BARCELONA

GRAFFITI - A POPULAR PAST-TIME IN SPAIN

GAUDI'S CASA BATLLO

TORRE AGBAR

MONASTERY AT MONTSERRAT

BLACK MADONNA - THE VIRGIN OF MONTSERRAT (ON RIGHT)

MONASTERY AT MONTSERRAT

The train left Portbou promptly at 8.33am. I had a seat on the Mediterranean side and, until the train went inland, was able to observe the picturesque bays as I passed them by. The scenery then turned to rural before becoming more urban as I continued south.

The view from the train window reminded me how much of a graffiti habit the Spanish have. Just about any flat surface seems to have been spray-painted upon. It wouldn't be so bad if it was artistic, but clearly the perpetrators do not number Banksy amongst them. There was no obvious attempt by the authorities to stop it or do anything about it.

I arrived at Barcelona Sant station, which was huge and confusing. To orientate myself I stepped outside the station and used my compass. I was then able to head in the general direction of the Hostal Nou Raval, the hostel booked for Chris and me. On the way I had a picnic lunch in the Placa del Pedro, where I did a bit of people watching. Barcelona is very cosmopolitan, and I was pretty sure that I identified the following nationalities while I sat there: Pakistani, Indian, Filipino, Morrocan, Chinese, Far-Eastern Asian, Jewish, French...quite a few Spanish and even the odd Brit (me).

The funniest thing I saw was this chap swaggering across the square dressed in black leather with Iron Maiden emblazoned across his back in paint and studs, only to jump on a scooter and ride away at a very sedate speed.

I left my rucksack at the hostel and took the Aerobus to Barcelona Airport to meet Chris. Her plane had already landed and she appeared out of the arrivals door shortly after. We spent the evening just checking out the area local to the hostel. Like most big cities, Barcelona seems to go on all night, which is longer than I can.

On Wednesday we did a big circular walk, initially visiting the Museum of Contemporary Culture before taking a look at several of Gaudi's buildings. The Casa Battlo was undoubtly the most interesting with balconies looking like skulls and pillars like bones. Gaudi's work was well ahead of its time and still looks amazing. The influence he had on local architecture is evident in many of the other buildings lining the streets of Barcelona.

Chris likes beaches, so we headed to the waterfront via the Torre Agbar, another Barcelona landmark that looks similar to London's Guerkin Tower, but somewhat more colourful.

It turned out that the part of the beach we arrived at was for nudists, but we were not aware it was different on any other part of the beach so we just settled in and Chris had a swim (with a bathing costume on). It was swelteringly hot again!

As the day wore on we headed back to the hostel via the old part of the city. We stopped by at the Eglisia de Santa Maria del Mar and listened to a choir from the Philipines practicing for a concert that evening.

Next morning we headed for Placa Espanya railway station to catch the train for Monistrol de Montserrat, a journey of about an hour. From there we caught the cremallera (rack railway) that took us to the Monastery of Santa Maria de Montserrat, high up on Montserrat mountain. The setting of the monastery was amazing, although for a religous place I was surprised at the degree of infiltration of commercial interests. There were cafes, bars, restsurants, shops and street sellers all up there on the mountainside. We did eat at the self-service restaurant and were pleasantly surprised at the quality and value of the food.

Afterwards we queued for over an hour to see the main attraction, the Virgin of Montserrat, a wooden statue of a black Virgin Mary with an equally black Christ-child on her lap. Its origin is unclear, but it was probably carved in the 12th century.

There are two funiculars which take you from the Monastery to other parts of the mountain, and our tickets entitled us to rides on these, enabling us to enjoy some scenic walking.

The Montserrat trip was a full day out and we didn't get back to the hostel until well after 8.00pm. The only annoyance of the day was that I left my map case on the cremallera on the way back. I had copies of the contents, so no problem there, but it is a shame to have carried it all along the French/Spanish border only to lose it just a few days before coming home.

BANYULS

MARKET AT ARGELES-SUR-MER

FRENCH ARMY HELICOPTER AT COLLIOURE

MUSEE MAILLOL

SOUR GRAPES

COASTAL VIEW ON WALK TO CERBERE

PORTBOU

HARD TIMES ON THE SPANISH SIDE

A thorough look around Banyuls convinced me that it was a reasonably pleasant place to stay. A quick look at my map convinced me that it was also a good base from which to explore some of the surrounding area.

Banyuls is a little bit like Dartmouth, but with a beach, plus lots of outdoor bars. It also has its fair share of art shops, but then it has very good pedigree in that respect as it was the birthplace and home of famous artist and sculptor Aristide Maillol (1861- 1944). Two of his original bronze sculptures grace the seafront. They are undoubtedly worth a fortune, but the heavy lifting gear that would be needed to steal them means that they are probably quite safe.

