SUMMARY & STATISTICS

ALONGSIDE THE LACS D'ARRIËL NEAR ARRÉMOULIT

You can never be sure how an adventure, however carefully planned, is going to work out. What I had intended to do in 2014 didn't happen because of snow conditions, so I completed only about half the route at that time. However, I did learn a few things, and my return to the Pyrenees this year to hike the other half went much more smoothly.

Apart from the places I visited on the walking route itself, on both occasions I was also given the opportunity to explore many other parts of southern France - Pau, Lourdes, Cauterets, Luchon, Carcassonne, Foix, Toulouse and the many small towns on the Mediterranean coast. And then there was Spain - Santander, Donostia/San Sebastian and of course Barcelona.

My walking route between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean generally followed that prescribed by Ton Joosten's book, but there were many deviations from it, several of which Mr Joosten himself suggested as alternatives. The HRP is really a concept rather than a precise path anyway, so the fact that I made good use of the GR10 and GR11 routes, and also made a few ad-hoc modifications of my own, is entirely in keeping with Mr Joosten's intentions.

I don't know precisely how long my walking route was, but it would be about 800km or 500miles. In 2014 I spent 22 days walking it, and then another 21 days in 2018, so 43 days in total. Thus, I did an average of around 12 miles a day, which isn't bad considering the terrain and the weight of my rucksack.

I have ignored the short (10km) taxi ride between the Refugio de Belagua and Pierre-St-Martin which enabled me and my three Spanish friends to escape the thunderstorm on the border ridge. Equally, I have ignored the extra walking days I did between Cauterets and Gavarnie, Luchon and Superbagneres, Hospice de France and the Refuge de Venasque, and the Andorran foray from Hospitalet to Juclar and back.

After my John o'Groats to Land's End hike in 2009, the Pyrenean trek seemed like an appropriate step up in the level of  challenge. It was certainly tough and demanded a lot of resolve to complete. How does it compare to other challenging treks? Well, they say that the Corsican GR20 is the toughest long distance trail in Europe, but having now done both, I can assure readers that the HRP is much tougher because of the terrain, the amount of ascent and descent required, potential routefinding difficulties, the duration, accommodation opportunities and the resupply difficulties.

Do I have any other walking challenges in mind? Not really, but you never know......

TOULOUSE LA TREK

MY HOSTEL

PONT NEUF

VIKING ENGINE AT CITE DE L'ESPACE

SOYUZ CAPSULE

MIR SPACE STATION

SOYUZ SPACECRAFT WITH ARIANE 5 LAUNCHER IN BACKGROUND

DONJON DU CAPITALE

CAPITOLE

AVENUE NEAR THE GARONNE

TOULOUSE CITY CENTRE

I was pleased that I had some spare days left over from my Pyrenean trek because it would give me time to get to know Toulouse a little better. Capital of the Occitanie region and with a population of over 450,000, it is also known as The Pink City (Le Ville Rose) because of the terra-cotta bricks used in many of its buildings.

So, it is the morning of Wednesday 26th of September and it took only an hour and ten minutes for the train to take me from Foix to Toulouse's Matabiau station, the same place from which I had departed for Pau. The cheapest place to stay was La Petite Auberge de Saint-Sernin, at only €47 for two nights. It is located close to the University, so there are plenty of young people about.

Toulouse is, of course, a big city and very cosmopolitan. I took a walk down to the River Garonne and found an exhibition of photographic art called 'ManiFesto' by the Pont St-Pierre. I then followed the river bank down to the famous Pont Neuf which was completed in 1632 following 88 years in construction, and has survived the many floods that Toulouse has experienced, the most recent in 2004.

Naturally I did a bit of shopping and hanging about in squares like Place du Capital. There is more than enough here to keep me amused until it's time to go home.

On Thursday I spent the whole day at Cité de l'espace, which is an exhibition of space, space flight, satellites and all sorts of related things. It is located in the eastern suburbs of Toulouse and it took me over an hour to walk there. They had full size models of an Ariane 5 launcher and a Mir Space Station. I even got to sit in a genuine Soyuz space capsule. There was so much to see that I struggled to get around everything before kicking out time at 5.00pm.

On the walk back I popped into the Cathédrale Saint-Étienne, where the organ was being played. The design of the cathedral is a bit unusual because it is the result of two separate churches being grafted together.

