LUCHON AND HOME AGAIN

 

BACK TO TOULOUSE

THE MINOTAUR

MY RIDE ON THE MINOTAUR

RATHER A LARGE SPIDER TOO

FOUNTAIN IN ROYAL GARDENS

PORT NEUF

GARONNE RIVERBANK

PLACE DE LA CAPITOLE

EMPTY SEATS ON MY FLIGHT HOME

The trip to Toulouse involved catching an SNCF coach which took me to Montrejeau-Gourdan-Polignan station, where I then boarded the train which would take me the rest of the way. The coach journey was notably smooth, and I congratulated the driver.

I arrived in Toulouse at about 1.30pm, but check-in to my hotel was from 3.00pm onward, so I found a seat and ate what food I had brought with me outside Matabiau station. It was warm, and there were plenty of people milling about in this cosmopolitan city, including beggars who were accosting people for money, and thieves who were circulating in the hope of robbing anyone who wasn't keeping a good eye on there possessions.

I got to my hotel, La Riquet, a little early, but they let me in anyway. As soon as I entered the room, I flopped on the bed and didn't get up for more than 3 hours. It was as if all the accumulated tiredness from my trekking in the Pyrenees had all come out at once. I also had a bit of a sore throat and found myself coughing. Eventually, I found the energy to walk around the corner to the Hotel d'Orsay where I picked up my hold-all so that I could wear some fresh clothes in the morning. I also bought some food and drink from the local Carrefour, including a small bottle of whiskey and some honey sweets for my throat.

I was feeling much better in the morning. I re-packed the hold-all with all the stuff I wouldn't be needing anymore and, after checking out of the Hotel Riquet, took it back to the Hotel d'Orsay, where I would be spending my last night.

Then it was an hour long walk along the Canal du Midi to the Halle de la Machine. It didn't open until 2.00pm, but there were plenty of cafés around, so I filled the time with some blog writing, people watching and al fresco dining. Once able to enter, I was fascinated to see so many crazy inventions, designed to entertain, such as mechanised drawing machines and musical instruments. Most impressive of all was the Minotaur, a huge mobile mechanical monster that appeared to breathe, snorting and expelling smoke (steam really), and moving its head and arms. It appeared to require 3 people to control it, and it could carry 20 or 30 people on its back. I couldn't resist booking a ride on it.

Back at the Hotel d'Orsay, I watched Rambo in French before falling asleep. It wasn't hard to follow as Syvester Stallone doesn't say much.

I had forgotten that breakfast was included in my Hotel d'Orsay booking, so that was a nice surprise for the morning. After that, I sorted out my luggage ready for the plane and left my bag in reception so that I could take a stroll down to the city centre. My walk took me to the Royal Gardens, then on to Pont Neif and along the River Garonne to the Bazacle, owned by EDF, where they had an excellent photographic exhibition of Marilyn Monroe.

I returned to the Hotel via La Place de Capitole, where I enjoyed a tasty Tagliatelle Carbonara. After picking up my bag and saying farewell to La Ville Rose, I caught the shuttle to the airport for my 10.00pm flight home. The day's weather had been showery, with storms predicted over many parts of Europe. This hadn't affected my day’s walking, but had affected flight schedules, meaning that it was nearly 11.30pm before we took off. I was surprised how many seats were empty on the aircraft, with nobody sitting next to me. Still, the journey seemed to go quickly, and it wasn't long before I was meeting Rubi at Gatwick for my ride home.

SOULA TO LUCHON

 

DEDE AND FRIEND

APPROACHING PONT DE PRAT

LOUDENVIELLE

LUCHON FARMERS MARKET

INTERESTING STEET NAME

MASS BREAKOUT OF TEDDIES

LES FILS DE LUCHON (BUT MOSTLY HOMMES)

LEMON, HONEY, GINGER & VERBENA INFUSION

THE THERMES DE LUCHON

GITE SKIOURA

GORGE FROM SUSPENSION BRIDGE

CASCADE SIDONIA

Friday, and it was raining, so I donned my waterproofs and bade farewell to Dédé, whose treatment at the Refuge de Soula had been so friendly and helpful. I continued my northerly progress, initially towards the hydroelectric power station at Pont du Prat. In spite of the drizzle, I found myself really enjoying the walk. Much of the time, the descent was gradual, and it was much less rocky than the path I had followed the previous day. Although the scenery was less dramatic than I'd become accustomed to, it was still varied and interesting. I even found the 6km road section that took me from Port de Prat to Loudenvielle enjoyable. It was good to be strolling out on a flat surface for a change, and fewer than half a dozen vehicles passed me during the one and a half hours it took to cover the distance.