I decided to book 3 nights in the cheapest hotel in town. It's amazing how prices drop if you can live without an en-suite. Supper was in my room, courtesy of the local Carrefour, and all washed down with a rose wine from Elne at €3.80 a bottle.

Saturday morning I caught the bus to Argeles-sur-Mer, just a few miles to the north. Argeles is bigger than Banyuls and, like all these coastal towns, very touristy. However, Saturday was definitely the day to go because it had the biggest street market I have ever seen. I didn't buy anything, mind you, as how could I carry it? Nevertheless, I did enjoy a cool sangria in la Place de la Republique whilst watching the hustle-bustle.

Next on my list was Collioure, but to get there I had to go around Fort Miradoux, which is a French Army base. They were having an open day today, with lots of military vehicles on display and the French Commandos showing us how to helicopter a whole squad off the ground quickly by attaching them all to one big rope.

I ate my lunch watching the Puma helicopter doing its stuff, and then carried on down to Collioure harbour. Still touristy, but what a charming place. However, time was getting on so I carried on south along the coast to Port Vendres. This was definitely a working fishing town. All along the way I had been buying ice lollies just to keep myself cool. It was just so incredibly hot for someone used to a English climate.

By 5.00pm I decided that I had done enough walking for the day and caught the bus back to Banyuls. These local busses are amazing. One journey, anywhere along the route from Perpignan to Cerbere, is just €1...and the busses are frequent. Brilliant.

Back in Banyuls I bought myself another supermarket supper, and listened to the rock band playing Led Zeppelin stuff just up the street from my hotel.

I had expressed interest in visiting the Musee Maillol, and the charming girl in the Argeles tourist office had checked that it would be OK to go on Sunday. She seemed amazed that I would actually walk the 4km there from Banyuls. Kids today! I think that it might be better if they were born with wheels than legs. Hmm. I think that statement probably qualifies me as grumpy old man.

So, somewhere around 10.00am next morning, I set off up the road to see the Musee Maillol which, along with his tomb, are located at his former home in the hills. The fact that it exists is due to Dina Vierny, his muse and model for the last ten years of his life. I wasn't that impressed with his drawings and paintings, but I thought his sculptures were magnificent. Almost all were of nude women, so I guess that Dina modelled for some of the later ones.

I had considered continuing my walk to the Tour de la Madeloc, a hilltop tower that can be seen from just about anywhere around, but my maps made it unclear whether it would be possible to find a route there without going back to Banyuls. After a couple of attempts following paths that terminated in dead-ends, I gave up. It was 3.00pm by then and incredibly hot. It still took me 2 hours to get back to Banyuls, and the first thing I did was pop in to Carrefour and buy some ice lollies for immediate consumption.

I spent a significant part of the evening resting in my hotel room with a wet rag on my head.

On Monday I checked out of the hotel before the sun got too high and started walking south along the coast towards Cerbere. I needn't have worried. It was a cloudy day anyway, and with thunder in the distance and sporadic light drizzle, walking was actually quite comfortable.

The coast reminded me a little of the more rugged parts of Devon and Cornwall. Quite a large part of the coast is protected from fishing and other intrusions so that the sea fauna and flora can thrive undisturbed. I found myself walking through vineyards of Roman origin which go almost down to the sea. I spoke to a vineyard owner who told me that the grapes here have to be harvested manually because it was impossible to get machinery onto these steep slopes.

When I arrived at Cerbere I was quite disappointed. It was clean and tidy enough. It's just that there was nothing of interest. The reason for coming to Cerbere was because it was the most southerly French town on this coast. Thus, it would require only a short hop across the border into Spain in the morning to catch  a train from Portbou, the most northerly Spanish town, to Barcelona.

It was only 2.00pm, so I thought that I might as well carry on walking and make that short hop now. If fact, getting across the border involved a bit of a climb over the tail-end of the Pyrenean mountains where they come down to meet the sea. My crossing point at the 165m Col des Belistres turned out to have a lot of history associated with it. During the Spanish Civil War, large numbers of Spanish refugees came this way into France. Then, when the Germans invaded France, the migration flowed in the other direction.

Portbou and Cerbere have one thing in common. They both have large railway marshalling yards. However, things get a bit complicated from here on because the Spanish trains use a different gauge to the French trains. Hence, there are two tunnels between the towns, one for each gauge. The Iberian gauge track runs through to Cerbere and the standard gauge French track runs through to Portbou. Although Portbou does have an automatic gauge changing system for suitably equipped through trains, for local trains it is necessary to change trains at either Cerbere or Portbou.

Generally, if you are heading to Barcelona and want to avoid any kerfuffle, it is simplest just to depart from Portbou.

So, if you followed all that OK, I trust I have explained why I didn't I take a train directly from Banyuls to Barcelona. The other reason is that I simply liked the idea of walking there along the coast.

