Basque brambles: San Sebastian – Mount Igueldo - Orio

Tuesday, 26 November 2013

Billy and I sauntered along San Sebastian’s famed La Conche beach, joining the locals out on their brisk morning walks with their dogs. The air felt icy, but it was sunny and that made me feel warm (that and the 20kgs in my pack).

La Concha Beach, start of our Basque hike

A group of older women tentatively ventured out for a swim. A few held their arms up above the waterline as they slowly submerged.

I instinctively shivered - I know that move! It’s how I approach entering the water at Coogee Beach in July.

This guy was enjoying the beach too!

The beach was lined with older style white apartment blocks standing quiet in the offseason. I could only imagine the energy that burst forth on a summer’s morning on one of Europe’s best known beaches, like Bondi on a hot public holiday.

Scenic views

I went around to the El Peine de Los Vientos (The Comb of the Winds) sculptures whilst Billy checked the map, then we headed up the winding road to Mount Igueldo.

El Peine de Los Vientos (The Comb of the Winds)

A concerned driver stopped to check we knew where we were going – most people take the funicular, or avoid this mountain and take the camino track. Then he saw my camera dangling around my neck and waved us on, “beautiful views, you must see,” he cried.

We paid our E$2.20 each to “access company roads”, reached the castle atop the mountain and looked down on San Sebastian. The waves entering the bay made curved lines as they passed through the narrow inlet. We watched a sea kayak paddle across the lines unhindered. The sun shone soft through the slightly hazy sea air. What a great place to be!

Views of San Sebastian

The lookout was a bit curious. A silent, small amusement park stood next to the “mountain of terror” with a gorilla face and dinosaur sign. It somewhat marred a place where natural beauty was sufficient entertainment.

We put this behind us, and started looking for the familiar red and white signs of the GR.

GR 121, the road less travelled

After a short while along the road we took a turn onto the road less travelled. A dirt single trail that wound its way along the coastline.

The views were stunning. Sharp, dark rock jutted out of the ocean. The landscape filled with brilliant green pastures encouraged by the frequent storms that cross the Bay of Biscay that dump their loads on the rising Basque coastline.

Slopes into the Bay of Biscay

The road less travelled sounds romantic until you find yourself slipping down in the mud, ducking beneath old bracken and being stabbed by vicious spiky plants.

Killer plants

Everything here wants to attack you. I had prickles starting dreadlocks in my hair, and branches reaching out and grabbing any rough surface on my pack. It was wild and unkept, but beautiful too.

Billy forges a path through the brambles

We lost the track a couple of times and ended up following the fence lines of pastures. A group of donkeys brayed at us as we went to take their trail. Sheep looked up curiously as we passed.

Hello donkey

Ears only a mother could love

It wasn’t just the plants that had it in for us.

At one point, the GR 121 followed along the inside border of an old property with a nearby farmhouse. We could hear a dog start barking in the distance, and reached for a few pebbles in defence.

The barking increased and I saw a ball of gold and black fur accompanied by a set of razor sharp teeth launch down the slope above. It happened so quickly, but felt like slow motion.

I stood, waiting for the dog to realise I wasn’t a threat and stop. It didn’t.

Suddenly it was a few metres away and looking to launch up at my throat.

Billy was yelling and waving his fist. I finally found my voice too. Luckily it was sufficiently confused to hesitate for a second and I moved a few meters.

The owners came out and started yelling for it to retreat. I took a deep breath.

Yikes. Scary. Billy called out, “esta bien?” “Is it good?” We watched the owner try to calm the dog down. We quickly passed through the property and out of reach. They don’t mention these moments in the guide books!

We stopped for a snack of gourmet Ortiz sardines, fresh tomato and pan. The sun was already low in the sky, even though it was only 3pm.

Lunch!

We’d walked about 8km. Not far, but a late start and the morning deviations to the lookout added up. We weren’t going to make the small town of Orio, next along the trail, so started looking out for campsites.

Billy had spotted a possible location on the map – a ridge just before the town. It looked doubtful as we continued to weave between the brambles on the steep slopes.

We made a final climb alongside a small stream and lucky for us came across a beautiful grassy spot. Perfect for a fire and a tent.

