almendro

Our last night in Aragon, we wild-camped in an almond grove. As dusk fell, we wandered amongst the trees, filling our pockets with forgotten nuts from last year's harvest. 

Cuckoo song dragged me from my early morning slumber. The sun rose, we packed up our tent and then headed back north, to our valley home.

Aragón

On n’est vraiment pas si loin. Les Béarnais peuvent y aller pour la journée, pour faire leur courses, ou plus encore pour la nuit, pour faire la fête qui est plus vivant de l’autre côté quand on peut grignoter des pinxos et commander des copas. On n’est vraiment pas très loin, mais pourtant… 

Il y a une chaîne de montagnes qui nous séparent de l’autre côté. Nous passons les Pyrénées par le tunnel de Bielsa.  Ici, la France se tourne le dos, les montagnes sont bien là pour nous séparer. Immenses et présentes. On est vraiment pas très loin de la maison, mais pourtant...

Nous sommes toujours en montagne, en nos montagnes même, mais déjà en Espagne. La frontière est marquée par le soleil, le partage des eaux.

En Aragon, le soleil n’est pas le même, les versants ne sont pas pareils. La lumière est plus claire, les couleurs sont plus fortes. Il faut fermer les yeux pour mieux voir. Observer par les narines, les oreilles, la langue. Le rouge du ciel du soleil couchant est dans le vin de nos hôtes, les piments de la côte basque, les fleurs de montagne. L’air même semble solidifié, palpable.

C’est dans ces terres de l’Aragon que je sens le désir de fuir: fuir de ces terres sèches et jaunes, fuir de ces villages aux maisons de pierre sèches.

Mais moi, pour l'instant, j'ai plutôt envie de y rester. 

l'autre côté

Les Pyrénées sont un pluriel. 

En général, la vallée de Barège suffit à mes explorations. Elle est déjà multiple: la vallée des touristes, celle des habitantes, la vallée en hiver, en été, au printemps en automne…

Mais des fois, on a envie d'aller un peu plus loin. De s'imaginer des ailes d'hirondelle et aller à la découverte de l'autre côté de la chaîne frontalière. 

Un jour ce printemps, on a continué: Luz, Argèles, Lourdes, Bagnères, Louron, Bielsa: L’Espagne. 

On a suivi les cols, traversé les Gaves, longés les Nestes. On a roulé jusqu’à se cogner contre la chaîne frontalière, titanesque muraille de pierre. Pour protéger les hommes? 

On a franchi la frontière sous la terre, et on s'est retrouvé dans la Haute Aragon. Après quelques jours autour d'Ainsi, on a continué, plus au sud vers le pays des canyons: la Sierra de Guara.

early morning, Luz

It's Saturday and I've got the day off today. I wake early anyhow. As I throw wide open the shutters, the air is bitterly cold. The moon, still a pale crescent, hangs in the slate grey sky.

I am once again home alone. N went up to the Oulettes de Gaube on Friday morning in search of another backcountry classic at the foot of the Vignemale. I've had a busy couple of days teaching and am in need of another quiet weekend at home.

At half past eight, I head out of the house, wearing only a jumper. From the nearby Place St Clément, I can see the Solférino chapel veiled in the early morning mist which hangs in the valley. On the summer pastures far beyond, the clumps of blueberry bushes and ferns are now hidden beneath a thick blanket of snow. Below the hills stretches Luz. This early in the morning, the village seems to be peacefully sleeping, cradled in the valley which is still in deep blue shadow.

As the moments creep by, the sun starts to gild the western hilltops which dwarf the village, striking gold on snowcapped summits. These illuminated peaks form part of the Pyrenees, the chain of mountains which rises from the Atlantic coast and stretches all along the Spanish border towards the Mediterranean.

As I stand in the square slightly shivering despite my coat, the frustrations and worries of the last few days are soon forgotten. This mountainous landscape that I am devouring with my eyes is a small slice of the Vallée de Barège, also known as the Pays Toy.

We may be only in early spring in my adopted corner of the Pyrenees. But after the flurries of snow of last week, the sun has returned...and it feels wonderful.

outside, inside

Outside, the snow fell gently all day.

 Inside, I drank gallons of tea and knitted merrily beside the fire.

 

Snowfall between Luz and Esterre

ski-touring, Lac du Gaube

A few weeks ago, I had crawled into bed grumbling about another wave of snow forecast for later that week. At the start of the season I had been enchanted by the snow, but by early March, winter had been wearing me down.

