Duty Free Loonies

Eclectic shops and crazy drivers in the tiny Principality of Andorra

My book ‘North to Norway’ is out in paperback and e-book. It's a story as much about the joy of travel as about motorcycling. As Martin, one of the reviewers, puts it:

“A smoothly flowing tale of sights, sounds, quirky cafés & bars, historical notes, nature, unique characters and the trials & tribulations of the solo adventurer.
It was especially refreshing to read about trips only partially planned. The best experiences are often stumbled upon by accident.
Highly recommended if you enjoy adventure from the comfort of your own garden. I would like to do something similar when I retire; only on four wheels.'"

Recent excerpts might give you a flavour of my writing and the adventures I recount in the book. I hope that you’ll want to buy the full version, available now on Amazon and in selected branches of Waterstones.

In last week’s extract The Queen's Funeral my journey back to England began in sombre mood on the ferry to Barcelona before tackling the daunting climbs of the Pyrenees.

I passed through Andorra, stopping to have a look at some of the tax-free shops. There were enough knives, coshes, guns, pepper sprays, tasers and handcuffs on display in some of the windows to equip a small militia. The accompaniment for this startling array of window weaponry were large bottles of whisky, gin and vodka, with hookah pipes and cigarettes on parade too.

Drugged up, drunk and in charge of lethal force, hell, those customers would be tough cookies.

choose your weapons

Andorra might be wealthy but it’s not a pretty place and was extraordinarily busy with tourists and cars, some of whose drivers may well have taken advantage of the low duty rates on alcohol that morning. I had more close shaves with erratic motorists in the short time I was in the principality than at any point on the entire trip from Tarifa to Nordkapp. They seemed incapable of doing anything predictably. A particular speciality was pulling out of a side junction at the last moment in front of me, even though we’d made long, lingering eye contact. The friendlier the terms they seemed to be on with me, the more likely they were to try to kill me. In my entire biking career only the Italians near Palermo and Naples beat the Andorrans for highway lunacy. I escaped Andorra after a soothing herbal tea to calm my nerves.

The freedom of the open road

I pointed the bike in the direction of the Port d’Envalira, the highest paved mountain pass in the Pyrenees (2,408m). The road wound steeply back and forth, but it was wide so finding the right line round the tight bends was easy and a joy. The only blots were the tar snakes, zigzagged streaks of smooth in-fill tarmac poured into road cracks, which were slippery on the bends and tended to unsettle the bike on the straights. Despite that the day was brilliantly clear, sunlight glinting off the sawtooth peaks and views stretching into infinity. It was one of those bluebird days when being on a bike, in the mountains, away from Andorran lunatics, was pure happiness.

As I crossed the border into France near the lovely spa town of Ax-les-Thermes, my phone pinged with a text message from BT, cheerfully announcing my arrival in a new country. I realised that using GPS had cost me over £30 in data roaming charges for the privilege of taking my short trip to Andorra. The country is excluded in the small print from the long list of places in Europe where roaming is included in my contract. Sneaky.

I tucked into a second helping of lunchtime gâteau to sweeten the blow. It was too easy to settle into a satisfying torpor after lunch, especially when the sun invited a blissful afternoon’s siesta. Maybe I was becoming increasingly Spanish. Maybe I was just tired. I should have taken a day off, done nothing, slept in and chilled out. There were times when it would have been good just to stop and linger a while longer. This was one of those days but the lure of the open road was ultimately stronger. Surrounded by workers, lovers, friends enjoying each other’s company with simple food and wine in the pretty square I roused myself slowly from my chair and headed back to the Honda, its white paint job blindingly bright in the sun, the stickers on the top box almost fading before my eyes.

My route took me on the French side of the Pyrenees, through Foix, with its magnificent castle, which I’d visited five years before, then on to the Ariège, one of the most unspoiled parts of France, with wooded mountains and fast-flowing clear rivers. It was an hour and half of glorious riding. The weather was lovely and there was little traffic, so I could relax and enjoy watching the scenery unfold. The border between France and Spain is sinuous in this part of the Pyrenees. The road crossed back and forth over the border several times, often without me knowing it. Eventually I had to turn southwards to find my hotel for the night back in Spain, so I took the N125 to the Pont de Rei, where the old border crosses the River Garonne.

This historic spot was where many Spanish refugees fled north to safety in France during the Civil War. Sadly, only a few years later it was persecuted French and German Jews who made the border crossing in the other direction into neutral Spain, escaping the Nazis. Today, a simple stone marker post indicates where they eventually found safe haven.

I parked the bike exactly on the border, its front wheel in Spain, its rear in France, and took a photo as the last slivers of the sun disappeared below the nearby peaks. The valley plunged into rapid darkness and the suddenly cool evening air, scented with pine and damp earth, had me zipped up for the rest of the day’s ride to the parador of Artíes.

Pa amb oli

It had been a long but rewarding sector, a day etched in the memory, and I treated myself to pa amb oli. The paper thin slices of jamón melted on my tongue with their rich, salty flavours. Simple and delicious. I slept well that night, lulled by the faint tinkling of goat bells, a chorus against the star-dusted night as they wandered the meadows nearby.

© 2025 Stephen Oliver

If you’ve enjoyed this excerpt you can find the complete story in paperback and Kindle format on Amazon.