Loudenvielle, however, initially disappointed me. It was obviously a ski and outdoor activities resort still under development, with lots of new houses but very few people because there was no snow. There was more going on in the very centre, with a Carrefour supermarket and some restaurants open...and some very, very expensive hotels. At least I could now get data on my smartphone, which enabled me to book a 6 bed apartment for the night, Les Jardins de Balnea, close to the town centre, for a slightly more modest 122 Euros. One night would be enough as there wasn't enough here to keep me here any longer.

The bad weather was expected to continue for another couple of days, so I discussed various options of what to do next with the ladies in the Office de Tourisme. I eventually decided that it would be best to take a taxi directly to Bagneres de Luchon, where plentiful cheap accommodation is available. I would then have a base from which to go out on day walks as the weather permitted, unencumbered by my large rucksack. I would also be in the right place to get transport back to Toulouse. One of the Tourisme Office ladies kindly booked the taxi for me for the following morning.

After buying a few items for next morning’s breakfast from the supermarket, I booked a table at the nearby Brasserie L'Escapade for supper and enjoyed a tasty salad dish accompanied by a half litre of beer.

The next morning, I tidied the apartment and returned the key in good time to meet the taxi. The journey was like riding a helter-skelter, given all the switchback hills and hairpin bends that the driver had to negotiate. I was slightly relieved when he dropped me outside the Office de Tourisme in Luchon. I had already identified a place to stay, a small studio apartment called 'Les Myrtilles'. It was basic, but cheap, because no bedding or towels were provided. Of course, my rucksack contained all I needed in that respect. It also had a kitchenette that would help save money, but I couldn't get in until 4.00pm, so I spent a few hours dodging the rain as I explored Luchon. I found a lovely little restaurant called Les Poké Fa, where I had an excellent cheese and ham panini with salad. It was so substantial that I decided that I would only need a snack for supper. That came from the local Lidl, along with a nice bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

There was no hurry to get up on Sunday morning as it was raining again. I revisited Les Poké Fa for breakfast, and then returned to the apartment to read the two English language papers I had acquired. Once the rain had stopped, I took a stroll to the north-east of Luchon, following the GR10 route to the Cascade waterfall in Juzet-de-Luchon. On my return, I watched a live folk singing and dancing show at the local theatre called ‘Les Fils de Luchon’ – all free, but I gave a donation. Then it was back to Les Poké Fa (again) for a poké bowl supper before retiring for the night.

Rising early on Monday, I breakfasted and tidied up the room in readiness for a 10.00am visit from Marion, whom the apartment owners had sent to check that I hadn't wrecked the place before I left. I had never been the subject of such an inspection before, but I passed. I wasn't going to leave Luchon for another day, but I was changing my accommodation to Gite Le Lutin (meaning 'The Elf'), just around the corner. The Gite had been recommended to me by the Loudenvielle Office de Tourisme, and I would have stayed there for all three days had the place not been full over the weekend.

Although the room wouldn't be ready yet, Russell, the owner of Le Lutin, was happy for me to deposit my big rucksack in the morning so I could spend the rest of the day more lightly loaded. I then purchased my SNCF ticket for the following day's journey to Toulouse. Next, I took a stroll down to the 'Les Thermes de Luchon', a 2,000-year-old thermal spa, famous for its therapeutic treatments. I didn’t enter the water, but I did drink it, enjoying a hot infusion of lemon, ginger, honey and verbena. Great for a sore throat, even if it didn't include whisky.

Lunch was a Croque Madame at Le Poké Fa (yes, again). It would be my last visit and I think they were sad to lose their best customer.

The weather was good for once, and there was time for a walk, so I struck out on a 10km loop that would take me across a newly built pedestrian suspension bridge to Cascade Sidonia, and back. I also found myself passing Gite Skioura, where I had stayed 10 years before. The walk took four hours, and I was surprised at how high I had climbed because getting back down to Luchon took ages. The ground was still a bit wet in places, so I had my first slip on a wet rock and bruised my thigh. Nothing serious, but you really have to watch your footing all the time on these steep slopes.