The perfect place to spend the night

Time to relax and enjoy the view west towards the lights of Zaurutz, the next big town along the coast.

An introduction to Basque Country

Monday, 25 November

“Dos sidras” Billy announced to the man in the purple and red checked shirt behind the bar. We sat on stools at the counter and watched the man grip two tumblers in his left hand. He deftly poured a spout of golden yellow liquid from a green glass bottle that he held more than a meter above.

The cloudy liquid fizzed as it hit the bottom of the glasses at speed from this height. Apparently it is necessary to aerate the dry Basque drink to release its flavours… and make it palatable!

I raised my eyes at this process. The barman, satisfied with his approach, placed the tumblers in a rare empty spot on the counter filled with food platters and glasses of wine. Billy gave a universally accepted nod of the head to the barman.

The barman left us for the moment, and turned to serve the next set of locals who had walked in the door. With the red electronic sign flashing 3deg C outside, Bar Bigarren was full to overflowing.

Bar Bigarren

A 40-year-old woman grabbed a glass of rose, perhaps on her way home from work. Three 60-year-old men sat with black berets telling animated stories of times past. The barman and his wife exchanged places between the bar and the kitchen serving drinks and plating food without a break.

We considered the food options conveniently laid out in front of us at the bar.

The Basque serve a form of tapas called pinxtos – small servings of finger food – that are often sprawled across the bar. A veritable feast of colours and flavours!

Basque Pinxtos!

We’d enjoyed dinner here last night too – beef shanks with fried potatoes and unexpected pigs trotters in tomato and pepper sauce.

I was keen to avoid the pigs trotters and pointed to the pulpo (octopus) tentacles in paprika threatening to escape the serving plate in front of us. Billy picked out the fried bolas de carne (meat balls) and we were set for the night.

We were planning out the next four days, which we hoped to spend hiking along the Basque coastline. So far, it had been a little difficult to find information and maps, so we had brought a pile of printouts from the internet to mull over.

The most common route from San Sebastian towards Bilbao is to take the Camino del Norte. This is the northern, coastal option for the Camino de Santiago or “Way of Saint James”, an ancient Christian pilgrim route.

From our research, it looked like this route mostly followed roads (granted some of these were ancient roman roads) was inland from the coast and well populated with towns.

We had hoped to camp and wanted to take in the coastal views, so were following up on Grand Recorrido Route 121 spotted on a small scale map we’d used to help plan our Pyrenees hike.

Our maps were scattered over the bartop, a few corners absorbing the spilt remains of someone’s dinner. The barman returned and eyes lit up. He spoke quickly as he posed a question in a thick lisping Spanish accent.

We paused to absorb what he said, then Billy pieced things together enough to respond, “yes, we’re hoping to walk from here to Bilbao, do you know the route?”

“Ah, Costa de Vasco, muy bonito” the man responded, then continued in a torrent of words that gushed along the counter.

We couldn’t understand a word. He pointed at the maps, we pointed at the maps and shuffled pages, trying to understand what he was passionately telling us about.

He kept pointing to a black dashed line on the map that we hadn’t taken much notice of. He was saying something about crossing a border.

Billy finally worked out he was talking about “la frontera”, the boundary between the region of Gipuzkoa (where San Sebastian is located) and Biscay (where Bilbao is located), both within the Basque province of Spain. Did we need our passports? Special permission?

Gipuzkoa, Basque region

This was obviously of great importance and seriousness to the man. We remained respectful as he emphasised what would be to us like the border between Randwick and Waverly councils.

This was our first lesson in understanding the passion of the Basque people and their rivalry with other regions, even within amongst their own!

Once we had acknowledged the council boundary, the man found his blue, thick-rimed glasses from his pocket and closely studied the coastline on the map.

He tapped his finger on the town of Lekeitio and ramped up the discussion. Hands went flying. A small drip of sweat beaded down his forehead beneath his tight dark curled ringlets. We didn’t know what he was saying.

The man turned to a young blonde woman who had stuck her head through a small side window of the bar that opened out to the street. She was smoking a cigarette and was wrapped in a black fur lined down jacket. He implored her to help us understand.

