Sitting on the Dock of the Bay

My first impression of Hendaye Plage was ‘wow, I feel at home here’.  It feels like Borth, but with palm trees, more sunshine and better food.  And the Basques have the same cultural sensibilities as the Welsh. There’s a definite ‘Sitting on the dock of the Bay’ feel here – which is appropriate because that was one of the songs that I sang at my leave-taking karaoke party in St. Catherine’s three months ago. 

Hendaye is a place where drifters blow into – and sometimes never leave.  There are a distinct number of eccentrics wandering around town: some ‘old money’, some ‘no money’.  There’s a surfing beach battered by waves and 250 metres inland there is a placid saline estuary that looks like a lake from every angle.   It’s a place of edges.  One where mountain, sea and river meet: where the GR10 begins (or ends). where two counties meet, where one can cross the border for cheap petrol and pastis and late afternoon tapas.  

I found a minuscule flat (25m square) with a kitchenette and a click clack (fold up fold down) couch and hunkered in on there for a month to do some writing and resting, fulfilling my fantasy of a literary equivalent of ‘doing a Matisse or Picasso’  (an extended working stay in a pretty place). The longer I stayed the more I liked it.   I started to accustom myself to being in tune with the rhythms of nature: high tide go watch the surfers on the sea front, low tide go bird spotting in the estuary, sunset go watch the sun set behind the Spanish Corniche. And I  thought this might just be THE place.  

Journey over

My trip across the Pyrenees is over!  Now time to sit down fo six weeks and write up and organise my extensive travel notes and put roots down in one place after weeks in and out of camp sites, hotels, friends houses and chambres d'hotes.  A welcome change

Say it in Broken English

A sign seen at a bird 'sanctuary' in Urdax yesterday.  Check out how the English translation mutated!

But it has to be said that it's not such a spectacular faux-pas as this one (also from Spain) reported in the Guardian today

A transcendental walk

 Had a transcendental walk yesterday along a 15 km ridge at between 750 and 1100m, following the French / Spanish border north - south.    There was a sheer drop of 300 m cliffs on one side for the last 4 km!  The light was fantastic: I saw vultures, kites and a golden eagle - plus an egret and kingfisher in the streams at the start of the day.  I'm starting to get the birding thing, keeping my field glasses close to hand all the time.  Looking back I could see a line of mountain peaks stretching to the east, and to the west the Atlantic for the first time - reminding me that my journey's nearly over.  The descent - of 750 m in less than 4 km - was brutal and i was glad to be back in the valley after 7 hours on the tops.  

A week in Pamplona

After a month in tiny secluded mountain villages with one shop and two bars (I exaggerate but only slightly) I decide I need a change of energy.  Pamplona - some say the cultural and culinary capital of the Basque Country. It worked for Ernest Hemingway why can't it work for me?

I've certainly eaten well here, got a lot of writing done too, inspired by a lovely view. Back to the mountains tomorrow. At least the weather forecast is good.

Two weeks in the Seule valley

Some of these photos were already posted on Facebook - it was a lovely lazy two weeks!

wo weeks

Val de Seule: 'The Tibet of the Basque Country'

I planned to stay in Val de Seule for three to four days, explore it a bit and wait for my mail from Brussels to catch up with me. That was a week ago. I’ve just extended my chalet booking for another week, at as my hosts say ‘hunter’s rate’.  I’m not sure if being an honorary hunter is something I’ve ever aspired to, but I sure do like being here.  In the first week here I did all the tourist things, two of the three magnificent limestone gorges in the valley and the Cave de Verna, the largest cave in the world open to the public – it could swallow up nine Notre Dames de Paris with space left over.  It was awe inspiring. 

I’ve also visited Pau - colonized by the English since the 1830s for its favourable climate and with stunning views of the Pyrenees,  Navarentz –voted France’s most beautiful village in 2014, L’hôpital Saint Blaise – an 11^th Century church and UNESCO World Cultural Heritage Site and the magnificent Salle de Belatous, a local village museum that blew me away with its stories of traditional farming knowledge,  the valley’s unique role in caving history (more about that later, perhaps) and the earthquake that destroyed 80% of the houses in the village in 1967 ( I also met an old farmer who lived through that episode).

And I have discovered that I have only just scratched the surface. There are other views and attractions that don’t even make the guide books (more about that later too perhaps). But the reason I’ve decided to stay another week is because the people here (from locals to tourists) are so cool.  Every day I have lovely, meaningful and life enhancing conversations.   On the tourist front I seem to have fallen into some kind of ‘active pensioners’ with camping vans’ sub-culture, which I feel actually feel very comfortable with.  Most of them, it must be said, are Brits. One couple I met have been coming here for eighteen years and after one conversation about bird migrations they knocked on my chalet door to let me know that there was a group of 1500 or so migrating cranes flying overhead. Last night I met a politically tuned in Scottish musician who (claimed he) has played with Altan, Sharon Shannon and so many of the Gaelic folkies I listen to. We talked about Munroes, refendera, political ignorance and later swapped our limited knowledge about constellations in the crystal starry night that gave birth to the second frosty morning here.   

