Beautiful Changes of Plan, Photos, and Onward!

Buenos Tardes Familia and Amigos,

Yer co-host Ryan here, checking us in from the lovely town of Viellha, in the Val D´Aran, the little notch on the border where Spain gets a chunk out of France. We´ve taken a break here for a hotel, resupply, and World Cup Fiesta. Our hike deposited us at the mouth of giant tunnel that has allowed the outside world access to this valley, so this town has grown considerably and has all the accoutrements needed for a nice break. And Spain has QWERTY keyboards!

I´ll try not to take up too much time recapping, as I know my co-hostess dropped a line a few days ago, and this computer also finally has the ability to access our camera photos! So we want to get to those. But to make a longer post shorter, you should know that my amibitious itinerary that would´ve taken the High Route has been considerably altered due to the following factors: 1) Snow, and lots of it, has remained on the glaciers, 2) Weather is so much more stable in Spain! (It´s incredible to camp on the Spanish side of the ridge and watch the storms berate France not more than a couple kilometers away), and 3) A more realistic appreciation for these mountains´ sizes and our pace. So, we´re spending more time in Spain for the time being, on the trail called the GR11, and will attempt to make up lost time by skipping a chunk of France down the trail en route to the Sea.

And now, without further ado, some photos! (If I can make this thing work.)

Above is Ryan in Hendaye, where we began our trip. You cannot tell from the photo, but he was as giddy as a school-girl. This is the last time that we saw the ocean except for from a distance over mountain crests.
At the top is me sharing a last moment with the Atlantic. And below that is Felice playing Vanna White is the first red and white blaze of the GR10, a blaze which we´ve become good friends with. (Note: We´re running long here, and expensive. So besides these first two, we´re going to have to be out of order.) Here´s one of our earlier views in the Basque country. Note the cartoony designs on the tombstones. The Pyrenees valleys are smattered with languages not spoken elsewhere; Basque is one of them.) Behind us as we´re photographing these happy tombstones is a set of three life-sized and particularly gory crucified figures. They will be available to be seen in the longer slide-show that will accompany our return.
Every night seems to be a competition for one upping our previous campsite. Here´s just one of the sites in the competition, early in the morning. This photo is from the night before last. It was one of my favorite spots, and the next morning, we hiked 3 1/2 hours into Vielha, from which we´re typing now.

I actually don´t hike semi-nude often. Despite the snow, it´s very warm here in Spain, though I don´t have a good idea of HOW warm, as everything´s in celius--30 degrees, whatever that means. It´s probably not as warm as Charleston and definitely not as warm as Columbia.

Here´s Felice looking rugged at the top of one our daily climbs to a col. That is either me or the Native American character Kokopelli. I´m not sure which.

The Head of Ordesa Canyon, which was a nice snowless alternative to the High Route. Felice thinks it pales compared to our Grand, though.

Climbing up these chains was actually quite fun, although I was intimidated at first, from the ground.

Our view from the hotel in Gavarnie, and my favorite European beer, a liter of the Belgian Leffe. (This particular one led to too many on this night.) Note the cascade in the Cirque in the distance that can be seen from anywhere in the town.

Root Bar Power! Go Pub! I hope yáll are winning some games this summer back in Asheville. People think we´re British because of these shirts. Please don´t replace us; I want to play with yáll again when we return for the fall.

Felice trying to look as excited as I am for having survived our most treacherous snowfield traverse to date, at the Col on the shoulder of Vignemale, the highest mountain on the entire border. As Nietzce would say, "It´s not the height, it´s the declivity." Then again, what does he know about hiking up steep snowfields?

We ate a feast at this lake: cheese and baguettes, cereal, hot cocoa. It was awesome. There were people riding in chair-lifts up to this spot, but we did it the good old-fashioned way, on our own feet.

Ryan is sad here because we´re leaving the Atlantic Pyrenees and entering the High Pyrenees, which signified the end of a large portion of our trip. Don´t worry. He was happy again as soon as he saw some giant mountains in front of us.

These little critters were all over the place for a while. They didn´t seem to mind being handled, or at least were too slow to escape us. I think that these might be my favorite animals we´ve encountered so far.

The Pic du Midi Ossau, known to the French who love it as The Champion. It introduced us to the Parc National des Pyrenees. Ryan told me it was a Pic de Medioso, and I said it looked like a grande to me. Haha.

We get to sleep in all sorts of gorgeous places.

This is the little town of Lescun. It is the town where we took a great rest day, met up with our friend Klaas again. (I miss Klaas. If you´re reading this, sorry about the World Cup, my Netherlandian friend.) It is also where we met our other trail-buddy, John, although it may be spelled Jon or even Jean, as you can never tell how British people are going to spell things. (Grey?)

One noteworthy early descent on the GR10. Felice is visible if you look closely on the left. I don´t know how mountaingoats do it.

Here´s Klaas! He and his GPS may have saved our lives that day.

For a few days at the beginning or our hike, this is all that we could see, thanks to that b@#¿h , Xynthia. I quickly began questioning the idea of hiking across France, especially when you could tell that there were probably amazing views right past the fog. However, the weather hasn´t been this bad in quite a while (knock on wood).

Saint Jean Pied du Port is pictured above. This was a very cool town where all sorts of religious pilgrims began their trek, which is called, Camino do Santiago. It is also the first and last place that we encountered any other Americans since arriving in London.