We were very excited to see some of the wild mountain ponies almost as soon as we arrived at the car park, and were to see many more on our climb. The track was like walking up through a quarry; stony, rocky and very steep. I was disappointed that all my walking had not left me better prepared for the ascent but it was manageable and the scenery was beautiful. The higher we climbed, the stronger became the illusion that the plains stretching to the Atlantic Ocean from the foot of the mountain was a painting hung vertically in front of us. It was very exciting finally to be able to see into Spain. We stopped for a little while to rest beside a clear stream that Cecile said not to drink, since it is polluted by the horses and other animals. Griffon vultures circled overhead, although not to devour Catherine as Cecile suggested. Patches of forest clung to dips, with in between rugged stone or blankets of ferns. 
The paths and slopes were crowded with walkers and we met a German man who was on the first day of his 51 day walk from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. He claimed never to get blisters but I failed to ask him for the secrets, which was a pity, since when we got home, I found that I had one. A final shady forest before the extra steep ascent to the summit gave us the energy to make it to the top, where we had lunch in Spain. We could hear both French and Spanish spoken, with lots of lairising around and carrying on in a friendly way in Spanish. Cecile chose a cute soft toy sheep as a souvenir for her daughter.
Just as we had arrived a cry for ‘Help!’ was relayed up the mountain and people rushed off to find out what was the matter. Apparently, and we didn’t ever confirm this, it was that someone had been kicked by a horse, and the helicopter was sent for and duly flew in. It was a reminder of how easily things can change, and to be careful up here. The descent was more difficult for me than the climb because it was hard on the joints and also it would have been so easy to slip and fall, so I had to concentrate. Meanwhile children were dancing and racing past with the agility and fearlessness of mountain goats. We studied the batons (walking sticks) used by other walkers for extra stability and I decided to get one.
The last part of the walk was much easier and we were about to bounce down into the car park when a group of horses trotted up through it. A mare stopped near our track to wait for her foal, and then, since they had all selected Catherine’s car to sniff and lick around, we stayed back until they departed. It was a wonderful walk in good company, and we are now a little more realistic in our understanding of what to expect in walking through the mountainous sections of the St Jacques de Compostelle walk, near Le Puy in the south of France, which we plan to do in early September.Should I confess to the late afternoon sleep we both had after the walk? We are blaming the need for it on our late night at the movies.
We woke up in time to go to the shop and have consultations over the menu for the dinner we were making to share with Marie and Nico. Marie is the eldest daughter in the Primat family that hosted our son, Joel, when he was an exchange student in France in 1995. She and her sister Emily had visited us in the summer when Marie was seventeen years old.
Our vocabulary didn’t include cinnamon so I explained it by asking for ‘little brown powder that you can put in cakes.’ We cooked our old favourites of macaroni cheese, salad and apple crumble and had time to relax before our guests arrived. It was wonderful to see them again, the last time being at our place a few years ago, and such a coincidence that they should be working only about ten kilometres from Bayonne. We caught up on the intervening years and talked about both our families. It was a very pleasant, relaxing evening with Marie and Nico, who are really lovely people.
Some subterranean furry animals have been making molehills out of the mountain.
The tallest tree guards we've ever seen protect seedlings from browsing by horses.
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