I found the cheapish Hostal Juventus in the middle of Portbou, and took a good look around the seaside town, even though the drizzle had now developed into full-blown rain. A lot of the buildings were in poor condition and there was evidence that business was having a difficult time. This was not the first time that I had seen evidence that the Spanish economy is still in trouble. On the other hand, I did see a couple of signs explaining that EU money was going to be pumped into Portbou to revitalise the area. In spite of it's tattiness, I still preferred it to Cerbere.

Tomorrow I catch the train to Barcelona.

LAST LEG(S)

CHALET L'ALBERE

PIC SAILFORT - WITH GUARD DOG?

BY REFUGE TOMY ON PIC SAILFORT

BANYUL-SUR-MER AHEAD

BANYULS IN BOTH CATALAN AND FRENCH

BANYULS BEACH

BOOTS LOOKING A LITTLE THREADBARE

The chap who served breakfast at the Chalet de l'Albere announced that no rain was expected over the next few days. I was happy enough with that. There is only one thing worse than relentless sun, and that is relentless rain. Besides, I only had a relatively minor climb to start my morning off, and then it would be more downhill than up for the rest of the way to Banyuls-sur-Mer.

So up I plodded to Pic Neulos - at 1,256m, my highest point of the day. Great views from here. Then it was 5 or 6 miles of walking eastwards along the border ridge to Pic des 4 Termes (1,156m) and Pic Sailfort (981m).

It was intetesting to be walking along the border with my left leg in France and my right in Spain, although I was impatient to get to Pic Sailfort because I thought I would get an uninterupted view of Banyuls from there.....and, sure enough, I did.

I sat by a big pile of rocks on the summit of Sailfort and had a late lunch whilst trying to identify from the map everything I could see. Just behind me was a tiny refuge tucked into the rock pile with a sign labelling it as 'Refuge Tomy'. I don't think it was official and I guess it was someone's hobby. I signed the refuge logbook to say I was there and noted down my blog address.

At about 4.30pm I left the border for the last time and headed down the French side towards Banyuls. I was looking for somewhere near the path to camp, however, as I didn't actually want to arrive in Banyuls that evening. Unfortunately for me, there were few areas of flat ground, and those that did exist were occupied by grapevines.

Eventually I spotted 'La Pinede' municipal campsite on the edge of Banyuls and pitched my tent there. It's the first time I have actually had to pay to camp on this walk, and it was the worst pitch yet. The ground may have been flat, but it was rough and stony.

I was awoken at 6.30am next morning by a huge thunderstorm, of the same sort of magnitude that sent me scurrying down to the Jeandel refuge a month ago. So much for the no-rain prediction! The whole tent illuminated as the lightning flashed, and I counted the seconds before the roll of thunder. When the flash and the bang became almost simultaneous I knew it was really close. It went on for over an hour, and I could still hear it rumbling in the distance when I eventually dared to leave the tent.

Unfortunately, my boots, which I had left in the gap between the flysheet and the inner tent, had somehow migrated outside. Perhaps, having walked so far, they didn't know how to stop? I had to tip them upside down to drain the water out of them.

I wandered down to the on-site cafeteria to get a morning cup of coffee, and met with frustration there. First I put 50c into a dispensing machine to receive only half a cup. Then I pushed the boat out and I paid three times that amount for a decent sized cup over the counter, only to find it was barely lukewarm. I gave up.

It stayed cloudy during the morning and kept threatening to rain again, so it took a while for my tent to dry. I didn't want to be charged for another night so I left the site at midday and strode the last mile to the sea. Naturally the sun came out in the afternoon in this fickle climate.

With a brief ceremonial sticking of toe of my already wet boot in water, the walk was officially over. Indeed, looking at the state of the stitching on my boots, I think that they are officially over too.

The only problem was what to do now. I had reached Banyuls earlier than expected because of the sections of the walk I'd skipped due to snow. I had also pursuaded Chris to come and meet me in Barcelona, but she wouldn't arrive until Tuesday 29th, four day's time. She was reluctant to come at first until her eldest son told her that it was his favourite place. Clearly, that was good enough or her, so the plane and hotel were booked.

So, what do I do between now and then? I'm sure I will think of something.

ROCK OF FRANCE

VIEWS BACK TOWARDS AMELIE

FONT AT SALINES

ROC DE FRAUSA

ROMAN WATCHTOWER

OK, IF YOU WANT TO SIT ON THE PATH, I'LL GO AROUND

SUPPER ON TERRACE AT CHALET L'ALBERE

Breakfast at 7.15am. Left hotel at 8.45am. Picked up fresh bread from local boulangerie on way. Instead of my usual baguette, which tends to go stale quickly, I got a wholemeal loaf, referred to as a 'pain complet'. Seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

I'm very focussed today because I have a long climb ahead of me. My objective is a 1,450m high mountain on the border ridge called Roc de Frausa, otherwise known as Roc de France. The altitude probably does not seem great compared to where I have already been walking. The reason why it is such a long climb is that Amelie-les-Bains, at about 200m, is very low.

