. She crisped up some baguette for us and she then regaled us with details about her family. We discovered how many children she had, where they lived, how often she talked to her grandson and how often she visited her daughter in Paris. Sadly we has to cut short this delightful interlude as our host had to get in her car and go to Spain to buy some ham as she was running out. She packaged up the cheese we had not consumed and asked if we wanted to take some baguette which otherwise would be wasted.

When I returned to the hotel I felt somewhat guilty and sorry for the owners. It was obvious their passion was food and that the hotel side was a huge challenge for them. They didn't know that it's actually very simple. You just need to treat guests like you have known them for years, like our cheese lady , and guests won't even notice the stains in the table cloth.