Day 25: A Change of Plans...

The desk clerk rearranged the furnishings to show it
was set up during filming of The Way.

September 5: I woke up early--a bad hiker habit--long before sunrise, and I started looking up information about the rest of my hike. Until now, I only carried a guidebook that described the route from Le Puy to Saint Jean and had no information about the route beyond Saint Jean. With my maildrop the day before, I now had information about the rest of my planned hike.

And early in the morning, I started adding up the miles:

Camino Frances (from Saint Jean to Santiago): 790 km
Camino Finisterre (with a return via Muxia): 87 km (+114 km)
Camino Portugues (from Porto to Santiago): 241 km
Camino Portugues (from Lisbon to Porto): 372 km

Which meant I still had to hike 1,600 kilometers to meet my goal, and I had 63 days before I turned into an illegal immigrant. Which meant that I had to average a minimum of about 25 kilometers per day in order to complete my hike. That's certainly not an impossible goal, but it failed to include a few important considerations.

One, I always fly standby, and I had to consider that if flights were full, it might take several days--perhaps even as long as a week--to get out of the country. I really shouldn't try using the full 90 days I have available in the EU--I should give myself at least five days for possible travel delays.

Two, it didn't consider the time it would take to travel from Santiago to Lisbon--certainly not something I could do in the morning and knock off 25 kilometers the same afternoon.

Three, it didn't consider adverse weather conditions. Stuff like rain tends to discourage my wanting to hike long distances.

You'll see that staircase in the background of the movie.
The desk clerk said he was hiding behind the counter
here to be out of the film but still push the button
to control access to the front door.

And lastly, it didn't consider the fact that I might want to stop and play the tourist in various towns along the route.

With those sorts of considerations, I really needed to do 35 kilometers or more for each full day of hiking, and even that might not be enough. I didn't want to do that much hiking each day, rain or shine, skipping neat places along the route just because I was in a race to reach Lisbon before my time ran out.

And just like that, I made a fateful decision: I would no longer hike to Lisbon. Nope. The Camino Portugues was out. I'd just have to save that route for another year.

Now I was left to complete 991 kilometers (790 + 87 + 114), which meant I only had to average 16 kilometers per day to stay within my 90-day limit. Given the same considerations as before, I figured a good 25 kilometers for a full day of hiking would get me done and back in the United States with plenty of time to spare. And anyhow, 25 kilometers per day--about 15 miles--sounded like a more fun and pleasant hike.

And my race to get in miles came to a screeching halt, just like that, right there in my hotel room. I was no longer rushed. I could now take a day off here and there. And by golly, Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port would be a wonderful place to have my first day off! Zero day, here I come!

Same photo, different exposure. =) Apparently they
filmed a scene that had Martin Sheen walking down
this staircase that was never used in the movie.

Not only that, but the weather forecast for tomorrow was significantly better than the weather forecast for today, and I really wanted to hoof it over the Pyrenees on a clear day to admire the beautiful views I'd always heard so much about. Today called for a lot of clouds and fog. Tomorrow was expected to be partly cloudy or maybe even sunny.

So I spent the afternoon exploring the town a bit more and wandering the streets. When I talked to Amanda and she learned that I was staying at the hotel where they had filmed some of The Way, she told me that I had to walk out to the train station to take photos of that as well since it too was in the movie.

"But..." I tried to explain, "that's way at the edge of town!"

But she'd have none of it. She wanted photos of the train station, so I made the trek down to take a couple of photos there.

When I returned to the hotel, the light was better than the day before, so I took a couple of photos in the lobby where the desk clerk saw me and got all excited about the movie again. He started rearranging the chairs to how they were set up during the filming, and stood by the door explaining that the camera was positioned there.

I pretend to be Martin Sheen. The engravings on the
fireplace, although I couldn't read them, apparently
were not appropriate for something in a funeral home
so they tried to avoid having that show up in the movie.
(I assume they got rid of the TV behind me
during filming as well.)

"And hey! You should sit here!" He told me, pointing to one of the chairs. "That's where Martin Sheen sat. I'll take a photo of you in his seat!"

I went ahead and took Martin Sheen's seat and the man took a couple of photos of me with my camera.

He also told me that he told the film crew that they should probably try to avoid getting the fireplace in any shots because the writing embedded in it would have been completely inappropriate for a funeral home that the lobby stood in for. I don't remember what it translated into, though--just that the translation wasn't something you would have expected to see in a funeral home.