On Friday I had to vacate my dormitory bed in the hostel, but they were happy to let me keep my rucksack there while I spent the day mosying about town.

First, I walked to Place du Capitole to look around the markets. There was also some kind of exhibition there for senior citizens, but of course security wouldn't let me in because I looked too young (not). Next, EDF (the French electricity company) have a hydroelectric generating plant called EDF Bazacle on the Garonne, which also serves as an information centre on hydro power and an art gallery, so I went to take a look at that. It was well worth the hour I spent there.

After that it was time for a late lunch, and a bit more aimless wandering. All too soon it was time to collect my rucksack from the Hostel and catch the bus to the airport. Once there, I made the short walk to the Ibis Styles Hotel where I had stayed when I first landed in Toulouse, and reclaimed the holdall that they had been keeping for me. It was good to have some fresh clothes to wear.

Saturday's flight wasn't until the afternoon so I took a walk to the nearby Blagnac shopping complex in the morning. The LeClerc Hypermarket must be the biggest shop I've ever seen. The wine, beers and spirits section alone was bigger than many supermarkets.

By 2.30pm I was in the airport for my 5.15pm easyJet flight back to Gatwick, although it didn't actually leave until 6.40pm in the end. However, the flight was short, as was the train journey to Portsmouth. I was happy to see Rubi waiting for me at the railway station. The adventure had been fun, but it was great to be home again.

FOIX

P'TIT DEJ-HOTEL FOIX

SELF-EXPLANATORY

THE CHATEAU

LOCAL TRAIL

LA PLAGE

AUBERGE LE LEO DE FOIX

LA CROIX DE ST SAUVEUR

VIEW FROM THE CROIX

GREAT VIEW FROM CHATEAU ROUND TOWER

BACKGROUND READING

It was Sunday the 23rd of September, and this one really can be a rest day. With rucksack packed I took the 5 minute walk from the Gite to the SNCF station and bought myself a rail ticket to Foix from the machine.

As I was waiting for the train, wondering why there was no departures information on the platform display, an SNCF bus turned up. Confusing perhaps, but apparently not uncommon.

My seat was next to Vincent, who had spent Saturday walking near l'Hospitalet, but lived in Foix. He was able to give me useful information about what to see in his home town, particularly the imposing Chateau des Comtes de Foix that overlooks it.

Being a Sunday, the Tourist Information Office in Foix was closed, as was the Auberge Le Leo de Foix, the town centre hostel where I had hoped to stay (apparently it is only open on weekdays). There were plenty of quite expensive hotels in the centre, but with Google's help, I managed to find the rather more reasonably priced P'tit Dej-Hotel Foix, roughly a 50 minute walk away. It was pleasantly located north of the town close to the Ariège river and they gave me a room with a garden view.

After settling in, I went out for a walk! You'd think I'd had enough if that by now, but wandering around without the large rucksack weighing me down is a different experience. It was sunny and I  managed to find a nice little circular walk through some woods, and then strolled along the 'plage' by the river, watching folk paddling hired kayaks.

On Monday I got up late. Not deliberately, since I had got used to gauging when it is time to rise by the amount of daylight in the room. I opened my eyes several times in the morning to find the room still pitch black, so closed them again. However, I hadn't appreciated just how effective the blinds were at shutting out all the light from the outside, and it was past 10.00am before I finally realised that. By then it was too late for the breakfast I had ordered.

The day's plan was to walk back to the town centre and book two nights at Le Leo, which was where I wanted to stay in the first place, so I settled my bill (they deducted the charge for breakfast) and decamped.

It was cold, wet, foggy and generally dreary - indeed the worst weather I had experienced since my arrival in Toulouse. I had clearly been extremely lucky during my walk in the mountains. I dropped my rucksack off at Le Leo, bought something for brunch from the local supermarket, then started to explore the town, starting with the, apparently, brand new Tourist Information Office. They had two excellent documentaries playing in a continuous loop, one that highlighted the attractions in and around Foix, and another which presented the whole Occitanie region (formerly the Languedoc Roussillon and Midi-Pyrénées regions).

Better weather was forecast for Tuesday, so I decided to leave my visit to the Chateau for the following day. Instead I warmed myself up by climbing the hill that overlooks the town to reach La Croix du Saint Sauveur, a large cross which is easily visible from ground level. Getting there involved a steep climb of about 300m, but it enabled me to see the Chateau and the surrounding area from above. I also visited the Abbatiale Saint-Volusien, built around 860, and once a privileged place for political and religious life in Foix.

