Font-Romeu
In August of 2023, during a full-blown canicule, we gave up on pretending we could outsmart the heat and headed for the mountains.
The house we were renting in Caunes-Minervois had one portable air-conditioning unit in the bedroom. One. Which meant the rest of the place operated like a stone convection oven set to “low and relentless.” By midday, even the dogs looked offended.
So we packed the car and aimed north toward Font-Romeu, a mountain town near the Spanish border known for pine forests, clean air, and the kind of altitude Olympic athletes train at. Mostly, it was known for not being hot.
The drive alone felt like a reward. You climb through winding mountain passes with views that make you want to pull over every ten minutes. Deep valleys. Wild horses. That shift in light you only get as elevation increases. Windows down. Temperature dropping. Stress quietly leaving the body.
Once we arrived, everything slowed. Pine trails instead of stone streets. Nights cool enough to sleep with the windows open. Morning air that actually felt like something you could breathe. We wandered without urgency and took deep, grateful breaths of sixty-degree air like people who had narrowly escaped something.
Breakfast came from Aux Délices de Neiges, which did exactly what it needed to do. One night, against the odds and the reviews, we had a genuinely great pizza at Pizzeria Le Joffre. Sometimes the mountain air lowers your standards. Sometimes it just improves your mood. Either way, it worked.
What made the trip better were the side trips we hadn’t planned. A day run down to Andorra, which somehow felt like Las Vegas for hikers. Shiny. Busy. Slightly surreal. And then Llívia, the strange little Spanish town completely surrounded by France. Technically Spain. Practically French. Selling espresso, jamón ibérico, and quietly reminding you that borders are often just suggestions.
Font-Romeu wasn’t about sights or strategy. It was about relief. About remembering that France has an escape hatch when August turns cruel.
If you ever find yourself melting in a stone house in summer, remember this place.
Pack the car. Head uphill.
Let the mountains take over from there.