But the staircase, he told me, does show up in the movie. The desk clerk explained that he was hiding under the counter during the filming since he wasn't supposed to be in the movie, but he had to access the button to open the front door as necessary.

I couldn't help but love this man's enthusiasm. He'd have probably talked all day about the filming of the movie if he had half a chance, but then another customer walked in the door and I skipped up back to my room.

And most of the day, I spent on my laptop catching up on blog entries. Finally--after over three weeks of hiking--I had managed to build up a small backlog of blog posts and could reliably post every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It had been a challenge to get my blogs posted when I was trying to hike over 30 kilometers nearly ever day. With all day to write up blog posts and shorter hiking days, my blogging troubles were finally over.

The train station in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. Amanda made me to walk down
to get this photo. =)

My expert movie guide wasn't around to tell me where/what they filmed
at the train station, camera angles, and such, so I took one photo
of the front (above) and this one behind the train station.

Inside the cathedral in Saint Jean. (This cathedral wasn't in the movie, if I remember correctly.)

In related news, if you haven't seen The Way, it really is an enjoyable movie and well worth the time to watch. And if you're reading this blog, I'll be traveling over the area the movie covers from this point to the end of my hike. =)

Day 24: Saint Jean!

I leave my gite for the night. (I stayed in the room where
you can see the balcony on the side of the building.)

September 4: Today was a big day for me--for today, I intended to hike a short 21 kilometers into Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port: the official end of the Chemin de Le Puy route and the beginning of the Camino Frances. It also would mark the psychological halfway point for me on my way to Santiago. Spain was just around the corner, where the people spoke Spanish--a language I knew far better than French. And, barring some sort of unexpected tragedy, I could expect to cross into Spain tomorrow.

I woke to gray and cloudy skies, but no rain was expected. In Sain-Jean-le-Vieux, I stopped in the town square, sitting on a bench to eat some snacks and rest for the final push into Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. I ate an apple, resting my feet, and a couple of minutes later an older woman started opening the shutters of a house across the square. I waved to her, and she waved back--then waved me to her window.

I didn't really want to get up and walk over to her--I was resting!--but I did to be friendly, and naturally, she spoke to me in French. I tried to explain that I didn't know any French and told her that I was from the United States. She asked if I was hiking to Saint Jacques, and I said, "Oui." She signaled for me to stay put then left the window, but came back seconds later with a tomato, handing it me. She said some more in French that I didn't understand, and I thanked her for the tomato before returning to my bench. I didn't have anything to put the tomato on, so I just ate it as is.

About 20 minutes later, I continued the hike to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, finally walking through an old medieval portal into the town center. Beautiful! I felt absolutely ecstatic I had made it to this point!

The trail passed the pilgrim welcome center in town, which was overflowing with pilgrims that spilled out into a long line out the door. Fresh pilgrims. Clean. Soft. They were probably nervous and anxious, just about to start their journeys to Santiago. They probably felt like I did when I arrived in Le Puy, trying to get my bearings and figuring out what I was doing out there.

I had no desire to stand around in any lines, though, so I pushed through the line of pilgrims to the other side and continued on. First thing's first: I wanted to find some lodging.

My guidebook shows two hotels with wi-fi that was within my budget, but I struck out at the first one when I found a sign on it that said that they were closed for the day. Closed?! Hotels don't close for the day! Well, I guess this one did, but really? So I wandered down to the other hotel, and they told me they were full. Damn.

They suggested a third hotel, though--the Hotel Continental--which wasn't far away. In fact, I had seen signage for it on my way to this hotel, so I retraced my steps a bit to check out the third hotel. This one wasn't listed in my guidebook so I didn't know if it had wi-fi, and when I inquired, they did not. But the next cheapest place I knew had wi-fi was over 100 euros per night--way out of my budget!--so I took a room at the Hotel Continental instead. I'd have to find a restaurant for my wi-fi needs instead.

The desk clerk asked where I was from, and I told him the United States--an answer I provided in French since it was one of the few things I could answer in French. =)

"There have been a lot of Americans this year," he told me.

"Yeah," I replied, "it's probably because of that movie that came out last year, The Way."

At this point, the desk clerk's eyes lit up and he told me, "They filmed part of the movie here, in this lobby!"

The last several miles into Saint Jean were largely
along relatively busy roads and not really all that pleasant!
But even that couldn't put me in a bad mood today!