“Ah, Basque coastline is very dramatic. Here at Lekeitio, they have annual festival with a large bird…how do you say?”.

She flapped. I flapped back.

“Duck?” I tried.

“Si, duck. They cover it in oil and hang it over the ocean. Fishermen jump up to grab it. The last one to hold when the neck breaks wins. I don’t like this.”

“It is an amazing coastline” she continued, “very unique”.

That sounds awful I thought. Perhaps we’ve had a translation mix-up? The story is indeed true. At least these days the duck is already dead!

The excitement at the bar had started to die down. We had enough ideas now, and were convinced that it was worthwhile to head down the coastal path, to discover what inspired the passion in these Basque people at the bar.

A day in Saravillo

Wednesday, 30 October 2013

As Billy and I rolled the shopkeeper in her computer chair across the cobbled pavement of the 17^th century plaza, I really started to wonder if we were going to get food for the next few days. This was only one of many encounters with the people of the Gistain Valley that we experienced over the previous few days.

Gistain

That morning we awoke in the chilly, soft morning light in our cosy tent thinking about the warmth of the breakfast fire about to spring to life from last night’s coals. The sun hit the green terrace. Its warmth was enticing enough to have us emerge for the day, although it took us a moment to clear the zip of the frost that had frozen it solid over night.

A chilly morning!

Billy headed off with the water bags to a nearby creek. I started building the fire. Little sticks, newspaper, little sticks, newspaper. I ran my hand through the ashes from last night – they were still warm, despite the chill of the night.

We huddled around our small rock fireplace, nestled against the terrace wall. The pot soon smelled of freshly brewed coffee.  We savoured a European breakfast platter of mixed pastries, biscuits, pate on toast and fruit.  It felt like we’d become true travellers, with the ability to go anywhere, or nowhere in particular, without need or haste.

European breakfast

The green valley stretched out before us showing us the small town of Sin below, also awakening in the morning sun. The tent slowly thawed out and I was thankful for the fire to keep our fingers warm.

My mind wandered back to the shepherds we’d met yesterday. They would also be out on the terraces in the sun at this hour, herding their small flocks of sheep and goats up the paths from town to the pastures on the mountains as they did every day.

The first shepherd we met

The first shepherd we met was with his sheep and a collie from France. The sheep were happily grazing on a terrace on the upper slopes of the mountain. The man and his dog gazed out over the fields below. He’d lived in Gistain all his life, and with the beauty in the valley, couldn’t see why you’d want to live anywhere else. 

In the eyes of a shepherd, with pastures this beautiful, there's no reason to live anywhere else

The second shepherd we met a few terraces down told a similar story. He even enjoyed winter when snow covered the ground and the animals huddled in the small shelters that dotted the terraces. 

He had a small herd of goats and a scruffy dog that “doesn’t have any work to do, so I stir up the goats every now and then to keep him busy”. I could see how the shepherds could be perfectly content with life on the terraces.

The life of a shepherd

My reverie was shattered by the reality of a herd of cows crashing through the terrace’s shrubby border, whilst other beasts started loping down the slope from the road. Three men shouted and waved sticks trying to keep the herd together.

Cow intrusion

Billy called out “?Que pasa?” to the shepherd closest to us, who was waving a stick and shouting at the cows. I heard a jumble of aggressive sounding words in the response, and what sounded like “you f&ckers”.

“Billy, is that man swearing at us?” I called out incredulously as I also tried to shoo away a calf that had identified me as a potential food source.

Billy laughed, “no, he said vacas! Vacas means cow. They’re trying to move them to the village”.

We packed up ready to leave. Our plan was to walk a few kms down to Sin, then Saravillo, then up the next valley to the Callado del Ibon pass, a small hut at Lavasar and potentially continue to a small alpine lake, Basa de la Mora. 

After the short walk down to Sin my stomach was gurgling and growling. It was not going to be a day for a 900m climb.

We wandered through the empty streets of Sin. A man carrying a calico bag of fresh bread rounded the corner. He excitedly pointed to the bread and exchanged some words with Billy, which I could only assume were along the lines of, “Hey, there’s fresh bread around the corner, make sure you get some”.

