To Andorra la Vella by... now I think about it, how?

I had decided to be part of the Party's delegation to the 70th Anniversary Congress of Liberal International partly because it sounded interesting, but also because it was an excuse to add another country to my list. And so, I had booked a hotel in Andorra, and flights to and from Toulouse. I hadn't really given it much more thought than that.

And you know how things are, you're busy with other stuff, and you don't really get round to doing quite as much research as you ought to. That's particularly true if you aren't taking your wife, who would fret about such things.

In fairness, Ros had intended to come, but the unexpected calling of the General Election had led her to decide that her place was at home, or at least in or around a target seat in the East of England.

So, on a fairly ordinary Wednesday morning, I set forth for Heathrow Airport's Terminal 5 for the relatively short flight to Toulouse. I had booked into an Ibis Styles hotel opposite the railway station as much for convenience as anything else, as my outline plan was to take a train up into the Pyrenees and wing it from there. After all, how difficult could it be?

Toulouse was alright, I guess. My mood was not lifted by the pretty mediocre hotel - just don't bother with the Ibis Styles Toulouse-Matabiau is my advice - and I would rather have been with Ros than in a strange city on my own. I found a bar near the river, had a beer and followed the news from home before getting an early night.

The next morning, rising earlier than I might usually do, I set off to the station to buy my ticket to L'Hospitalet pres l'Andorre, some two-and-a-half hours up the valley of the River Ariege. The usually accurate guidance of the Man at Seat 61 website was that, if there wasn't a connecting bus into Andorra, a taxi should be fairly easily found.

It was a pretty enough ride, with the river accompanied by the railway for most of the journey, through some of France's most lovely scenery, and I was beginning to relax by the time I reached my next transfer point.

L'Hospitalet pres l'Andorre station in the snow.
Luckily, when I got there, the only snow
was on the mountains...

L'Hospitalet isn't a big place, and there weren't many people about once the train pulled away. In fact, with the station unstaffed, there appeared to be nobody around. There was, I eventually discovered, a sign with a telephone number for a presumably local taxi company. With rather more hope than expectation, I rang the number, and was told, yes we can have a taxi to you in about five minutes. I was, I admit, relieved.

And, five minutes later, there was my taxi, driven by a women a bit younger than I am, but with sufficient English to understand what I wanted, and to explain that they didn't go over the border very much, due to the number of people crossing the border to take advantage of the duty-free shopping in Andorra. The French Customs officers don't like it much, it seems, and the local taxi drivers have taken the hint. However, an Englishman with a suitcase wasn't likely to bother them much, especially as I was travelling into Andorra and not out of it.

It's quite a drive from L'Hospitalet to Pas de la Casa, the first settlement you reach when entering Andorra from that direction, with hairpin bends and sharp climbs, but it wasn't too long before I was being dropped off at the bus stop for onward travel to Andorra la Vella.

Buses run that route every half hour, costing just over 6 euros, and I didn't have to wait too long before I was on my way. I had reached Andorra, and a Congress awaited...