"Really?" I answered, looking back over my shoulder. I had to admit, nothing about the lobby looked familiar.

"Oh, yes," the man told me. "Except it wasn't a hotel in the movie. It was where Martin Sheen gets his son's ashes handed to him by the French policeman. What do you call that kind of place in English?"

"A funeral home, you mean?"

"Yes! A funeral home! The lobby stood in for a funeral home in the movie! And the outside was used in the movie too, when Martin Sheen walks out of the hotel and in the wrong direction."

I remembered that scene quite vividly. Even though I had guessed that punchline, I distinctly remember laughing at the scene. It was the first scene in the movie that made me laugh. How cool!

"They filmed on the staircase too," the desk clerk continued. "Martin Sheen walks down the stairs, but I was told that they didn't use that in the movie."

It sounds like he hadn't actually seen the movie, but I didn't ask for further details. As interesting as I found all this, I really just wanted to check into my room, take a shower, and get cleaned up.

I filled out the necessary paperwork to check into the hotel, then he told me to follow him. He pushed the button on the elevator and when the doors opened, ushered me in. The elevator was absolutely tiny and I had trouble turning back around with my pack still on. The clerk reached his hand in the elevator, pushed the button for the second floor (which, in the United States, would have been called the third floor), then the doors closed without him.

I was a little taken aback at this point. What happened to the man? I didn't even have the key for the room or even know the room number! I assumed he was running up the stairs to meet me at the elevator two floors up.

I just loved these pine cone decorations at one
house the trail passed by!

And then it hit me--OH MY GOD--I was on an ELEVATOR!!! Did that count as a form of "modern transportation"? My intention after stepping off the train in Le Puy was not to get on any form of modern transportation until I reached Santiago. I'd been thinking about things like automobiles, buses, trains, planes, taxis, and so forth, but elevators had never even crossed my mind. I hadn't been in any buildings that were tall enough to justify one until now. And while the elevator wouldn't get me any closer to Santiago, it did seem like it should count as a form of "modern transportation." I'm pretty sure that pilgrims a thousand years ago weren't using elevators to get to their rooms. On the other hand, pilgrims a thousand years ago probably didn't see many buildings tall enough to need elevators. In theory, I supposed, they could have created elevators a thousand years ago. Kind of a box with a rope attached to it that horses or people could raise or lower as necessary.

The elevator was already ascending--it was too late to get out and walk up the stairs, and I kicked myself for not catching the "elevator loophole" earlier. Nothing I could do about that now, but I vowed that I would not use anymore elevators until I reached Santiago from here on out. At least the Spanish section of my hike would be elevator free.

When the doors open, the desk clerk was already by the elevator, waiting for me to emerge, and showed me to my room. It looked a little run down, but more than sufficient by my standards. =)

I cleaned up a bit, emptied my pack, then left to go to the post office. My first mail drop, if all went well, should be waiting for me there.

At the post office, I waited in line. When it was my turn, I asked if the man knew English, and--somewhat surprisingly--he did! So I told him I should have a mail drop waiting for me, and he asked to see my passport to verify my identity. This was actually the first time I needed to show anyone my passport since going through customs in Paris, but I knew it was expected and had it readily available in my pocket. He checked the name, compared my face to the passport photo, then went in back returning with a medium-sized, white box.

I was relieved to see it. I'd never tried having a mail drop sent to me internationally and worried that maybe it hadn't arrived yet. It was a huge relief to see that the box had arrived. He handed it over to me, and I thanked him and stuffed the box into my pack without opening it. I'd open it back in my hotel room, not here at the post office.

I wandered back into the center of town. Next task: guidebooks. The mail drop had some maps for the Spanish section of the trail, but an outfitters near the pilgrim's welcome center had a whole library of guidebooks in various languages and I picked up a couple. They also stamped my credential. =)

By now, there was no longer any line at the pilgrim's office so I checked into there as well--mostly to pick up another stamp for my credential, but I welcomed any information they had about Saint Jean or the route over the Pyrenees. Which wasn't much, really, but mostly I was just interested in the stamp.

The fellow who stamped my credential looked at my previous stamps--not many people walking into this office had already walked over 700 kilometers before getting there. For most pilgrims, the stamp here was probably the first stamp they got.

"Ah," he told me, "you stayed at the baker's gite! He's my friend! Did you have breakfast in the back of the bakery?"

I smiled. "Indeed, I did!" A pilgrim behind me was listening in, and I had a hunch that she was probably very confused about what we were talking about.