Anyway, I wanted to get as much climbing done as possible before the midday sun made it even more exhausting.

The ascent away from Amelie was initially steep, but when it levelled out the views of Fort-les-Bains and the Mondony river gorges were brilliant. I shortly reached the village of Montalba where I found a church and a farm. The church looked rather tatty from the outside, but I was amazed to discover how similar the church's intricate internal decorations were to those of the Church of Saint Pierre in the centre of Ceret, only on a much smaller scale. The farm advertised fruit, so I called in and bought a large bag of fresh apricots from the chatty farmer's wife. Yum.

It took another couple of hours of walking before I reached Coll Cerda, which was a perfect place for lunch. The mountains on the border ridge teased me as they looked so close, but it would be yet another hour before I would be able to see into Spain.

That pleasure arrived when I reached the Col de Sant Marti at 1,400m. I was an exciting moment. The air was clear and I could see many miles into Spain. Behind me on the French side I could see Ceret clearly. I could even see the waters of the Mediterranean for the first time, although it would still take me several days to get there.

I proceeded east along the border ridge. After an additional 50m of scrambling I reached Roc de Frausa, the day's main target.

I got the clearest view of the Mediterranean from the most easterly viewpoint, el Moixer, as there were no further peaks in the way. I could even make out the seaside towns that bejewel the coast.

It was now 5.30pm so I continued briskly along the ridge, passing the remains of the hilltop fortress Castell de Cabrera along the way, until I reached las Illas. I had vaguely considered staying at a gite here, but that would have involved going downhill into the village centre and I did not like the idea of having to climb back up again in the morning. Besides, although I had now joined the GR10, I noted that many of the route markers had been removed or painted over. Perhaps the villagers don't like walkers?

It took a lot of effort to navigate myself away from Illas without the help of the route markers. I set about climbing the hill overlooking the village to the east, but it was 8.00pm and I was running out of time. I needed to find a flat piece of ground to camp. Behold, the village's underground water reservoir with a nice grassed-over flat top. Perfect. That's justice.

I was very warm overnight and temperatures soon increased further once the sun rose. Three factors have combined to produce this heat: a) It is a month later than when I started and we are now fully into summer. b) I am now at the warmer eastern end of the Pyrenees. c) I am back down at lower altitudes, where it is hotter.

I am using photocopies taken from my final 'Rando Editions' map covering Rousillon, which also happens to be the oldest, least up to date and most poorly reproduced one. Fortunately the GR10 route markers began to reappear once I got a couple of miles away from Illas. The walk was on dirt tracks and pretty dull until Fort Bellegarde, which overlooks Le Perthus, came onto view. Before reaching the fort I came across the remains of a medieval priory alongside the path. It was apparently built on top of a monument to Pompee, the Roman General who subdued the revolting Spanish. There was also a watchtower of Roman origin nearby. Until now, I hadn't really appreciated just how big a legacy the Romans left in France and Spain.

A quick tour of Fort Bellegarde cost me €4, but I was getting thirsty and had run out of water in the now sweltering heat, so I headed down to Le Perthus.

Le Perthus is an odd place. It is essentially a long street lined with supermarkets, restaurants, tobacconists, clothes shops, etc. The French/Spanish border runs right down the middle of the street. People come here to stock up on duty-free booze and fags for much the same reason that we Brits cross the channel to buy from the French hypermarkets.

I popped into a restaurant for lunch and wolfed down some eggs, bacon and chips - something that I hadn't seen on the menu since I left England. Boy, did that taste good! On looking around the restaurant I noted how many of the customers were fat. It had been rare to see anyone overweight on the hills.

I didn't take me long to conclude that this was not a very special place to stay, so a nice man at the information office phoned the Chalet de l'Albere at the Col de l'Ouillat on my behalf and booked demi-pension. That meant that I had four and a half hours to climb 650m in the oppressive heat if I was going to be there in time for food, which was served at 7.15pm. I filled my water bottles from the pump opposite the information office and got on with it.

I can't say it was easy, but I got there with an hour to spare. By 6.45pm, after a refreshing shower, I was supping sangria on their west-facing terrace, from which the view was spectacular. My supper was consumed as I watched the sun setting behind the Pyrenean mountains, including those of the Canigou massif. The peaks just seemed to go on forever. The profiles of each distinct mountain range appear as a different shade of blue/grey depending how far away they are, and the various ranges overlap each other. I think there might have been fifty shades of grey in all. Only joking.

This is my last gite before reaching Banyuls, since there are no others. It is therefore fitting that I should stay here.

BATERE ON

AN UNDESIRABLE REFUGE

ABBEY AT ARLES-SUR-TECH

AMELIE-LES-BAINS

FOUNTAIN IN PLACE PICASSO, CERET

MONUMENT TO TORREADORS OF THE WORLD, CERET

SUPPER OUTSIDE GRAND CAFE DE PARIS, AMELIE-LES-BAINS

I woke on Sunday morning to find the Gite d'etape de Batere shrouded in a thick mist. That spooky feeling I had yesterday on the overlooking col returned. Perhaps I was not meant to escape? Perhaps, in whatever direction I walked, several hours later I would find myself right back here, trapped, never able to leave.

