Cologne

• I arrived in Cologne. It was a long journey from Sangüesa, Spain, a little west of Pamplona. 3 buses and 3 trains, with a rest day at Biarritz before tackling the night train from Toulouse to Paris and a race across Paris to the final Thalys train departing Gare de Nord.
• My friends for the last few days of walking, departing Undués de Lerda for Sangüesa.

 

• From one world to another. It reminded me of another long journey a few years ago from Ogden, Utah, to Genoa, northern Italy. In Ogden ordinary suburban life is conducted with big pickup trucks. Shopping, children to school. These trucks have self-unfolding step ladders to allow the ordinary mum and children to climb into them. No one walked anywhere, except me. I was the freak in town. Some thought I was at risk from the homeless. But they know better than to accost a freak.
• Some hours later in the intimate spaces of an Italian city engraved around a harbour and surrounding hills. Narrow streets, miniature buses, and glamorous Italian women on Vespers. And different food.
• And so it was from a near-deserted valley in northern Spain to Cologne. In Spain (and similarly in deserted France before that) there there had been little sign of life and food was scarce during the day. My habit had been to have breakfast, whatever limited choice was available, and then walk without carrying food. On many days there was no food on the way. I often walked 4, 6, and occasionally 8 hours with brief rest stops without eating, then waiting for the late Spanish dinner. At most one adequate meal a day.
• Then to Cologne. The city with a Cathedral and music. And deep Roman history. The Romans didn't do well east of Cologne.
  
• More importantly it was a shopping and eating mecca. The streets were congested and the people on a continuous all-day eating binge. Every day. Cakes, ice cream, and curry wurst. Like the birds migrating from Egypt, gorging on grain for a long flight. But the Germans weren't flying anywhere. Their feedback mechanism was faulty.
• It can be traced back to the beer purity laws which dictated that beer must not be made from wheat as wheat was more valuable in bread and cake making than beer, barley would do fine and it does. At the time there was insufficient agricultural surplus, although that eventually changed providing the foundations of the philosophical and technical powerhouse is has become.
•  In fact the epicentre of world technology, seeding the USA, and other countries, with technical people during a series of waves of emigration, tools, and technology. They are OK on other facets of human endeavour as well.
• In all that success they overlooked the wheat and dairy surpluses. So Cologne, and everywhere, is a sea of bakeries and ice cream shops. And addicted Germans. Just a few of those bakeries every 10 kms along the walking tracks would've helped. Especially that Apple Strudel - unique to Cologne. 

And just for fun

Monesterio San Juan de la Peña

This Monastery is 15 km up out of the valley (La Canal) in a remote location with often harsh weather. It fits the pattern. An illiterate hermit notices something, declares it a miracle and the place sacred. Then without funds or resources in a very challenging construction site, builds something. Everyone said I had to go. I did, and it was windy and cold. I took the employees bus up in the morning then walked down from the 1,000 m location to the Albergue 15 kms away at Santa Cilia (that place not worthy of pictures.

 

The village 7 km down the road on the way to Santa Cilia.

La Canal

  A canal, we all know them. A waterway, mostly man made, built for the purpose water supply, powering mills or power stations, or for carrying goods. In Spanish "Le canal".   For the last section of my walk I traversed "La canal". This is the land on the Spanish side of the Pyrenees. Think of it as a grand east-west canal not filled with water, about 100 kms long, a few kms wide, with the northern wall being the Pyrenees rising 1,000 m and the southern wall another mountain range parallel to the Pyrenees rising 500 m. My entry at Col du Somport. The climb to here in France was excellent, the descent into this valley was rocky and slow.

 Along the floor of La canal flows the Rio Aragon, a decent river at times with snow melt, but in relative terms an incidental trickle.

La canal is a de-populated region with picturesque villages often nearly deserted. The more attractive ones on hilltops ( on the floor of la canal or its flanks) have some renovation and are weekend retreats. Often the most signs of life are the walkers looking for a bar. Any of the few remaining residents tend to stay hidden inside, particularly at this time of year when the cutting icy breeze does not encourage an afternoon walk. The common sight for these recent days has been the prominent snow capped Pyrenees providing a wonderful ambience for a walk, the source of water in the still briskly flowing Rio Aragon, and that icy breeze that flowed regularly  down from the mountain tops across the walking route, the GR653, now named the Via Aragon since it entered Spain at the Col du Somport.

From Jaca, the next day ended in Santa Cilia (the pits really), after a detour to visit the Monesterio San Juan de la Peña (another post). Then to Artieda, classy village with panoramic view to the Pyrenees, then then the ruin of Ruesca for coffee followed by a sustained 5 km 10% climb on the way Undués de Lerda, a 5 star shiny new Albergue, and finally to Sangüesa where I have finished walking. Sangüesa is a pleasant town and has a bus service direct to Pamplona, which makes it a convenient place for me to travel to the next stage of this holiday.   From Artieda

They look at these views whilst BBQing on this promenade that rings this hilltop village.

Canfranc

 Hilaire Belloc, Tarantella, 1929

Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark verandah)?
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteeers
Who hadn't got a penny,
And who weren't paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the Din?
And the Hip! Hop! Hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Glancing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of a clapper to the spin
Out and in --
And the Ting, Tong, Tang, of the Guitar.
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?

Never more;

Miranda,

Never more.

Only the high peaks hoar:

And Aragon a torrent at the door.

No sound

In the walls of the Halls where falls

The tread

Of the feet of the dead to the ground

No sound:

But the boom

Of the far Waterfall like Doom.

To Jaca

Walks downhill are rarely pleasurable. This one from the Col du Somport was not as good as the climb in France. The track was often uneven and strewn with rocks. The first part was late in the afternoon on the day that started in Urdos. Then this day's walk from Canfranc Estacion, Canfranc nearby on the way, to Jaca. Just a day mostly of grinding it out.

Canfranc

Canfranc Church

This is a pilgrims crossing of the Rio Aragon. Those with a keen eye will see the white on red balise on a concrete pillar.

Col du Somport

 

As some of you who know me, there is nothing better than a good walk up a big hill. Some years ago I crossed the Pyrenees from St Jean Pied de Port. That was a good day in perfect weather. And this time the hill is the crossing of the Pyrenees at the Col du Somport. To avoid the forecast day of rain I cut a day of walking out of the schedule and so the bus 15 km from Accous

to Urdos

Then the beginning of 1,000 m of climbing to the Col du Somport.

The maps indicated the 2nd half would be strenuous. Whilst it was, the first half was arduous with variable track conditions and grades, whilst the 2nd half was one of the great sections of walking.

And then the top (the road and abandoned border crossing) somewhat underwhelming 

Spain, downhill for a while.

To the day's destination of Canfranc Estacion. The ghost town with its also ghost of a long disused and over-built station

Uphill of the station is the abandoned rail tunnel to France

 

 

 

Sarrance to Accous

The track continued along the earliest track into the Valleé d'Aspe. You will notice the Alpinistas had been engaged to provide safety ropes for the casual walkers.

Sarrance

A few of us stayed at the Church, Apparently it was closed to religious activity after the French Revolution, and only re-established 4 years ago. The few residents live a different sort of life. The guy in charge was most ebullient over dinner. This is the river Aspe, obviously of special significance to this church.

to Sarrance

Leaving Oloron

On the way the track was a bit challenging 

An inn from when this track was the only way into this valley.