But I’m also having rewarding contacts with locals.  It feels that my limited pre-trip research is paying off dividends, my scant knowledge of the area is paying off dividends, every little bit of local knowledge I share with a villager is rewarded by five times more information. The owner of my camp site keeps plying me with ancient tomes – with black and white photos - about the history and geography of this valley.  I am slow to assimilate so much text in French.  I did picked up a 1950s text about the Basque country before leaving Brussels – replete with black and white photos and she was so delighted to look at – it came back the next  day -  replete with 20 bookmarks of the local sights, and she and her partner sat down over coffee with me and discussed with each other the traditions and chronology of the photos:

‘This was when farmers used bulls to drag the carts, before the days of horses’;

‘This must have been the 1950s when they were putting in the first metal pylons. Were there wooden pylons then or was that the first time we had electricity?’ 

I feel so honoured to be party to these conversations, so much more meaningful than the standard youth hostel chat of ‘where you from, where you been, where you going?’  I feel I just might have tapped into what Alain de Botton calls ‘The Art of Travelling’ and I’ve done so by sitting still for a few days. 

The photos I posted earlier on Facebook but  don't know how to link back to them 

People Care

I spent my first week ‘on the road’ in a field, at the International Permaculture Convergence in Epping Forest, staying in a tent and not going off site all week.  There was too much of interest happening on site. There were six hundred participants from 60 or so different countries all sharing ideas on how to practically heal the land, heal society and heal ourselves.  I lost track of how many workshops there were, but then attending workshops wasn’t my priority.  I was ‘crewing’, co-ordinating and caring for a neighbourhood of about 200 people, half in tents and half in dorms.   It was a big job; facilitating a morning circle of 200 or so souls, ensuing cleaning rotas were filled, keeping the workshop listings up to date (they expanded daily) keeping the catering crew happy (they kept us fed with three delicious veggie meals a day for a whole week) and generally helping people with questions ranging from lost property to getting on or off site.  

Though I didn’t go to many workshops I had so many fascinating conversations with people from all over the world, caught up with several people from the PDC I did at Keveral earlier this summer, got invitations to visit people or projects in Spain and Malawi and, one night, danced with seven beautiful avatars of Shakti to old reggae numbers J.   The few workshops I did go to were on subjects such as the ‘ecology of happiness’:  about how to live and work effectively from a position of strength and joy and instead of one of fear, guilt and resentment.   

Throughout I felt provided for. I had left Brussels with too little time to buy an inflatable air mattress and the first day on site I found one on the ‘bring and take’ stall.  My neighbour in the field had a battery powered pump so I slept more comfortably than I expected.  And I reciprocated lending tools, cutlery, umbrellas to neighbours who needed them, all of which were returned.  The last day apart it only rained at night, a gentle pattering on the tent making me aware of being in nature.

After the PDC at Keveral I felt like I had met ‘my tribe’.  This week was a confirmation of that: a superb way to kick start my winter long journey to the South of Europe, full of energy and positivity.  Leaving site in torrential rain to spend an hour and a half driving around the M25 to Redhill was culturally dislocating.  It took me two days to dry out my tent and camping gear after the downpour we had on the last day. 

As the convergence as at a scout camp this is the best motif of my stay there. 'We will do our best'

The Eden Project

The Eden Project: one of the great green success stories of the Twenty First Century.   These guys bought up an abandoned and derelict china clay pit and have transformed it into a wonderland of bio-diversity in just 15 years - a project that cost 141 million pounds to establish. 

It claims to have the two largest 'greenhouses' in the world (the domes you see in the background) and the largest 'captive' rain forest in the world.  In fifteen years it has become Cornwall's biggest tourist attraction - and at a guess is probably the largest private sector employer in the county.   It's layouts are very well designed - and have a more ethno-botanic approach than most gardens.  For example in the rain forest biome they have examples of a Malaysian home garden, explain the significance of cashew, cocoa, sugar and banana production.  Similarly the Mediterranean biome explains the cultural and economic importance of different crops.  They deserve full marks for combining a 'family day out' with a strong green message that people can take home with them, for the quality and provenance of their food, for using recyclable disposable plates, cups and cutlery and many other attempts to exemplify sustainable practices.  It was well worth a visit - and I (who do a lot of work in these fields) learnt a lot from it. Yet I still felt uncomfortable with the sheer size of it.   Perhaps mass tourism just isn't for me. 