Thankfully, a couple of hours later the fog cleared and I could see all the way down to Arles-sur-Tech in the valley about 7 miles away. That was as far as I was going today - just an easy stroll.

It was probably about 10.30am when I left the gite but I wasn't paying much attention to the time. After walking a short distance along the road, I followed the route down into the woods. I soon came across some old tumbledown stone constructions with bits of steel cable and chunks of broken cast iron lying around. Batere is famous for iron mining and perhaps these are the remains of some old workings.

It rained lightly but was warm. I didn't bother putting on waterproofs as precipitation and evaporation seemed to be pretty-well in balance. Besides, the rain soon stopped.

There was a long section on a good path, surrounded by trees, easily navigated, so little concentration was required. This is when I can let my mind wander. I think about the many friends, relatives and neighbours who I have lost. I think especially about my Dad and my Bruv, and the special mates who I can no longer share time with, at least not in the physical world - Pete Guest, Teresa Pateman, Terry Green, Terry Adams and most recently Steve Tait. However, I feel that they are all with me as I walk, sharing in my adventure, watching over me and keeping me safe.

It is probably Steve who I have thought about the most because he died just a few days before I left for this trek. He told me that he enjoyed reading my blogs and would be following me on this one. I guess he can watch the live show now.

My daydreaming was interrupted when I came across an old barn which was now used as an unmanned refuge. However, with a name like Refuge des Biggarats painted on the side, I was not surprised that it didn't appear anyone had slept there recently.

Arles-sur-Tech looked like a Roman village when it came into view, with roofs covered with those beautiful orange Mediterranean earthenware tiles. Located on the banks of the River Tech, the place is a sleepy little town whose main tourist attraction is its Benedictine Abbey founded in the 8th century. However, it has an easygoing charm about it, making it a perfect Sunday retreat. The local gite closed down a while back so I had to put my hand a little more deeply into my pocket than usual for a room at the only hotel, Les Glycines. There is a camp site, but it is on the edge of town and I heard that it was going to rain later - and it did.

I spent the remainder of the day exploring the town, taking a look at the Abbey and wandering round the Mayor's Gardens, which contained several Sequoias. They must have been a miniature variety as they were only twice as high as the other trees in the gardens.

There were no shops open for me to buy anything for supper, so I put my hand even deeper into my pocket and ate at the hotel. The food and service were exemplary so no regrets there.

Next morning the supermarket down the road was open and so I bought my breakfast there, along with snacks for the rest of the day. The next town along, going in an easterly direction, is Amelie-les-Bains. My maps showed a footpath there, so I decided to follow it. The walk only took me an hour.

I had decided that Amelie would be an excellent start point from which to climb back up to the border tomorrow, so I found a hotel, booked in, left most of my stuff there then wandered around the town. Amelie is famous for its sulphur springs used as baths by rheumatism sufferers. It occured to me if you substutute an S for the A in Amelie you will get the idea.

After lunch I took the bus to Ceret. I'd been there with my brother about 10 years ago, and just fancied another look.

Ceret is a centre for art and artists, so I obviously visited an art gallery - it was displaying sculptural interpretations of Picasso's paintings which I think my Dad, also a sculptor, would have been fascinated by. Then, after a good look around the historic centre, I sat and enjoyed a cold beer in Place Picasso. He's obviously a popular chap here.

After catching the bus back to Amelie, my final important task of the day was to buy enough food to get me through the next day or two, as I don't know where I'll find it when I return to the hills in the morning.

I enjoyed supper al fresco in front of the hotel - which, incidentally, is called the Grand Cafe de Paris. It's gone 9.00pm, the streets are buzzing with activity and people are still wearing T-shirts. I rather like Amelie, even though it does have a casino.

CANIGOU, NOW

TORRE D'EINA AS SEEN FROM BORDER RIDGE

PARTICIPANTS ON FORMACIO I TREBALL PROJECT

BRECHE DURIER

CANIGOU SUMMIT

CRASHED AIRCRAFT

MUSIC NIGHT IN THE GITE AT BATERE

The gite owner was right. The weather was clear again on Thursday morning.

I left Pyrenees 2000 at around 9.30am and made my way down to the village of Eyne on the valley floor. The route was far from direct and required careful navigation. It was midday by the time I got there.

Eyne was the start point of a path called the Cami de Nuria which took me up the middle of the Vallee d'Eyne to Coll d'Eina (also called Col de Nuria), right on the border ridge at 2,683m. The valley is beautiful, but seemed endless. It was a long slog with the extra food and water I was carrying, and it took me 5 hours to get to the Coll from Eyne, including a lunch stop.

