The GR10 is a path that runs the length of the Pyrenees sometimes in France, sometimes in Spain
After 90km, 2675m of ascent, 2500m of descent, aching back, thighs, knees, calves, heels, soles and toes but thankfully no blisters… 8 days is a long time to be away from the children. Trail mix tastes much nicer on the mountain. The downs are worse than the ups. If you stop to pee in a desolate spot, a party of 10 walkers will appear out of nowhere. Stage 2, anyone?
With offline totals, we have now raised a fantastic £1500. Thank you.
Early start today from the beautiful village of St Etienne. We climb to the pic, at 1300 feet, and make a long slow descent to our final stop, St Jean Pied de Port. The place is a revelation: a buzzing walkers’ crossroads, GR10 traffic meets pilgrims setting off to Santiago de Compostella. We explore the 17th century citadel, artisan boutiques and bars around the ramparts. Our stop for the night is a 17th century Gite the size of a small castle within the city walls. A community ‘walker’s spirit’ makes up for the crowded and spartan conditions. We sit at long trestle tables, eat traditional Basque food and drink lots of Sangria. It’s a lovely end end to our walk.
St Jean Pied de Port. Many of the old houses bear 16th and 17th century inscriptions on the lintels.
The inspiration for…
the Basque ‘A’?
Today we leave the foothills behind and tackle our first proper mountain: Pic d’Impala. At 1200m, it is, says R, the same height as Snowdon, without the steps and handrails. We are sad to be walking in mist and persistent drizzle, but the droplets of water that frame every fern and every cobweb, make up for the lack of views. As we get up high, a thick cloud covers the Pic and makes visibility difficult. The path is rocky and slippy, with an instant-death drop to the left. We pass a cross dedicated to an unlucky walker. I lose R in the mist, lose the path and lose confidence. I am calling out and swearing now. After what seems ages, I hear: ‘Follow my voice. Trust your feet, and trust your boots.’ I can’t. I inch on my bottom for 20 minutes, and back to safety. R says nothing for ages, then finally, when I have stopped shaking, ‘One for the blog’. And so it is.
Inching across, vertical drops to the left.
Following the ridge in the mist
We set off in the rain
A goodbye breakfast this morning for A who is returning to England. We put her in a taxi and continue a deux up a steep road, then path, to the top of the col. My position at the back, head in another space entirely, while others sort out the route is no longer a possibility. I start map reading and am surprised a) that I get it, and b) the walking gets easier when you know where you’re going. The panorama at the top is stunning. We eat chocolate, sumbathe a bit, and begin the big descent, a cracking 500m in 2km. I have been dreading this bit, but it’s brilliant fun, half scramble, half climb for nearly two hours, with a swim in the river at the bottom to cool off. Walk into Bendaye around 5; beers, chat, food and sleep. All ok.