He stamped my credential and gave me a couple of papers with a map of the town and the route over the Pyrenees. I thanked him and headed back out.

For dinner, I stopped at an outdoor table at a place offering pizza. I put in my order, and quickly fell into a conversation with a man sitting at an adjacent table who introduced himself as Charles from New Zealand. He'd arrived in Saint Jean that afternoon and planned to take the next day off before starting his hike in earnest. I told him a bit about my travels so far, but that since I planned to continue on to Lisbon, I didn't really have time to take any days off.

We talked for an hour or so while I picked at my pizza--it was an awful pizza--before we paid our respective bills and headed our separate ways, likely to never cross paths again. I'd have a day head start on him and likely be hiking further each day than he would since I was already trail-hardened. (Since this blog is so far out of date, I can tell you now that my prediction that we'd never cross paths again was completely and totally wrong. We crossed paths many, many times during the subsequent weeks--probably more often with him than any other single person on the trail--all the way into Santiago!)

After parting ways, I headed back towards my hotel and noticed someone with a laptop outside of the tourist office and wondered if there was wi-fi available there. I went inside and asked about wi-fi, and they did indeed have it available. They gave me the code for it, and I went outside, sat down, and logged in, Skyping with Amanda and my mom for the next hour or so before going back to my room for the night.

St. James Gate, Porte St Jacques, the portal through which pilgrims from Le Puy
(such as myself) enter the town of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port.

Looking back at St. James Gate.

The line at the pilgrim's office was out the door and across
the road! I decided to come back later.

The Hotel Continental. And if you've ever seen The Way, this is the facade of the building
where Martin Sheen walks out of the entrance and turns in the wrong direction
on the trail before a large group of pilgrims walks through the scene in the opposite direction.

After checking into my hotel, I explored the town a bit, walking along the
old castle walls.

St. Jean is a beautiful little town!

The clock tower.

Day 23: Cat Food and God Lights

September 3: I woke up early to gray skies and hit the trail. I hadn’t set up camp very far outside of town and expected to see all sorts of people passing me while I was still muddling around in camp, but I guess they all got a late start too because I never did see anyone, and nobody ever did catch up to me later in the day. In total, I saw four hikers all day, and I caught up with them.

 

Early in the morning, I reached a small stand set up by the fine folks who manufacture Jean Haget pâté. I thought the stand was a great idea, selling and promoting their products to hikers passing by, but I chose not to buy any. This seems to be a popular item for hikers to carry out here in French, and I wasn’t even entirely sure what exactly it was except that it was sold in cat food cans. I googled it later and learned that it “is a mixture of cooked ground meat and fat minced into a spreadable paste.” I don’t know about you, but that didn’t exactly have my taste buds drooling. The final nail in the coffin came when I met Maria who had some, and she offered some up to me. I smelled it and—I’m not kidding—it smelled exactly like cat food. I just couldn’t make myself even try it. Perhaps there are other flavors that don’t smell like cat food, but nope, I had absolutely zero desire to put even the tiniest bit in my mouth. I’ve lived a long life without pâté, and I decided I liked things that way.

 

So I passed on the pâté stand, despite how much I liked the concept of having such a stand. (And it makes me wonder, if they sell pâté in cans that look like cat food, what do they sell cat food in?)

 

In Lichos, I intended to fill up my water bottle, but as I turned off trail to go to the church, cemetery, and (darn it) a water source, I saw a loose dog wandering around the street ahead. I decided I could wait until the next water source. It wasn’t a hot day, and the little water I had should hold me over. I didn’t know if the dog would be aggressive or not, but there was no sense in taking any chances. (Only two days since I started did I have to deal with aggressive dogs that made me nervous—the vast majority of loose dogs are pretty nice and friendly, though. Maybe even too friendly at times.)

 

So I turned back to the trail, avoided the dog, and started rationing water until I refilled my water bottle at the Eglise d’Olhaiby quite a few kilometers further away.

 

The trail had some variant options available today, but I selected not to take any of them. The shortcuts were either on busy roads or missed major landmarks that I wanted to see.

 

One was the meeting point of three French routes in Hiriburia. There are four “main” routes through France that eventually merge into a single route that becomes the Camino Frances, or the “French Way.” Even though almost all of the French Way is in Spain, it’s named that because historically, a heck of a lot of French people followed the trail in medieval times—most of whom got to it using one of the four primary routes spread across France. I started at the Le Puy-en-Valey route, but there are three other historical starting points in France I could have started in.