From there I walked east along the ridge to peaks of increasing altitude; first the Pic d'Eina at 2,786m and then the Pic de Noufonts at 2,861m. Although there were patches of snow, none were on the path, so the gite owner was right here too.

The main highlight of the day was that I saw several groups of isard, a horned animal about the size of a goat, but related to the antelope. They are common in the Pyrenees, but had evaded me so far. I also saw quite a few marmots.

I reached Refugi d'Ull de Ter on the Spanish side of the ridge at around 8.30pm - a bit late for supper and I would have been happy to camp outside, but they offered me a bed, which I accepted. Before retiring I chatted to John, a Scotsman living in Bristol, who was walking a section of the HRP in the opposite direction to me.

I slept OK but could have done without two noisy Frenchmen assuming that just because they wanted to get up at 6.00am, everyone else did too. I provided my own breakfast, but did give the Spanish refuge staff a training session on how to make a decent cup of tea, which they said they appreciated. They won't be pouring the milk in first from now on!

The Director of a project called 'Formacio i Treball' asked me if I would take some photographs of a group of youngsters before they set off from the refuge. The organisation invites young adults who have problems with drugs, behaviour, crime or finding work to participate in sections of a 500 mile trek that will take them across the Pyrenees. Character building stuff. Three of the youngsters are going the whole way.

My own walk continued on from the previous day's. From the refuge I got back onto the border ridge and continued east along it until I reached Roc Colom; I then followed a line of mountains into France called Les Esquerdes de Rotja. The walk was uneventful, except for the distinctive Pic de Canigou ahead of me becoming more dominant. This 2,784m peak is one that I cannot really avoid climbing as the HRP passes right over the summit.

Throughout the day I walked at an altitude that didn't fall below below 2,200m until I turned north to visit the Refuge de Mariailles. This refuge is a popular starting point for the climb of Pic de Canigou. It was 3.00pm when I got there, and the weather was really hot, so I enjoyed a couple of cold drinks. Then, at 5.00pm I refilled my water bottles and prepared to climb part of the way up Canigou, to a plateau where I could pitch my tent. That meant that I was starting the climb in the evening and would then be completing it next morning, both times of day when it would be cooler.

Overnight it was very gusty, which made the tent do a sort of a jive every so often. I pegged out a couple of extra guy ropes during the night. When I heard the rain too, I wondered if I would be able to climb in the morning at all. However, it was dry at 6.30am and the wind had subsided, so an hour later I was on my way up. The path became steep almost immediately. 

The wind got stronger as I climbed and then the rain started again. As usual, the rain stopped almost as soon as I put on my waterproofs, but the wind persisted. This wasn't too much of a problem until I got to the final section of the climb, a chimney called Breche Durier, where I had to put away the trekking poles and make progress up a very steep rock staircase using hands as well as feet.

I wasn't the first onto the summit that day as a small group who had come up from the other side were already taking photographs by the colourfully adorned cross. One of them kindly took a picture of me.

It was uncomfortably windy on the summit so I quickly headed down by the route that the other summiteers had come up. I was at the Refuge des Cortalets by 10.30am for tea, biscuits and a rest.

An hour later I filled my water bottles and headed east again. My destination now was Batere, only 10 miles away.

Shortly after leaving Cortalets I was surprised to find the remains of a crashed aircraft next to the path - it didn't look recent I may add, but it was a reminder that I am walking at altitudes where aircraft commonly fly.

However, don't let me underestimate a 10 mile walk again. Although the route was generally downhill, the path was extremely rocky and exposed in places, requiring great care. Everything seemed to take longer than I expected. I had a picnic lunch outside an unmanned refuge called Pinatell, consuming the last of my food, and thought that all the hard bits of the day's walk were now over. However, the sting in the tail came not long after - the path started to climb again by over 300m up to the Col de Cirere.

The Col was really spooky - cold and dank with fog rolling over. It had an eerie, threatening feel about it - 'The Hound of the Baskervilles' came to mind. I was relieved to be able to trot quickly downhill again to Batere.

Batere is small village that seems to comprise about 3 buildings, none of them a shop. Fortunately, one of them is a Gite d'etape, so I booked demi-pension for the night, feeling especially grateful that they had a bed available for me as there was nothing else nearby and I was out of food.

I turned out that Saturday night was music night at the gite, so we were treated to folk music with our aperitifs and rock music after supper (both genres from the same band). There didn't seem to be any restriction on how late the band played. I suppose that's the advantage of a village with hardly any neighbours to annoy.

INTO THE PYRENEES-ORIENTALES

BEAUTIFUL CLEAR ETANG DES BESINES

ESTANY DE LANOS FROM COLL DE COMA D'ANYELL

BOOT REPAIRS IN THE WILD

DIDN'T EXPECT TO SEE YOU HERE!