For my evening meal, I picked up a tinned cassoulet and the Petit Casino store and cooked it in the kitchen at Le Lutin.

After a shower and a bit of blog writing, I was ready for sleep.

BIELSA TO SOULA

PATH PR HU-136 

BY IBON DEL CAU

SOMEWHERE UP THERE

SCREE SLOPE BELOW THE BRECHE

THE BRECHE DEL CAU

CLOUDS ROLLING OVER FROM FRANCE

WITH TANJA AND CLAUDIA

VAL D'ANES CRUZES

CABANA D'ANES CRUZES

MY BED FOR THE NIGHT

CLIMBING TOWARDS THE BORDER

PUERTO DE AIGUES TORTES

VALLON D'AIGUES TORTES

REFUGE SOULA

After my usual early breakfast, I packed my rucksack, said goodbye to my hosts at the Hostal Panart and headed back into the hills. The path I would initially follow is the PR HU-136, which would take me to Ibon del Cau. The 1,300m of climbing was tough, especially since there were several stream crossings and it became quite steep in the latter stages, so hands were required as well as feet. I arrived at the Ibon del Cau at 4.00pm, took a late lunch and contemplated my next move.

I wanted to link up with the GR11 track, but this was the other side of the steep ridge overlooking the Ibon de Cau. Crossing the the ridge involved climbing up to the Breche de Punta Fuesa, otherwise known as the Breche de Cau, directly north of where I was sitting and 300m above me. I couldn't get much information about the route or its difficulties in advance, but it was clearly shown on my map and I did see a fingerpost directing me to it, albeit with not much evidence of a path.

I just headed in the general direction of the sign and followed any clues I saw, like flattened grass or displaced rocks, hoping that the route would become clearer as I proceeded. Things quickly became steep, but my ascent was helped by placing my feet in footsteps which I guessed had been made by previous visitors to the area. Upon reaching a plateau I could see the Breche itself, with a scarily steep scree slope in front of it. However, when I got closer, I could see a vague path in the scree, and as I got even closer I could even see green and white way-markers. Thankfully, this was all going to be a lot easier and safer the Breche de Tuquerouye.

I reach the top of the Breche at 6.00pm exactly, and I could see the Ibon de Urdiceto with its dam, its associated minor lakes and the Refugio de Urdiceto laid out before me. There was scree on the exit side of the Breche, but the slope was moderate and the path was clear to see. Not so clear after the scree, though, but I could see small cairns which I aimed for. While walking, I observed that the valley beyond the French/Spanish frontier ridge was filled with fog, and that fog was now spilling over the ridge towards the Refuge. I crossed the dam and, happily, got there before the fog enveloped it.

The unmanned refuge, unusually, had an upper floor with lots of large mattresses. Two young ladies, who I later learned were Tanja and Claudia from Germany, were already there. We chatted for a while, but it was getting late, and cold, so we were soon in our sleeping bags.

It rained overnight, but just a thick fog remained in the morning. Since we had all got up together, the three of us continued our walk along the GR11 as a group. I was nice not to be alone for a change. The fog gradually cleared as we walked and we reached the Refugio de Biados by early afternoon, and ate what we had in our rucksacks for lunch, accompanied by hot chocolate purchased from the refuge.

With the help of the Refugio de Biados staff, Tanja and Claudia were able to book accommodation at the Refugio de Estos, further along on the GR11. My schedule was less pressing and I would be heading for the Refuge de la Soula in France, but didn't expect to reach it until the following day. We wished each other well as we parted and my two companions hurried on their way. I, on the other hand, ordered another hot chocolate before leaving half an hour later.

My initial route along the Val d’Anes Cruzes-136was the same, but I was able to walk at a slower pace as I had decided to stay at the Cabana d'Anes Cruzes for the night, and cross into France in the morning. The cabana was very basic, but I was pleased to see a bedframe and a mattress. It was cold again, so it wasn't long before I was in my sleeping bag.

As morning came, it was still cold at the 2,150m altitude of the Cabana and it was a shame that didn't have a metal cooking pot as someone had left a gas hob, with gas, in the Cabana. I could have used the muesli and tea sachets I had on me, but instead had to settle for peanut butter on rather dry bread and the remaining half of a Snickers bar that Claudia had given me.