Back to Blighty

The sun comes out just as I reach Calais. The approach to the port is now ringed with about 3 km of 3 metre high double fencing crowned with barbed wire. It's still shiny, so obviously brand new. Fortress UK is defending its borders more and more. Sniffer dogs checking all the lorries. Apart from fortifications Calais port is really lacking in facilities: there's just a toilet block and three vending machines. o unlike Dover.  

I am traveling with P&O today. I normally don't because they are major donors to the Tory party. But today their timetable suited me better. I get on board and find out they don't have TV (unlike DFDS), which scuppers my plan to watch the first mountain stage of the Tour de France - on Bastille day too! 

I order a steak and kidney pie, mash, mushy peas and gravy to get me into a 'going back to Blighty mood'. The staff are very friendly and jokey but the exchange rate they charge for meals is about 15% worse than you get anyone else. The White Cliffs should be in sight soon.

There was a 20 KM queue of lorries waiting to get into Dover harbour, lined up on the inner lane of the motorway. I felt really sorry for the drivers. Make it to my friends place in time to see the highlights of today's stage. It finishes in the valley where my last Pyrenean trip ended (and where the next will pick up. Chris Frome tore the filed apart on the 1500 m climb at the end. I don't think 'll try to emulate him when I go back that climb looked vicious.  Thursday I travel onto to Cornwall.

En passant, days 17-21; Biescas - Aramatis via Col de Somport

Sabinanigo - Canfranc - Col du Somport (1650m) - Vallee d'Aspe - Val de Baloutous - Aramits and old friends (from thirty years ago)- Blagnac (Toulouse's airport) - home.

Spring's coming.

I've compressed the last four days ' voyage into one blog as there was some slippage in my (not quite) daily blogging routine.

Started the last leg of my voyage by visiting the hugely impressive Museo Angel Oresanz et Arts du Serrablo.   They have collected hundreds of artefacts from the depopulated surrounding area to build a display of how peasants used to live, their cheese, wine and bread-making tools, their agricultural implements, bells for the livestock, vernacular architecture, etc.  It makes for a fascinating visit.  The forge and the hay cart were particularly striking

Outside the museum dry stone walling takes on a completely different meaning:

Going up into the mountains I stop at Canfranc, the world's second longest railway platform - sadly abandoned now - though moves are afoot to restore it.  

Though I think they have their sense of direction slightly mixed up

There is a tunnel under the Col du Somport now - to allow year round transit through this pass. Its the longest (8km), newest and was the most controversial road tunnel in the Pyrenees. The legal (and extra legal) challenges lasted some 20+ years as the route would increase traffic flows - particularly HGVs through the Val d'Aspe, one of the last refuges of the French Brown Bear.   But the top road remains open and used and has some of the best views from any pass in this chain.

This HGV clipped a rock on a twist in the road in the 'Gorge of Bridge of Hell' and got a flat tire. Not the sort of thing you can fix alone.   That driver probably had a very long wait until some suitably heavy machinery could be mobilised. 

But he did share his misfortune with some illustrious forebears. Just above sits the the Fort de Portelet which used to be prison. Reluctant guests in the past include the Seventh Lord Elgin (on his travels back from the Middle East), Leon Blum (head of the Popular Front government who were in power when the Nazis invaded France in 1940)  and Philippe Pétain (the head of the Vichy Government who was imprisoned here for a while by the French for treason after the Second World War).  That's some history.

I stayed just down the road in a 13th Century Chateau in the pretty hillside village of Cette-Eygun

I accidentally saved the best bit if this trip until last. La Cirque de Lescun. Just off the Val d'Aspe. If Gavarnie is concave and tunnel like, closing in on the visitor, this is the just the opposite, convex and opening up new vistas around every turn.

A few kilometres down the valley the transhumance is beginning

And I cross my final pass for this trip, the le Col de Labays (1350m), still carrying snow

I drop down the valley to catch up with some friends from thirty years ago. Last time I was here this house and barn were almost derelict - just liveable in. Now its a picture-postcard pretty dwelling.

Francis demonstrates the use of an ergonomic garden tool. A double handed fork. Its great - you don't have bend and twist your back to dig over the soil.

Two hours later the patch is clean and planted up with onions. 'Come back in September and help us eat them'

And, finally helping Mark and Mirielle muck out and feed their sheep and goats

Their neighbour comes by to borrow one of those ergonomic forks. I'm heading back to Toulouse, but with an invitation to join Mark, his 165 sheep, 75 goats, 8 dogs and 2 donkeys in the high mountains for a few days in September, when he will be doing his five month summer stint as a upland shepherd. An offer not to miss.