I had paid demi-pension for Monday night at Le Leo, but the evening meal was pretty unexciting, as was breakfast the following morning. I decided to make my own eating arrangements for my second night's stay.

Tuesday morning fulfilled its promise of being sunny and warm. By 11.00am I was inside the Chateau walls. There was plenty to see and learn about its history, and the top of the round tower with its amazing views of the surroundings was a perfect place to enjoy a picnic lunch.

Unusually for me, I bought a book on the way out called 'Cathar Country', which explained much about the Medieval history of the area, and particularly how the Cathar religion became established and was eventually vanquished. Much of the remaining day was spent reading it whilst relaxing on the comfy futon in Le Leo's courtyard, with the sound of traditional accordion music emanating from a nearby window. All very French.

By the time I had read all 127 pages it was time for bed. Off to Toulouse tomorrow.

EL SERRAT TO L'HOSPITALET-PRES-L'ANDORRE

VIEW DOWN COMA DE RANSOL FROM NEAR CABANA COMS DE JAN

UP TO SERRA DE CABANA SORDA

HARDY HORSES NEAR CABANA SORDA

CABANA SORDA

EARLY MORNING START FROM CABANA SORDA

I'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE

ESTANYS DEL SISCARO (EXCEPT LEFT HAND ONE HAS DRIED UP)
 

VIEW EAST FROM PORT DRET

PATH, WHAT PATH?

GITE D'ETAPE AT L'HOSPITALET

A check on the weather for Friday 21st of September indicated a possibility of rain in the afternoon. However, I had frequently found the forecasts to be overly pessimistic, and where rain had occurred, it had always been late in the afternoon when I am usually at lower altitudes and close to shelter.

Thus, it was time to move on, so I packed my rucksack, paid the hotel bill and headed for the hills.

I climbed in a easterly direction up the Sorteny valley, initially though pine woods and then on grassy slopes, passing by the Refugi de Sorteny and the Cabana la Serrera, until the 2,713m Collada dels Meners came onto view. Reaching the small gap in the ridge that would take me into the next valley had involved nearly 1,200m of climbing and taken four and a half hours.

Route-finding on the descent was a little less obvious than on the ascent, but I managed to reach the Cabana Coms de Jan without error. According to the guide book, this was the end of the day's walk. However, since it was barely past 3.00pm, and I still had plenty of energy, it made sense to walk on. That meant crossing another ridge, the 2,661m Serra de Cabana Sorda. Only about 400m of climbing for this one, though, and fine views to be had. Circling over my head were half a dozen Griffon Vultures. They are common in the Pyrenees and can have wing-spans of up to 2.8 metres. Perhaps they were hungry and hoping that I might expire on the climb.

Within a short while I could see the Estany de Cabana Sorda, which has a small dam, and the Cabana itself nearby. A young family was already there with two boisterous young children. They had probably walked up from the nearby village of Soldeu. The Cabana had plenty of beds so there was room for me provided I could put up with the noise. When I say beds, I really mean bed frames, because they have no mattresses so a sleeping pad is needed. They may not be much more comfortable than sleeping under canvas, but it does save the hassle associated with camping outside. Incidentally, it never did rain.

I thought it might be the children who woke me up early on Sunday, but it was actually one of the adults. I didn't mind because that absolved me if any guilt regarding the noise I made as I packed up my own gear by torchlight. By 7.30am I was continuing my eastward progress.

First of all I had to get down to Incles, which was roughly 400m below me. The steep and rocky terrain meant that I had to get there by a very roundabout route, so it took longer than expected.

From Incles I climbed directly east until I reached a junction which would take me either to the Refugi de Juclar or the Cabana de Siscaro. I had been here before in 2014 when I walked from l'Hospitalet-pres-l'Andorre (which was my destination today). That meant that I had now linked together the 2014 and my present walk, and completed the route from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. The time was 9.22am on Saturday the 22nd of September. I played a fanfare in my head. Whoppee!