Leaving at about 9.30am, I was faced with another relentless climb, the time to the Puerto de Aigues Tortes at 2,683m. The weather was clear, and the terrain not too difficult, but ascending felt like very hard work so I was relieved when I reached the top at around midday. I met just one other person on the way, a Frenchman who was walking in the opposite direction.

I crossed back into France at the Puerto, and continued my trek along the Vallon d’Aigues Tortes to the Refuge de la Soula as I was almost out of food. It was downhill all the way, although particular care was needed for the initial descent as it was on very mobile scree. I reached Soula at around 5.00pm and was welcomed by Dédé, the Guardian of the refuge. It was almost empty to I think he was pleased that I wanted to stay. The one other resident I spoke to was Jasper, who came from the Netherlands. Shortly after my arrival it started to rain, and Jasper had to run to retrieve the washing he had hung out.

After a couple of cups of tea and a shower, I felt restored. Later, Dédé served a substantial dinner, which I enjoyed with wine, although when I went to bed I felt that perhaps I had overeaten. Not surprisingly, I ordered a much more modest breakfast in the morning.

I had considered walking to the Refuge du Portillon, which would have involved ascending to nearly 3,000m, but the weather was expected to deteriorate with thunderstorms predicted. It would not be a good to be caught in a thunderstorm at these altitudes. This has happened to me before and I would not wish to repeat the experience.

Since I was not under any time pressure, I decided to make my way to Loudenvielle instead.

TUCA ROYA TO BIELSA

 

REFUGE TUCA ROYA IN THE MORNING

MONTE PERDIDO WITH IBON DE MARBORES BELOW

SCARY ROCK WALL

VALLE DE PINETA FROM THE BALCON

THE LONG PATH DOWN

DOWN IN THE VALLEY AT LAST

REFUGIO PINETA

BROKEN PATH

BROKEN BRIDGE

PRETTY BIELSA

BIELSA SQUARE

HOSTAL PANART

I didn't sleep especially well at the Refugio Tuca Roya because it was cold, even with my sleeping bag and two blankets around me. Then the leg cramps started again. I might have expressed my pain vocally had it not been for my fellow walkers all sleeping around me. To cap it all, I wanted a wee, and wriggling off my mattress to go outside without causing a disturbance was a real test, especially since I had to do this more than once. I felt a bit better when some of the others did the same.

I did finally get to sleep, and was the last one up when I finally opened my eyes at past 9.00am. Most of the walkers had left, but one of those remaining kindly offered me some hot coffee.

The view from the platform with Ibon de Marmores below, and Monte Perdido filling the field of view directly opposite, was spectacular. I was considering climbing to the summit of Perdido from here en-route to Goriz Refuge, and visually searched for the way up. I could see that this would require climbing what appeared to be a near vertical rock wall, followed by walking on, or close to, a glacier until a scree slope was reached. After that it easy, but??

I chatted to the Spanish guy who had shared his pasta with me the previous evening. I think he said his name was Desiderio. We discussed the ascent of Perdido from the north and he confirmed that climbing the rock wall unroped and with a heavy backpack would be dangerous, but after then it would not be too difficult. However, his words regarding the rock wall were sufficiently foreboding for me to change my original plan. Imagine getting leg cramps whilst half way up a rock face? It doesn't bear thinking about. I had taken quite a big risk the previous evening and I felt it would be foolish to push my luck any further.

The sun was shining brightly when the last four of us left the refuge together, heading down the steep, but relatively easy, slope on the Spanish side. Within 10 minutes we reached Ibon de Marmores where I turned east while the rest turned west, waving farewell. My destination was the Balcon de Pineta, after which I would descend to the Valle de Pineta, formed by glacial action.

It was a Saturday, and there were quite a few people milling around on the Balcon de Pineta. At an altitude of roughly 2,500m, it offered an amazing view along the length of the Valle de Pineta. I could clearly see the Parador de Bielsa Hotel at the head of the valley, 1,200m below me and a horizontal distance of 3km away on the map. The descending path zig-zagged most of the way, and was steep and rocky. Those 3km took all of 6 hours to complete, and by then my legs were on fire. I was tired, hungry and thirsty, so I headed for the Parador Hotel for sustenance. At nearly 200 Euros per night, it was an expensive place to stay, so I continued a further 2km down the valley to the Refugio Pineta. I was planning to camp outside the Refuge as I didn't like the typical sardine-like sleeping arrangements very much. However, the surrounding ground was soggy, and the Guardian confirmed that there had been flooding there. He also informed me that the rooms had bunk beds, which were much more acceptable, so I agreed to stay. Indeed, I was kindly given a room of my own as they were not crowded.