MY PICTURE WINDOW IN THE WILD

DOWN TO PYRENEES 2000

It was nearly 10.00am by the time left the gite in l'Hospitalet, but I was in no hurry. It was one of those days that just felt 'right' for some reason. That fact that it was dry, the sun was shining, the peaks were clear of mist and the temperature was perfect for walking might have had something to do with it.

I was feeling energised too. Maybe that was due to the excellent meal I'd been served at the gite the previous evening. Maybe it was because I felt that there should be nothing else to impede my final trek to the Med. Maybe I have finally got used to the weight of the rucksack.

Whatever the reasons for this feeling of wellbeing, I found myself enjoying the steep climb away from the village.

Initially it was a woodland walk, but then I got above the treeline to see the the mountains to the east beckoning to me. I quickly reached the Etang des Besines where I found the Belgian family from the gite sunning themselves on the bank. They would be staying at the Refuge des Besines which was visible on the hill at the far end of the lake, so I thought it deserved a visit. It was about 1.30pm by the time I got there; too early for a night stay, but perfect timing for a bowl of potage and a tin of beer.

Half an hour later I was on my way again. I needed to climb to the 2,470m Coll de Coma d'Anyell to get into the next valley. There were a few medium-sized snowfields to contend with on the way, but nothing more difficult than I had already faced.

When I reached the Coll and looked over to the other side, the view almost blew me away. Before me lay a magical valley with steams carrying the melting snow waters down to the huge Estany de Lanos. The backdrop was a sunlit vista of snow-patched mountains, including the 2,921m Puig Carlit, a popular target for climbers with lighter rucksacks. I was now entering the region known as the Pyrenees-Orientales which would see me all the way to the sea.

It took me nearly an hour to work my way down to the lake. I found a nice viewpoint at the northern end where I ate some of my food. It was 6.00pm, but I still wanted to keep walking, so I spent an hour climbing up to the next col, the Portella de la Grava. I haven't checked the translation of this yet, but I wondered if the circling vultures were giving me a clue. 

Anyway, what greeted me when I looked over the portella was yet another magical valley! Now I'm just being spoiled.

The climb down from the portella into the valley itself was not too steep, and I soon found myself walking briskly alongside a stream. Ahead of me I could see two tents pitched by a little lake called l'Estayol. When I got close the owners hailed me. David, from Toulon, and Thomas from Corsica were also on a walking holiday. However, the heel and sole assemblies had come off both of David's boots - well, actually, he'd borrowed them from his Dad. Could I help, he wondered? Well, as it happened, I did have some special glue in my emergency kit, so I got to work sticking things together again. I advised them to leave the glue to set overnight, and gave them my email address so that they could let me know if my efforts had been successful.

They invited me to camp with them, but I declined as there was still enough light for another hour of walking and I wanted to maintain my forward momentum. We exchanged farewells and I continued my eastward progress. The sun was low and I was walking in the shadow of a mountain, but I could see, not far ahead of me, the sun reflecting from the grass. I increased my pace.

They say that you can never catch the sun, but in this case I did, so I was able to walk in the evening sunshine as my shadow lengthened in front of me. Quite by surprise a donkey appeared on the path ahead of me, trotting in my direction. It stopped abruptly as soon as it saw me, giving the young girl who was chasing it a chance to catch it.

Eventually my shadow faded completely so I knew it was time to make camp. For my own reference, my campsite location was GPS 04165 47157, and there were beautiful waterfalls to be seen on the opposite side of the valley.

The stream I had been following had now become a river. As I ate supper in the fading light, I watched the cows wander in single file towards their watering hole, their bells clanging discordantly. A bull was also watching over them. It had been a perfect day. I knew it would be.

The sun streamed inside my tent as soon as I unzipped the outer flap in the morning. The sky was cloudless. I lazily ate breakfast. As I started to pack up, the girl with the donkey passed by, this time with her family and another donkey. The donkeys were being used to carrying their camping gear. When I met them again later it turned out that they had hired the donkeys for a family camping holiday. I'd not heard of that before.

I continued my trek down the valley, only this time heading towards the sun. The river ran into a large lake, the Lac de Boullouses, so when I reached it I walked along its western shore until I reached the dam at the southern end. It was obviously a popular spot because I saw more walkers here than I had seen on any other part of my walk. The glorious weather had no doubt also encouraged them to come out.

I had ice cream and tea at the Auberge du Carlit before continuing south-east towards the oddly named Pyrenees 2000, a ski resort presumably completed in time for the millenium. I could have followed the main trail down, but chose to deviate up to a viewpoint called Coll de Pam for lunch. Then I followed the line of the Belvedere ski lift down into the resort.

It was only mid-afternoon, but I had walked a long way over a two day period and had now run out of food, so I thought I might stay at a gite marked on my map called Les Ramiers. What a find - hospitable owner, clean, WiFi, pre-supper aperitif, excellent food with wine, supermarket just round the corner, sensible price - perfect!