How funny then, to wake up to a wintry paradise last Sunday morning.

It’s as if Mère Nature had overhead my grumbles and decided to do all she could to win me back.

We got up early, drove to Pont d’Espagne and slipped on our back-country skis. From the car-park, we left the hoards of day-trippers behind and ascended up through the forest to Lac du Gaube. New snow had whitened each branch of each tree, freshened the ground cover, softened all but the craggiest mountain peaks. For over an hour, we ascended through tunnels of white, under a blue, blue sky. When we got to the top, Lac du Gaube and the Vignemale were waiting to be devoured by our eyes.

Sunday was a day of winter without the work. Bravo, Mother Nature – I once again marvel at your handiwork.

"Come outside..."

Easter Sunday. The last day of March was the sort of day when everyone was outside who could be.

  The mountains beckoned…and we obliged.

whiteout in the dets Coubous valley

The last few days have been warmer round these parts. But overnight, the weather switched once again in dramatic fashion, as it often seems to do up here. This morning, we wriggled out of bed to the glorious sound of silence and heavy snow on the roof.  

My fifteen year-old niece is here staying with us for the next fortnight. So there was only one thing to be done today: introduce her to the delights of snow-shoeing with a group. N drove us up to Barèges from where we caught the snow-bus up to the ski station, along with his group of clients.

From Tournaboup, we set off a short time later due south, up the dets Coubous valley towards the Aigues Cluses valley and into an almost complete white-out. Low cloud and wind-blown snow conspired immediately to limit our visibility to a vague, fuzzy horizon. As we crossed an avalanche, hardly recognisable as it was now covered in a deep blanket of snow, a slightly lighter patch in the clouds showed us where the sun ought to be. Moments later, the sun and horizon vanished once more and we were enveloped in white.

For over an hour and a half, we ventured forth into a peculiar world with no ground, no sky, no left, right, up or down, and nothing to focus one’s gaze on. Bringing up the rear of the group, at times I wondered if my sunglasses had steamed up or if I was going cross-eyed. As the others struggled to traverse the slope in front of me, slipping and sliding with almost every step, I daydreamed at the rear, imagining I was an Antarctic explorer, peering into the cloudy soup for way points that would lead me to the pole.

winter sunshine

Winter may be still digging in its heels, but for the last couple of days in Luz, the sun has been summer bright. The snow has all but melted down here in the village, but the peaks round about are all still gleaming gloriously white.

It is the last weekend of the Winter holidays and Toulouse and Bordeaux have come for a day out, wandering through the streets of the historic old quarter, crowding into the restaurants, clogging up the supermarkets. The holiday mood was infectious as I strolled across the village, basket in my hand, to stock up on groceries for the coming week.

More snow may be forecast for next week, but for now, I am sat out on the balcony with my book, enjoying this avant gout of the Spring.

snowshoeing in Gavarnie

The holidays are here and finally there are tourists in the valley wanting snow-shoeing excursions with a Mountain Leader (that's Nico, not me by the way!).

Last week, I managed to sneak along on a couple of Nico’s excursions. On Wednesday, we spent the morning in Gavarnie, tramping through the deep snow in the magnificent natural cirque. 

The road up from Luz winds up along the breath-taking Saint-Sauveur Gorge up to Gavarnie. From the village of Gèdre, we caught a far-off glimpse of the Brèche de Roland (2,807m), a natural breach on the border with Spain reaching nearly 100m high and 40m wide in the soaring cliffs which dwarf the Saradets hut.

On arriving in Gavarnie, I was surprised to find how tranquil the village was, in comparison to my last time there in late summer. Gone were the myriad horses and donkeys upon whose backs the majority of visitors make the pilgrimage along the bottom of the valley to the Hotellerie du cirque with its wonderful view of the 422m (1384ft) high Grande Casquade, the highest waterfall in Europe. Gone were the hoards of day trippers, milling about the countless cafés and gift shops of the village before piling back into the multitude of coaches at the end of their visit. Even the piles of marmottes sifflantes, whistling at passers-by outside the gift shops were somewhat thin on the ground.

As we crunched along the snowy path beyond the village, bathed in sunlight and with a breathtaking 180 degree view of the cirque, there was nothing but fresh air, pine trees, frozen waterfalls and the silence of the snowy mountains all around. Magnifique!