Once the excitement was over, I had to remind myself that I was still in the middle of nowhere and it was unlikely that a helicopter was going to come and pick me up. Thus, there was nothing for it but to keep walking. I had decided to ignore Tom Joosten's guidebook again and walk to l'Hospitalet-pres-l'Andorre (usually abbreviated to l'Hospitalet) via the GR Transfrontalier route. I followed this in 2014 and found it pretty difficult to navigate. I now planned to walk it in the other direction to see if it is any easier. First of all I had to climb south past the Estanys del Siscaro to the Pas de les Vaques and then on to Port Dret at 2,565m. From there, l'Hospitalet is about 9km to the east and, at an altitude of 1,436m, it was going to be downhill all the way.

The GR Transfrontalier route turned out to be just as difficult to navigate this time around as before. Occasionally I would find bits of footpath, and then they would come to an abrupt end. Occasionally I saw yellow or red and white markers, but any footpath associated with them was vague at best.

I knew that the path should stick close to a river called Riu de Sant Josep, so I was confident that I was in the right place. I concluded that a continuous footpath was simply not there. I gave up looking after a while and just improvised a route.

I finally reached a relatively busy road close to the northern end of the Puymorens tunnel, exactly as I expected. It was then necessary to follow the road for one and a half km into l'Hospitalet village. I couldn't really remember the road bit in 2014, but I must have walked it as there is no other way.

So, I've finally reached l'Hospitalet and the trek is over. I made my way to the Gite d'etape that I had stayed in 4 years previously, and the proprietor was standing by the door to welcome me in (not the same one as before as there had been a change of hands since my previous visit). The price of a private room with demi-pension was agreed, and 20 minutes later I was enjoying a hot shower.

I had actually reached l'Hospitalet five days ahead of schedule. This was partly because my daily distances were sometimes greater than assumed (El Serrat to l'Hospitalet was covered in two days rather than the expected three) and also because some of the alternative routes that I used were shorter. Finally, I had allowed extra days in the schedule in case of delays due to poor weather. However, the weather was good to me throughout, so I did not need to take them.

My flight home doesn't leave until Saturday the 29th, so I have a week to enjoy a bit of a break. In anticipation of this, a brought the map of Foix with me, and will go there tomorrow for a few days.

RUI DEL PORT TO EL SERRAT

ESTANY DE CERTESCAN WITH BORDER MOUNTAINS BEHIND

MARTIN AND HUGE SLOPPY HAIRY DOG

TYPICAL CAIRN

THE UNMANNED REFUGI DE BAIAU

SNOW STILL ON COLL DELS ESTANYS FORCATS

ESTANYS FORCATS

FRANCESC AND HIS FRIENDS FED ME AT REFUGI DE LES FONT

JUST TO PROVE IT'S REALLY ME

MY HOTEL IN SERRAT

SCULPTURE ON THE 'RUTA DEL FERRO'

I hadn't had a particularly good sleep in my rather basic cabana, partly because of the horse and cattle bells that clanged most of the night. Also, the sleeping platform was narrow and far from level, and when I turned over in the middle of the night I fell off.

Anyway, I was up early. Sunday is meant to be a day of rest, but this wasn't going to be the case for me on the 16th of September. The first couple of kilometres down to Noarre were easy enough, but then I had 1,000m of climbing to do. I did the usual and just went into 'plod' mode. Initially it was a walk though a forest, but then it opened out into grassy slopes. After a bit of scrambling I eventually reached the Estany Blau de Guerosso, where I stopped for a break and to admire the beautiful vistas. I then had to tackle the crux of the walk which was to cross the 2,605m Coll de Certescan. To the east of the Col, is the huge Lac de Certescan, the largest in the area. On its steep northern side is a wall of imposing mountain peaks that define the border with France. I descended towards the lake and walked above it's southern shore to reach the Refugi de Certescan. A huge shaggy dog met me by the door. It was only mid-afternoon but the temptation of a cooked meal and the opportunity to have a shower and wash my clothes made the decision for me.

A couple of hours after I arrived, Martin, my helper from the previous evening, turned up. He was out mountain biking today, and had included the Refugi on his route. We shared a drink as we pored over the map. Martin was German but lives in Barcelona. I took a photo of him with his bike and the shaggy dog as he left, and considered how lucky he was to have the Pyrenees so close to his home.

I was the only hiker staying in the Refugi, although two young girls were sleeping in a tent outside. Also, I was the only guest having an evening meal, and substantial it was, as was the breakfast next morning. Indeed, in my enthusiasm to get some calories on board, I suspect I overate. 