Supper was shared with a couple from Nimes who were using the gite as a walking base.

I had come down into the valley to recharge, refuel and resupply. Now I had a long climb up to the French/Spanish border ridge where I will reach the highest altitude yet. The gite owner assures me that the snow has gone, the good weather will hold and I will enjoy the walk.

I can't wait.

ANDORRA

TRAIN SPOTTING AGAIN - ARRIVING AT L'HOSPITALET

FOLLOW THE FLAGS!

ESTANYS DEL SISCARO

CAMPING NEAR REFUGI DE JUCLAR

COL DE L'ALBE WHERE I LEAVE ANDORRA FOR FRANCE

LOOKING BACK TOWARDS THE COL

GITE IN L'HOSPITALET

My jump from Luchon to l'Hospitalet-pres-l'Andorre (which is commonly referred to as just l'Hospitalet) is actually quite a large one, but there are good reasons for this.

Firstly, given the time I have available before coming home, I would like to be able to walk the rest of the way to the Mediterranean.

Secondly, there should be no impassable mountain terrain. I will still encounter altititudes exceeding 2,500m, but on the warmer eastern end of the Pyrenees there is a good chance that the snow will have largely melted. If not, there are alternative routes available.

My rail journey from sunny Carcassonne via Toulouse was uneventful. Unfortunately, though, as I went south so did the weather. The fact that the temperature is significantly lower in l'Hospitalet is perhaps not surprising given that it is roughly 1,400m above sea level.

The train deposited me in l'Hospitalet at about 5.20pm - not enough time to set off anywhere now, so I booked into the only gite d'etape in town. It's a quirky little place, but the owners are pleasant and helpful. If the weather had been better I'm sure it would have been full and I would have been relegated to the campsite a short distance away. As it happens, I'm their only guest for the evening. This means that I eat alone, but there's no argument about who gets second helpings.

At 8.45am next morning (Sunday 13th) I left the gite and headed west. Yes, west! You see, l'Hospitalet-pres-l'Andorre is not in actually in Andorra but in France and I want to visit the real Andorra before moving on. I have therefore devised a two-day circular walk into the principality, where I camp overnight, then head back to the gite by a different route in the morning.

The path I initially took is called the 'GR Transfrontalier'. It is pretty rough and hard to follow in places. However, my luck was in. After a mile or so I noticed little red flags had been placed along the route at intervals, and I could see that the grass had been crushed by footfall. It was obvious that the path had been used for a hill race recently. I had also, imperceptably, entered Andorra along this path. No signs, no border guards, no difference in the scenery. It was only later when I bumped into a few other walkers that I realised the most obvious difference is the change of language to Catalan.

After a steep climb, I reached Port Dret where the path became much clearer. I was now at 2,565m, and what snow I had encountered could easily be walked around. From there it was downhill again until it was time for lunch. For that I found a suitable rock to sit upon giving me superb views across two picturesque lakes, the Estanys del Siscaro. Whilst a little breezy, the sun was out and it was fairly warm.

I continued descending until I came to a path on my right that crossed a bridge then climbed up to the Estanys de Juclar. There is a refuge by the first lake which my map told me was unmanned. The map was clearly out to date, because the refuge was quite modern and looked after by two guardians. They were quite happy for me to pitch my tent nearby and use the facilities. I was identified as a Brit the moment I asked them for a large cup of tea, with milk.

I had another cup of tea as soon as I emerged from my tent in the morning. I needed it as it had rained overnight and was cool.

It continued to rain for much of the morning, so I sat in the refuge reading as I waited for the weather to improve, as the forecast had predicted it would. At about 10.45am the sun came out, giving my tent a chance to dry before I packed it away.

I left the refuge at about 11.30pm and continued climbing up to the Collada de Juclar, where I linked up with the HRP route I should have been on had I not changed my plans. This took me up to Col de l'Albe, at 2,539m, where I crossed the border from Andorra back into France again. It was mainly downhill to l'Hospitalet from there on, passing four lakes, the two Etangs de l'Albe, the Etang de Couart and the Etang de Pedourres. I thought I would be down in a couple more hours, but I hadn't reckoned on the huge boulder fields that surrounded the first three lakes. I had to walk/climb/scramble across rocks ranging in size from a football to a Range Rover, with the average size of a domestic washing machine. It would have been very easy to slip down between the rocks and break a leg, so I took great care. However, it ended up taking me a couple of hours just to cross these rock fields alone.

It was after 6.00pm by the time I arrived back to the gite in l'Hospitalet, but with still enough time for a much needed shower before supper. A family of five from Belgium had arrived the same day after a 12 hour drive, so I was pleased to share a table with them.

I noted that I had exceeded 2,500m on two occasions over my two-day excursion, which at last justified my expediture on insurance to cover walking at higher altitudes.

In the morning I will continue my journey towards the Mediterranean.