 

And in this quiet little town of Hiriburia, three of the four French paths merged into a single path. I could turn right and, in theory, follow the trail all the way to Paris. I had thought about starting my hike from Paris but eventually decided against it since I read that the first part had a lot of miserable road walks (bleh!) and it wasn’t particularly well marked making route-finding much more difficult. But if I had started in Paris, this would have been where I merged with the Le Puy route. I wondered what kind of adventures I left behind by not doing the Paris route. I’d probably still be a week away if I started in Paris—that route was longer than the Le Puy route.

 

Then the trail went around a bend and started climbing up the biggest mountain I’d seen in weeks. It was late in the day and the sun finally started breaking through some of the clouds creating a “God light” mosaic above. It felt magical, and I climbed up that mountain feeling great. The higher I got, the better the views became, and it seemed like I was hiking to heaven. Kind of surreal, really.

 

I finally reached the top where there was a small chapel to welcome visitors: Chapelle de Soyarza. I tried to sign the logbook there, but the pen on the table didn’t work. I had pens—two of them—but they were buried deep in my pack and I didn’t want to unload the pack to get at them. Instead, I tried writing with the existing pen very hard so it would leave an impression. I stamped it with my signature stamp—which was quite visible—and hoped that it would clue people in that there was a message written on the paper too. (Not a very interesting one, admittedly—I wrote that the pen didn’t work.) Then I thought of those detective shows where they find a clue by rubbing a pencil against the impression to pull out the message. I didn’t have a pencil, but I did have an ink pad. I could rub the ink pad across the message to bring out my note! Yeah, the people who follow behind me are going to remember this message, if only because it’s the only one written with an ink pad. =)

 

It worked, more or less. I stayed at the top for about a half hour, basking in the God light and admiring the views. It was wonderful up there, and I seriously considered spending the night there. It was wide open with no development nearby. It was peaceful, and I expected it would be an awesome place to watch the sunset and rise the next morning. But I finally decided against it, wanting to get into Saint Jean-Pied-de-Port early in the day and so wanted to get closer to the town.

 

I ended the day at a gite—the Gite d’Etape Maison Ospitalia, which I shared with a group of French Canadians. I was glad they were French Canadians rather than local French people because most of these folks knew at least a little English which gave me some people to talk to. =) And I was a mere 21 kilometers away from Saint Jean. I was getting pretty excited about getting into Saint Jean. The last stop in France. Then over the Pyrenees and into Spain! The land where they speak Spanish—a language I actually can communicate in (kind of). The main path people think of when you talk about the “Camino” begins in Saint Jean. The existing guidebook I used since Le Puy ends in Saint Jean and new guidebooks would be needed to get me the rest of the distance to Santiago.

 

I was getting a bad case of Camino Fever. Saint Jean couldn’t get here fast enough!

 

Cat food! Get your cat food here! (These two hikers happened to be
half of all the hikers I would see all day.)

 

 

Roadside memorial?

 

 

A hiker rest area…

 

 

I don’t know why, but this sign amuses me. It’s warning
cars on the road to watch out for “randonneurs” hiking on GR 65.

 

It was a rather overcast, miserable-looking day for all of the morning
and much of the afternoon.

 

 

This was one of the biggest trees I’d seen on the trail.

 

 

 

 

This sign really got me excited—it was the first one I saw
showing Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port up ahead! Just seven hours away!
This section of trail kind of annoyed me with their signage since
it listed times and not distance. Which strikes me as absurd
since different people hike at different speeds. They couldn’t
include distance too? I don’t mind if they also include
the typical time it takes someone to hike, but not even including
an objective measure like distance seems kind of stupid.
But at the time I took this photo, I didn’t care. Saint Jean
was just around the proverbial corner!!!!

 

This marker is set up near where three of the four
historical French routes merged into one.

 

The biggest sustained climb up I’d seen in weeks!

 

For all the photos I took going up here, I couldn’t
seem to get a good image of the God light
coming from the clouds. This is the best photo
I have of it (bleh!), but it was much more clear
to the naked eye.

 

The Chapelle de Soyarza at the top of the mountain.

 

How to write a message with a pen that doesn’t work. =)

 

The God light actually shows up better in my photos when
I was heading down the mountain.

 

A church on the way down the mountain.