The refuge provided me with a good breakfast the following morning. My legs were still aching from the abuse of the previous two days, so I was grateful that my 10km walk down the valley to Bielsa would be relatively flat. I thought the walk might be quite dull, but that proved not to be the case. I was trying to follow the PR-137 path, but navigating the route seemed strangely difficult. Indeed, at one point I found myself on the wrong side of the Rio Cinca. It then dawned on me that flooding had rerouted the river and destroyed sections of the path. At a point where I had expected to cross the river near Camping Pineta, the bridge had been completely brought down by the floods. I had to walk along the road for about 4km to reach another bridge at El Plan which was fortunately intact.

The final 3km of walking took me past the Embalse de Pineta dam and down into the small town of Bielsa. Bielsa had all the feeling of a quiet pretty village, with amazing surroundings and a few small bars and restaurants. I was ahead of schedule due to my earlier route change, and my legs were still suffering from the abuse I had subjected them to, so I resolved to stay in this lovely environment for two nights. Getting any sort of signal on my smartphone in the mountains was rare, but at last I could get data which enabled me to identify the Hostal Panart, just a few hundred metres away, as the place to stay.

I checked in after enjoying lunch in the village square and having an exploratory walk around. I was delighted to see that my room had a bath rather than just a shower, so I sat and soaked my aching leg muscles in the hot water until my toes went wrinkly, and washed some clothes while I was at it. You don't look at yourself in mirrors much when you are walking, so I was surprised to note a distinct bruise on my right temple. I concluded that I had probably done it at the Refugio Tuca Roya, hitting my head on the upper sleeping platform whilst trying to wriggle off the foam mattress in the dark. Anyway, after a salad supper, I was ready for sleep.

Next morning, I rose at 8.00am to enjoy the breakfast which was included with my Hostal Panart stay, The day was spent repairing a tear in my rucksack, thinking about the next section of my walk and checking where the start was, checking the weather, purchasing supplies, writing this blog, generally chilling out and having another long soak in the bath before supper.

I'll be continuing on my way in the morning.

LOURDES TO TUCA ROYA

 

MY TRAIN TO LOURDES

I'M HERE

SANCTUARY

SUBTERRANEAN BASILICA ST. PI X

LAC (NOT SO) GLORIETTES

ALONG THE ESTAUBE VALLEY

START OF CLIMB TO TUCA ROYA

GETTING COLD AND ICY

TUCA ROYA REFUGE

SLEEPING QUARTERS

After a very smooth train journey from Toulouse, courtesy of SNCF, I alighted at Lourdes shortly after 1.00pm. I would be staying at the Hotel du Commerce et de Navarre overnight, and the plan was to catch a bus to Gèdre in the morning. My first stop then was the Office de Tourisme de Lourdes so that I could check the bus times and pick-up location.

After that, I offloaded my heavy rucksack and swopped my boots for Crocs at the hotel, then took a walk to The Sanctuaire Notre-Dame de Lourdes. To see this, and especially to visit Sainte Bernadette's Grotto set into the side of the church, is why most people come to Lourdes. I came here before on my first Pyrenees adventure in 2014. To be honest, the place is like a huge religious theme park, but at least it's all free, including the holy water. The local traders make a killing though by selling pretty bottles for the water, statues of Holy Mary in various sizes, and lots of other religious souvenirs.

It started to drizzle by early evening, and I quickly discovered how slippery Crocs can be on wet pavement. I ducked into a cafe for a croque monsieur, ice cream and coffee. I wasn't that hungry, so I decided that this would serve as my evening meal. The rain having ceased, I headed back to the hotel, picking up some items for breakfast from the local Carrefour supermarket along the way.

The following morning it was raining, and the mist was so thick that I couldn't see the hills nearby. Having studied the weather forecast the previous evening, this was no surprise, and the weather would be no better at Gèdre. The first few days of my walk will be difficult, so it was important for me to be walking and climbing on dry rock. Besides, what is the point of walking in the Pyrenees if you can't see the views? Having spoken with the Hotel owner the previous night, he was happy for me to stay a second night at a price even cheaper than first.