Sure enough, we turned into a small plaza and met the other residents of Sin (all 5 of them), gathered around a white van filled with crusty loaves. After a bit of pointing and testing, we worked out which loaves were dulce (sweet) and which were savoury. We selected a baguette for lunch. We were just as excited to have fresh bread as the man we’d met earlier on the street.

Juan Antonio, well dressed, and looking relaxed, but slightly out of place in the rural plaza, asked us where we had come from, and where we were going. Billy brought out the map and the residents crowded around, keen to learn about the two Australians visiting their small part of the world.

We tried to learn a little bit about their lives too. Juan Antonio is from Barcelona, but owns a 3 story white washed terrace close to the plaza, next to his father’s house. He visits the town each year when it’s quiet and cold to embrace a simple life. He loves the rain and the snow of the mountains during winter. We discovered his favourite restaurant in Barcelona then left him to start his morning walk to Servetto.

We sat in the plaza observing village life with our baguette and a shepherd’s dog straight from a Dulux ad. An old man dozed in his favourite sunny spot against a stone wall, his walking stick balanced across his lap.

Some company joins us in the town of Sin

A second van drove through the streets. A woman reached out the van window and handed the dozing man a newspaper before parking and checking the post box on the other side of the plaza. The church bells clanged out 12 strokes at 12:05pm, then again at 12:07pm. Everyone seemed very content, including us.

We left the plaza and grabbed a few small apples from a rogue, gnarled tree beside the path.  Crunching on the juicy fruit we continued up the stone path to Saravillo; a town tucked into the folds of a deep valley that the sun had only just reached. 

Tasty apples

On the look-out for a place to restock our hiking food, we stopped at the alimentacion. The door was open, but the lights were out and no one was around. I checked my watch - 1:30pm - everyone must be on siesta.

We searched the streets further, but most places looked closed. A man working in his garage pointed us towards the local bar and accommodation. It was also locked up, but luckily, we spotted a man in his backyard, and asked when it would open. He was the owner, and soon enough, we were sitting in the bar having a coffee.

It was glorious to stand out on the balcony of our room in the sun, but was short lived. By 3pm, the sun had set behind the steep mountain in the west. Apparently Saravillo only gets 3hrs of sun from November to January!

A moment of sun in Saravillo

A knock on our door announced lunch was ready. It was 4pm. We sat in the darkened bar expectantly. The owner returned with a delicious meal made by his mother in the room below ours. Seafood soup in broth, fresh baguette, then lamb steaks with a fried egg and chips. Fresh apples and mandarins from the orchard for dessert.

We sat at the bar with Javierre talking about our lives and his.  Their family ran the bar and accommodation, as well as a herd of goats and a field for potatoes and tomatoes. A photo on the wall showed a group of 20 cazadores (hunters) proudly lined up in front of the plaza with their bounty of 12 wild boar. It was black and white, and looked like it could have come from the 1950s, but Javierre mentioned it was only 6 years ago.

Billy mentioned I was sick, so Javierre made a chamomile tea, with a splash of anise liqueur for good measure. He showed us the other local spirits and served us a glass of home made cherry liqueur (with cherries) based on dry anise. Delicious!

We’d also mentioned my love of cheese. Sure enough, we were soon jumping into Javiere’s car and headed to the local artisanal cheese factory down the road, making hard goats cheese with milk from the region.

So much action in such a small town!

On our return from the cheese factory we took a second trip to the alimentacion and noticed a light on at a nearby house. We knock on the door to see if someone could help us out. A lady on a roller computer chair answered. She was the shop owner, but had injured her knee and was constrained to the chair.

After a moment of confusion and misinterpretation, we ended up pushing her chair across the cobbled plaza. The action attracting the attention of another woman walking home from work. She joined the procession to the shop.

All 4 of us paused in the darkened room with expectation as we waited an awkward moment for the fluorescent light to stutter on. We started selecting a few items from the shelves. The younger woman helping us search for things, the older chair-bound owner directing the show.