During my walk to the next destination, the Refugi de Vall Ferrera, my stomach was definitely not right. I had refilled my bottles with water from Certescan, which was supposed to be OK, but treated it with Chlorine anyway as a precaution. On a positive note, my legs coped with the 1,200m of climbing required on the day without complaint. I suspected that the fatigue I had often felt was due to salt deficiency, so I had put lots on my food the previous evening. It seemed to do the trick.

The weather was perfect for walking, and the rain that several people predicted for the afternoon never materialised. As usual, the views were stunning throughout the walk, but the highlight of the day was definitely crossing the Coll de Sellente (2,438m), where I stopped for a break. I could see the the Baborte Lake and the unmanned Refugi de Baborte, an orange painted 'prefab', below me, but I wasn't going to stop there.

I reached the Refugi de Vall Ferrera after nine hours of walking, and was pleased to find that they had hot showers. I ordered just a small supper (soup, salad and yogurt) in the hope that my ailing stomach would settle down.

By morning my tummy was back to normal again. It was a pleasant walk from the Refugi to Pla de Boet, and then the climbing started as I worked my way up the Baiau Valley. There was an unmanned Refugi at the top of the valley, high up on a rocky outcrop so I could see it from a distance, but it seemed to take ages to get there. When I did, I stopped inside for a mid-morning break.

It was now time to enter Andorra and say farewell to Spain for the last time on this hike. The guidebook route would take me into Andorra via the Port de Baiau and lead me to the Refugi de Coma Pedrosa. However, I had no intention of staying there, so I studied the map and established that if I crossed into Andorra via the Collader dels Estanys Forcats then I would save myself a couple of hours and a lot of unnecessary climbing. It wasn't an easy route, but I did relish the navigational challenge.

I rejoined the 'official' route just north of Arinsal (where I got mobile contact for the first time since Salardu), and headed south-east until about 4.00pm when it started to rain. The unmanned Refugi de les Font was nearby, so I though it might be a good place to stop for the night. Imagine my surprise when I found a thick-set bearded man, who reminded me of Grizzly Adams (you would have to be around in the 1970's to remember the TV series) apparently living there. The Refugi was furnished with all the necessities of home and there was a roaring fire in the hearth. He spoke Catalan, but from what I could gather the Refugi was used by him and his friends as a shooting lodge. His name was Francesc and he welcomed me to stay.

Later, his friends turned up: Joseph, Tony and, much later, David (who also went by the nickname Lucky Luke). Joseph confirmed that the Refugi is for public use, but that they come to stay here for the one week each year when the Andorran Government permits the hunting of isard, once an endangered species but now growing in population.

Francesc was the 'chef' of the group, and he cooked a large pasta dish which I was invited to share - I must have been looking undernourished as I was given the largest portion, for which I was later commended for finishing. Along with peaches, chocolate, beer and, later, generous amounts of Famous Grouse whisky, I was more than ready for sleep by the end of the evening.

I was up early in the morning and said my farewells while two of the friends were still in their sleeping bags. It was a glorious day and I took the most direct route up to the Pic del Clot de Cavall (2,587m). It only took me and hour to reach the summit of this rounded, mainly grass-covered, mountain.

Getting down to the Angonella lakes on its scree-covered northern side was a slower process, and the walk down the Angonella valley to Llorts seemed endless. Indeed, the descent through the valley was on difficult, rocky, paths and largely through woods (so no views). I counted it as the most boring and frustrating couple of hours I had spent on the route so far, so I was surprised to meet quite a number of daywalkers going up it.

Llorts was a pretty village, but the bar I had heard about was closed on Wednesdays. Frustrated, I walked parallel to the road to El Serrat. It was time for another rest day, so I booked myself into the Hotel El Pradet for two nights. There are no shops in El Serrat so I would have to eat in the hotel restaurant, but they gave me a very good inclusive rate.

I made full use of the en-suite facilities to do all my washing and, during my 'day off', l wandered back towards Llorts to walk a footpath named the 'Ruta del Ferro', named after the local iron mines which generated wealth for the area in the 17th to 19th centuries. Evidence of the iron-rich geology was clear from the rust coloured soil and the staining of the rock. Further on, the footpath was lined with sculptures, iron being the theme of many of them. I eventually reached the small village of Arans, where I stopped at a restaurant to enjoy a lazy lunch and a couple of cold beers in the warm afternoon sun. This is the life!