I spent half the day reading the 'i' newspaper that I had brought with me from cover to cover, and doing all the puzzles. The rest of the day involved a repeat visit to the religious sights in my waterproofs, this time without the previous day's crowds. Lunch was the 'plat de jour' at a local restaurant, and my evening meal was French onion soup followed by a tot of limoncello.

And so, after a restful night, I caught the 965 bus to Gèdre, the hour-long journey getting me there at about 10.30 am and costing a mere 2 euros. From Gèdre, the walking began by climbing 600m of zig-zag path through the Bois de Coumely. The route then continued south-east with a much gentler slope until it reached Lac Gloriettes, a point of contact with my previous 2018 walk. The lake was at a low level, and looked dirty and unattractive in contrast to previous visit. Previously, I had continued east to Heas, but this time, I determined to head south so that I could cross into Spain via the Breche de Tuquerouye (or Forqueta de Tuca Roya in the Spanish maps). As before, I could see that there was snow on the steep slope, but hoped I could get around it.

After a slightly chilly picnic lunch by Lac Gloriettes, I followed the Gave d'Estaube upstream until I could see the Cabane d'Estaube on the far bank. My route then started to ascend steadily until I reached a rock called the Borne de Tuque Rouye which marks where the climb up to the Breche starts, and it certainly did appear that I could avoid the snow. It was at this point that I suddenly developed leg cramps, and wished I had put lots of salt on my previous night's meal. I did wonder if this was a bit of a warning but, when the cramps subsided, I decided to proceed. The linear distance to the top was less than half a kilometre and I had two and a half hours of daylight left, seemingly plenty of time.

As expected, the route became steeper as I climbed, and it became increasingly difficult to walk on the scree as it just slid away underfoot. I had to aim for the rocks to get a reliable footing, but some of those were quite large, with serious consequences if I got it wrong whilst climbing over them. Progress was extremely slow, or should I say, painfully slow, because it was about half way up that the leg cramps started again. I perched myself on a rock for a while until the pain seemed to subside, but the moment I used either leg to step up, the cramps started again. Further climbing was going to hurt me a lot. Then, just to complicate matters, I noticed that some of the rocks were glazed with ice.

It was at this point that I wondered if I should go down again, but the descent looked even more scary and dangerous than the ascent. Fortunately, I had brought some crampons with me, so, from my safe perch, I put them on. In the process, the dry-bag containing my torches fell out of my rucksack, luckily catching on a rock just a couple of metres down. Given that this was all taking longer than expected, and I now had less than an hour of daylight left, I definitely couldn't afford to lose the torches. Fortunately, with the crampons on, they were easy to retrieve.

Indeed, the crampons gave me a much more reliable grip on the icy rocks, and as I continued to climb, I even found that the scree could be walked on again because all the small pieces of rock were frozen together into a solid mass.

I was pretty exhausted by now but kept on climbing, just one carefully-placed, painful, step at a time. Suddenly, I could see the refuge at the top silhouetted against the fading glow of the sky as night approached. I kept moving, and gradually the silhouette got bigger and bigger until I was there, sitting on the French side of the hut. I could see vague shadows of people moving about on the platform to the side of the refuge, and could hear their Spanish conversation.  I called out 'hola', and a hand came down and helped me take that final step onto the platform.

There was a good half dozen people already at the refuge and they had all arrived from the much easier and shorter Spanish side. It was quite dark now, which added to the amazement they expressed when they saw me emerge from the French side.

Whilst they may have been impressed, I felt that I had exceeded my risk threshold and things could have gone horribly wrong. Fortunately, I kept a cool head and had the right equipment, but I couldn't have foreseen leg cramps slowing me down to such a degree.

Anyway, in the comfort of the refuge, I was shown which mattress would be mine and invited the share some of the pasta dish which was being cooked. It was cold inside the refuge, so the hot food was appreciated. Whilst I was finishing my food, others were already cleaning their teeth. With no light other than that produced by head torches, folk were getting ready to sleep. I followed suit, and before long we were all bunched up like sardines on the sleeping platform. Hardly the Ritz, but I was just grateful to be there.