Billy explained that we were hiking and couldn’t carry 2kg of rice. The man who lived around the corner who had helped us earlier came in to provide his views on Sopa de Champinons versus Sopa de Verduras. Then just for good measure, another neighbor wandered in to see what all the commotion was about. Stuff was happening in Saravillo. We were just trying to buy some pasta!

With our audience interested in every move, and as Billy tried to entertain with our story, we managed to collect the few things needed for the next two days. The lady on her way home from work figured out the till in order for us to pay. After 10min the night’s entertainment in Saravillo was over. The travellers had their food, the audience disbanded and the shop returned to its former peacefulness as the shepherds laid their flocks to sleep in the terraces above.

Mountain passes of the Ordesa and Mt Perdido National Park

27 October 2013

After a week and a half in the mountains, we’re taking a break in the small town of Biesla, on the eastern outskirts of the Parque Nacional de Ordesa y Monte Perdido. It’s a stunning day, without a cloud in sight, so different to the past few days of dark storm clouds, driving winds and rain.

A rainy climb up to La Estiba hut

The small stone refugio where we created an unlikely fire of wet pine wood and a bag of charcoal seems a world away from where we sit now at the local pub/café/restaurant with the sun is baking our shoulders as we sip our café con leches.

Another night in a cosy hut

The past week has been the most spectacular of our trip so far.  On Monday, 21 October, we squeezed an extra log of salami and wheel of cheese into our bags then started out on the GR11 towards Torla, gateway to the Ordesa and Monte Perdido National Park.

First views of the Ordesa Valley

The Ordesa Valley was immediately stunning. Huge walls of grey rock rose almost vertically from a narrow valley floor. The lower slopes of the valley were blanketed with autumn colour. The clear, aqua waters of the Rio Cinca forged over a series of waterfalls, creating a white foaming turmoil of water.

Autumn colours of the valley

Tuesday, 22 October 2013

After a night by one of the many waterfalls, we started out early for Circo de Soaso. It was beautiful walking in the cool morning light, before the day-trip walkers had made it this far up the valley. Rising clouds shrouded the tops of the peaks around us and we could easily have been on a Lord of the Rings type journey. We came across a small wind shelter and huddled together whilst enjoying a gourmet breakfast. Outside, the walls of stone created the feeling of being in a large amphitheatre.

The amphitheatre type feel of the Circo de Soaso

Time for breakfast

From the cirque, we started climbing, and soon left the Ordesa Valley behind. As we climbed, we became part of the cliffs – I couldn’t believe there was a trail up here. It was like a giant’s castle, the scale of the walls far outweighing anything that could be constructed by man.

Amongst the walls of the Ordesa Valley

We kept getting higher, and watched the small hut where we had enjoyed breakfast become a tiny dot in the distance.

Another tier of walls above us

After a couple of hours, we made it to Refugio Goriz. A popular place for hikers and mountaineers at the intersection of a number of trails through the Spanish and French Pyrenees. We met a couple of French walkers who were part of a larger group of 40, spending their vacation time hiking in the mountains. The rest of the group were out climbing Pineta.

Refugio Goriz

It started raining once we were comfortably tucked inside, so we took a few hours off to see if it would clear. Unfortunately, it didn't. So at 4pm, our last deadline, we left the coziness behind and headed out into the fog of the mountains.

Descending amongst the clouds

It was a beautiful walk despite the rain. The wet rocks glinted silver in the late afternoon light and springs spurting from the sides of the mountains, like a large sieve. It did mean a couple of creek crossing became a bit more challenging than otherwise…

An easy crossing!

I was happily lost in the mindless space you enter when you walk. Listening to the rain dripping on my raincoat. The plops echoing a little around the inside of the hood. I rounded a small cliff and saw Billy looking at me with a funny expression on his face. It’s the one that says, “I don’t think you’re going to like this, but if I look really positive, maybe you’ll go along with it”.

The small creek marked on the map, was now a torrent of water. Swirling around rocks, buffeting the large stone with the trailmarker, now drowning in the swollen river. I looked at Billy hesitantly, “are there any other options?” I pictured us being swept away down to the valley 400m below. A quick, but unpleasant way to make the descent.

