Would You Like the Good News or the Bad News First?

Following the near miss, we were escorted to a small, five-seater van with the back seats filled by an Australian trio of middle-aged women who had apparently encouraged our bus driver to leave the two incompetent stragglers who couldn’t bother to show up on time (aka: Nick and me).

Guess I overlooked the part of the overview that detailed how large our tour group would actually be. Wasn’t expecting Charter Bus’s dwarfed third cousin, Van, Tiny Mini-Van.

Needless to say, I preferred a more personalized experience anyway, and after a brief introduction and explanation of the reasons behind our tardiness, we were back in the good graces of the Aussies and on our way.

Of course, the first thing out of my mouth was an animated proclamation about how excited I was to tour Freixenet. I had, in fact, booked this tour specifically based on my familiarity of the sparkling wine, as many more bottles than I’d like to admit have been consumed back at home … yes, sometimes alone … and maybe possibly accompanied by some ridiculously cheesy teen flick (High School Musical comes to mind) … Ok, TMI … The point being, I have a bit of a close kinship with Freixenet and I was pumped to see how and where it comes from.

Our tour guide/driver cleared his throat and followed with an uncomfortable, “Weeeell … would you like the good news or the bad news first …?”

Obviously aware that something was up, I refrained from speaking out loud and instead displaced verbal communiqué with an internal sequence of thoughts. “Are you serious man? If we aren’t going to Freixenet, you better turn this little pee wee special bus right back around and give me a refund ASAP. False advertising is what you are. This is crap. I may be a foreigner here in Spain, but I know a rip off when I see it, and you are not going to get away with it …”

What I really said: “I guess I’ll take the bad news first.”

Driver: “Sooo, we are not actually going to Freixenet today.”

I knew it! Oh you are going down mister.

“BUT!!” he exclaimed. “The good news is that we are going to a cava winery that is actually FAR superior to Freixenet!”

He went on to explain how Freixenet had changed its tour and no longer took participants into the impressive underground cellars and how Cordoniu (the place we would be touring) offered far better cava, a far better tour and a much more beautiful property.

Whatever.

Disappointed, I refrained from demanding a refund and escort back to my rather unappealing hostel back in Barcelona and instead went along for the ride. Mr. English Liar Tour Man was not going to ruin my day.

I will say that the tour was great. We first drove up to Montserrat, which is a parkland area made up of high hills and a knockout view to boot. According to our tour guide, this very area served as the inspiration for much of Goudy’s work. Check out the pics! These are two of his buildings we passed on Passeia de Gracia, as well as a photo of the view from Montserrat. Definitely see the similarity (for once, do not insert sarcasm here).














There is also a church atop this area nestled into the mountainside, which is home to the oldest boys choir in the world. We were lucky enough to sit in on their 1 o’clock serenade inside the church, which can also be heard echoed throughout the entire surrounding mountainside.



I liked the setup of this tour because it allowed for us to explore the area on our own for a few hours without the claustrophobia of staying with the group. My kinda tour. Nick and I bought a pair of bocadillos for lunch and took them with us on the “difficult” one-hour hike around the area. They weren’t lying. It was a calf-burner! But nice to get some fitness in, nonetheless. After lunch with a ridiculous view and a much easier descent than the climb up, we checked out the church (gorgeous) and met up with our “group” for transport to the second half of the tour.



Cordoniu did not disappoint. I have been on my fair share of winery tours back home, and this far exceeded any I have been on in California to-date. Nick, the brains of the group (recently graduated to “doctor” status!), could probably recall the exact numbers of case production, but from what I saw, this place is ENORMOUS!!! While touring the underground caves storing the wine, we had to take a motorized train cart to navigate through the neverending maze. I want to say it was somewhere in the range of over three miles worth of cellaring wine. That’s a LOT of bubbly. Yum.

Ironically, we had been talking about wineries back home while on the way to Cordoniu. Among mentions of my favorites was Artesa in Napa, introduced by Shannon (thank you Shannon!) -- now a family favorite of my dad and mine. Wouldn’t you know, in the ten-minute video expounding on the history of Cordoniu appeared Artesa! They are totally affiliates! It was a little unclear as to the exact connection between the two (another Google search to embark on), but still … really? At some point, I should stop being surprised by how small this world really is, but I can’t help myself. It’s like every time I see the Golden Gate Bridge. It never ceases to amaze.


I won’t spend too much time on Cordoniu, but I do have to bring up one part that was particularly well, hilarious actually. So, here we are on our classy tour in the caves when all of a sudden, one of the train carts drives by with… no lie… a class of about twenty fifth graders. You know, totally normal … just a bunch of ten-year olds taking a field trip to the winery. Huh?

To top it off, when we went into the tasting room to taste our complimentary selections, all of the kids were there too! Drinking! I can only presume it was sparkling grape juice or something similar, but seriously! Can you imagine being in the middle of a winery tour in Sonoma with something like that?

Gotta love Europe. Gotta love it.