European Unity – Day 45
July 16th, 2008 Posted in Hold the Heights, Spain | No Comments »
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.

And there are bells on their backsides...

Pelota match



Ochagavia is a stunning chocolate-box village of whitewashed stone houses, their balconies overflowing with geraniums; narrow, immaculate cobbled streets; a templar church and a crystal-clear river. We can’t appreciate it at the moment though, as we wonder like rabid dogs from one casa rural (Navarrese bed-and-breakfasts) to the next – there may be twenty five of them here but all seem to be full. It’s Friday night and it seems this is the popular retreat for Pamplonians escaping from the continuing chaos of San Fermin. Just as it seems we’ll have to give up we find a lady with a room free. Entering through the high-arched door we’re led into the inner hallway, cobbled in a striking star-shaped design, and up the dark wood staircase into the beautiful family home above. After showering our grime away we collapse on our bed until it’s time to go out for dinner.
The pilgrim route is over. It feels amazing that the first stage of our journey has finished; the camino seems to have taken forever in itself. We’re excited to finally be heading away from busy roads and organised hostels; from now on, we’re on our own. After a few miles of forest tracks we reach the tiny hamlet of Fabrica de Orbaceita, where we join a new friend – the Gran Recorrido 11 or GR11. This is a recently created long distance footpath which leads through the Spanish Pyrenees from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, but is only occasionally marked with red and white paint splashes. Immediately from the hamlet it begins a tough, sweaty climb into the giant, rolling green hills which here make up the Pyrenees. It’s not just the gradient that is tougher than anything on the camino; the way is also badly overgrown and difficult to follow.
The arid plains of Spain seem to be behind us at last as we near the Pyrenees – today’s hike passes through beautiful beechwoods. The villages have changed too – Burguete is a cluster of whitewashed Alpine chalet-style houses with steeply pitched roofs to shed the snow. Only a few miles on is the great monastery of Roncevalles. Its name was synonymous with the camino throughout the Middle Ages, providing assistance to pilgrims at their journeys’ crucial Pyrenean crossing. Yet it is even more famous as the setting for the great battle in the ‘Chanson de Roland’, the earliest of French epic poems.
Today for thousands of pilgrims Roncevalles is the start of the journey. We have the stand in a queue to register for the dormitory with scores of people wearing shiny boots and brand new rucksacks, nervously contemplating their adventure. The place is organised with military regimentation, with everyone choosing one of two sittings for dinner in the hotel and issued with tickets for food and strict instructions on what time to go to sleep. We’re shown through to the vast stone hall which has been the dormitory for pilgrims for centuries, filled with hundreds of steel bunks; but at least these days there are hot showers in the basement beneath.