Unless it's pouring with rain in the morning, I'm back on the trail tomorrow.

SALARDU TO RIU DEL PORT

LOOKING BACK TOWARDS SALARDU

DESERTED BAQUEIRA-BERET SKI RESORT

THE APPARENTLY UNCLIMBABLE TUC DE MARIMANYA

VIEW FROM THE EAST SIDE OF TUC DE MARIMANYA

LOOKING SOUTH OVER ESTANY DE AIROTO

ORANGE 'TENT' OF REFUGI GRACIA AIROTO

ME AND MY SHADOW AT COLLADA DEL CLOT DE MOREDO

CHURCH AT ALOS D'ISIL

THOSE BIG HORNS MADE ME FEEL SHEEPISH

VERY BASIC CABANE BY RIU DEL PORT

Thursday 13th of September and the weather was looking good. Refugi Rosta didn't serve breakfast particularly early, so it was 10.00am by the time I left.

The village of Bagergue overlooks Salardu, and I climbed up to it on the road. I was feeling the strain of a full load of food and water in the rucksack. Soon I was walking in an easterly direction on footpaths, past the ski resort of Baqueira-Beret (no snow, so no people), and ascending to Estany de Baciver where I stopped for lunch. On continuing, I soon reached two more lakes. As I passed the second, I could see ahead of me the steepness of my next goal, the 2,662m high Tuc de Marimanya. Indeed, at first it looked unclimbable. However, once I reached the base of the mountain, I could see the route up ìt. This is the first time I have reached a mountain summit in my 2018 return to the Pyrenees. All the other high points have been passes (cols) although many have been of similar altitude. The advantage of reaching a mountain top is that the views are all the way round and, given the clear weather, they were amazing of course.

From here on, there were no obvious paths, so I was pleased that I had purchased the additional map. I continued along a ridge to the east of Tuc de Marimanya before dropping down to the Col de Airoto. From there I could see the orange-painted, tent-shaped Refugi Gracia Airoto at the southern end of the Estany d'Airoto, but the boulders and foliage surrounding the lake made getting there extremely hard work. The Refugi is unmanned and has 6 beds. There were three middle-aged French hikers already there eating, so I joined them. The light was fading so we were soon in our sleeping  bags. It had been a really exciting and satisfying day, partly because of the excellent weather and partly because of the challenges I'd successfully overcome.

I was last to leave in the morning and immediately headed north to the Collada del Clot de Moredo. From there it was a long descent to the village of Alos d'Isil. Routefinding over the last kilometer was particularly tricky, but I got there with a bit of improvisation.

It was only a little after midday, so I had a quick snack, filled my water bottles at the village fountain, and continued on. There was a short north-easterly road walk, and then I turned right to ascend the Comamala valley. The weather had been clear, but now the sun was really beating down on me. The heat made me feel incredibly weary and I was now only able to climb at snail's pace. I had regular rests in the shade, drank frequently, and dipped my hat in any stream that I passed. Eventually I reached a small lake called Bassa de Sobriu, with a bit of flat grass around it, and decided that this was a good place to pitch the tent for the night.

I heard grunting noises outside the tent in the evening, and again in the morning. They do say that there is the greatest concentration of black bears in this part of the Pyrenees, but since I chose not to get out of the tent I will never know if it was one. It could have been a wild boar, of course.

Saturday was cloudier and cooler, and my usual energy had returned. I had three high passes to cross: Coll de la Cornella (2,485), Coll de Curios (2,428m) and Coll de Calberante (2,610m). That made it a tough day. Route-finding was a challenge too, particularly around the Coll de Curios. Eventually I made it to the next refuge, which was called Refugi Enric Pujol (also called Refugi Mont Roig). It was only mid-afternoon, so I carried on down the valley with a view to finding a cabana or a place to camp further on.

Shortly after, I met a chap called Martin who was on holiday and walking locally. He suggested a ramshackle cabana by the Riu del Port. It was basic, but not the worst I had slept in. It had no door, but wooden poles were criss-crossed in the opening to discourage horses or cattle from trying to enter, and there were lots of both grazing in the pasture that surrounded the cabana.

I thanked Martin, who suggested that we might meet again at my next day's destination, the Refugi de Certescan.