We had a quick consultation of the map and walked up and down the creek to find the best crossing point. We found a section that looked to be flowing a little slower and Billy headed across. It wasn’t as bad as we thought, but the water was icy! Billy came back to help with my pack and I stripped off my pants – no point in getting any wetter… I held tightly onto the long metal pole that we’d found by the creek and stabbed it into the rocky ground, hoping to pole vault my way across. There wasn’t much spring in my step, but after a couple of minutes I’d made it to the other side. Feet a little frozen. But safe. Phew. Hopefully not too many more of those!

It was starting to get dark, but we still had a long way to descend down to Fon Blanca in the Anisclo Valley. Billy went ahead to seek out a shelter, whilst I continued to navigate slowly down the steep slopes.

We make it to Goriz Pass, 2,329m

We made it! As darkness fell we came upon the tiny Casa de los Cazadores (the Hunters Hut). Made of stone, with a log roof it looked very robust against the wind and rain outside. In our cozy cave we hung up our gear to dry out and started cooking. It felt great to be out of the rain! I was very thankful of the hunters who had built this place as a refuge.

Billy makes dinner in our small refuge

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

After a night of continuous rain, we awoke to …clear skies! Wonderful and unbelievable after yesterday's weather. The Anisclo valley stretched out before us, waterfalls gushing from every slope, like a network of veins, joining together at the Rio Bellos artery that ran along the base of the valley. It was such a beautiful place to be!

Wow! We emerge from the Hunter's Hut to find clear skies 

We started the climb up the steep valley, stopping to catch our breath and admire the view, chasing the sun that appeared up at the pass. 

We had breakfast near the top behind a rock to protect us from the wind. Dark clouds began to gather at the mountains to our right, and an icy wind snuck down to us. We later found out it had snowed in Goriz.

Stunning views back down the Anisclo Valley

We huddle behind a rock for our morning coffee

After 2 hours of solid climbing we reached the Collado de Anisclo at 2,449m and were greeted by our first peek of the Pineta Valley. WOW! It was like looking at a scenic painting – hard to believe that the image was real.

Views of the Pineta Valley

On the side of the pass towards Anisclo there were clear skies, but as we looked across the razor edge of the ridge, clouds formed before our eyes. We were as high as the eagles.

Clouds form on the razor's edge of the pass

I was quite anxious about how we were going to get down the 1,200m of incredibly steep slopes to the Pineta Valley in the painted scene below. 

Amazing...but a little scary too!

The path looked to trail off into piles of scree, and the slopes were like a triple black diamond run. Billy convinced me that just like ocean, where when it's scary you just look at one wave at a time, we just had to start down one step at a time and the rest would work itself out.

Starting down the rocky slopes

Incredible views 

It took us 3hrs to descend to the valley and find this campsite near Rio Cinca, next to a mire that started to collect fog as evening fell. Billy worked some magic and managed to light a huge fire from piles of wet wood. We sat around the fire and felt like the past incredible 48hrs had been a dream.

Billy has become a fire master!

24 October 2013

Time to celebrate a couple of days of magnificent walking. We checked in at the Pineta Refugio and walked down the road to the 4 star Parador Biesla for a fancy menu del dia.

A great way to recover from some hard walking

25 October 2013

Once again, time to leave the sanctuary of a hut. We set out from the Refugio this morning... into the wind and rain.

Another climb to a mountain pass (Billy is a tiny dot in the middle)

After a 900m ascent, we came across La Estiba hut - an old shepherd's hut that was very welcoming! It was a cold, wet and windy afternoon, but once the rain subsided we managed to get some wood from the nearby forest. Yay for the fire and a bag of coal!

So warm and cosy next to the fire!

26 October 2013

Next morning was beautiful. The clouds lingered on the Pineta range, but the sun warmed up our ridge

La Estiba - the shepherd's hut

Following the road now, we wound our way down to the small town of Bielsa. A group of 3 hunters gave us a lift for the last few kms - they were heading home for lunch after an unsuccessful morning. Along the way, a protective goat chased us down and headbutted the car - much to the amazement and amusement of us all!

And that's where we sit now, spending a bit of time absorbing the last few days that still seem quite wondrous to us both.