The Big Walk

European Unity – Day 45

July 16th, 2008 Posted in Hold the Heights, Spain

Another steep climb begins a long walk on forest roads. It seems much easier than a couple of days ago – which is a relief! When we emerge above the forest we again see the stark mountain outlines we’d glimpsed from the Paso Alfredo, but now they are much closer at hand. The descent does begin to tire us though, being steep and overgrown with sharp thorny bushes – my legs are soon covered in cuts and scratches. Helen shouts out as she narrowly avoids stepping on a huge, brightly coloured toad. We emerge at the Ermita d’Idola, high above the settlement of Isaba. There seems to be one of these chapels for every village round here, a sort of party church in the hills used on the feast day of the local patron saint. This one is set in a beautifully tended hillside garden, where we rest with another couple who have wondered up from the village. They are the first people we’ve seen all day.

At the bottom of the hill we find Isaba is a wonderful little town, larger than Ochagavia but not quite so immaculately manicured. It has a more genuine, lived-in feel – and is much more closely cradled by the encircling mountains. We book into another lovely casa rural for a snooze before heading out to explore.

Today has turned out to be the day of the ‘Tribute of the Three Cows’, the towns’ main annual celebration. I can’t understand how we keep timing things so perfectly! The townsfolk from Isaba walk ten kilometres up the valley to a mountain pass which is the border with France. There, they meet the villagers from the French side of the mountains who pay them a tribute of three cows in return for the use of the superior grazings on the Spanish side. The conditions of the tribute were laid down in a peace treaty, the oldest still in force between European nations. The celebration has already taken place on the col earlier today, but we’re treated to the bizarre sight of the Spanish delegation arriving back in Isaba.

Twelve men march down the main street in the most ridiculous costumes imaginable, performing a dance in front of a block of houses though no-one else seems to be here to watch. They are wearing sandals held on by cross-tied leather straps wrapped around their thick socks; above these are short baggy trousers and long white jackets, around which are wrapped skirts made of straw. Tall, conical hats are tied on by straps under their chins, trailing multi-coloured streamers, whilst on the very top small plants seem to be sprouting. They are waving short-handled besoms in their left arms and while they march and dance a real racket is produced by huge pot-shaped brass bells, a pair of which is tied onto each mans’ buttocks. Ten minutes prancing and they’re off, back up the road from whence they came. They don’t even look ashamed!!

Groups of villagers are heading into the rectangular modern building at the foot of the town; we follow them and discover it’s an indoor pelota stadium – there’s to be a match between the French and Spanish villagers. The first game we see is played by teams of two, smashing a ball with wooden bats against a high wall – something like squash but with only two walls to hit and much more space to cover. As this match ends a crowd of locals begins to gather for the main event, a singles match between two guys standing about twenty yards from the wall, smacking the ball with their bare hands. It looks incredibly painful, and a burly man who whacks the ball full pelt every time is soon leading against an older player who has less power but more finesse, occasionally going for drop shots that leave the younger guy stranded. The older guy is clearly in some pain as he rubs his hands constantly between points, but his greater skill soon reels in the advantage, and he eventually takes the match 22:21 to a standing ovation.

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