Day 22: The Bread Maker's Den

September 2: After waking up and packing up, I wandered back into town to pay my tab with the “Bread Maker.” I’ve started calling the man that instead of baker because it amuses me. Kind of like a Godfather kind of name. “The Bread Maker wants to see you now” being the last words you ever want to hear…

When I walked up to the shop, it was overflowing with young, loud and obnoxious boys, but nicely dressed including ties. One of them said something to me in French, laughing at my hair or my hat or something—I’m not sure since I didn’t understand French—but I’m pretty sure he was trying to be insulting. I told him, in English, that I didn’t know any French and hoped he’d leave me alone, but alas, he knew some English and asked me where I was from. I was tempted to ignore him, but went ahead and answered, and he got all excited about America saying that he wanted to go there to see an NBA game.

Really? If you can visit just one place in the entire United States, you’d choose an NBA game? I shook my head with sadness. When I told him I was from Seattle, they all got excited about the Seattle Supersoncis. “Supersonics!”

“Yeah, they don’t exist anymore,” I told them. They must not have gotten the news way out here in France.

True, they replied, but they had heard that Seattle was building a new stadium to bring back the Supersonics. I have to admit, I was a little surprised at how much they knew about the basketball shenanigans going on in Seattle. Not that I follow it very closely myself. If I didn’t live in Seattle, I wouldn’t have known anything about what they were talking about.

“Well,” I said, “that might happen, but it’s far from being a done deal.”

I finally worked my way into the Bread Maker’s establishment, and they waved me behind the counter into the back where a small table was set up for any hikers who wanted breakfast. I was just glad to be rid of the loud and obnoxious boys. In the back, another hiker was already eating breakfast and since she knew English, we chatted a bit. The bread making factory was in full production at this point. All sorts of interesting stuff to watch going on.

I ate breakfast, paid my bill, and wandered back out to the Camino to start the day’s hike.

Most of the day, the trail followed pavement, which hikers complained about all day long. Even in French, I could tell they were complaining about the miles and miles of asphalt. At least the roads weren’t busy roads, and the views were fantastic.

The terrain started changing as well. For weeks, the trail was largely flat. Oh, sure, it went up and small small hills—barely wrinkles on an otherwise flat landscape—but it was now becoming significantly more hilly. The ups went up much larger hills, followed by long declines into valley bottoms. Not steep, but definitely not so flat anymore!

Late in the day, I arrived in the small town of Navarrenx where I stopped at an establishment to relax and kick off my shoes, killing time until it was late enough in the day to set up a campsite. I ordered a Coke so they wouldn’t chase me off as not being a customer and read my Kindle for an hour or so.

Then I paid my bill and headed out of town, camping in the woods just past Castetnau-Camblong. A very nice and quiet site!

The moon setting over the streets of Arthez-de-Bearn.

A spider catching the first morning sun along the camino.

A pilgrim rest area. =)

Crosses like this are still common on the trail,
but it seems like they’re aren’t nearly as many as
early on. Maybe I’m just not noticing them as
much. This one got my attention because
of how many precariously balanced rocks are on it!

The long arm of the shadow.

Walking out of Arthez-de-Bearn.

By far the most common type of litter I tend to see
are discarded cigarette packs. I’m a little fascinated
by the graphic photos on them, though. Apparently,
smoking not only causes giant, red growths on your neck,
but also causes ugly mustaches!

Another church, another cemetery, and another potable water source.
I still haven’t given up in proving Maria wrong! =)

I took this while crossing a bridge over railroad tracks.

A pretty little river outside of Maslaco.

I found these ruins oddly interesting. *shrug*

Apparently, this is one of the largest natural gas works in France.
It certainly was quite a site to see from a distance!

Up and over a mountain pass.

This is more representative of the terrain today. The trail
will do down into a valley then up to the next ridge you
see in the distance.

A rest area for hikers along the trail—with potable water!

This creepy guy is supposed to be a pilgrim. Not sure
which one, but a lot of people left him notes. (Prayers? Dreams?)

Cool! Brochures in English! Yeah, okay, British English,
but I can still read British English pretty well. I was a little
disappointed that it had no information about the history
of the area. Just spiritual stuff about how the world
revolves around God and lots of Bible verses.

A nice sample of today’s downhill hikes. Onto the next ridge!

And uphill again….

Over the river and through the towns….

And even a little underground action going on! Completely unnecessary,
though. The road it crosses wasn’t very busy at all, and not a
single car passed by it during the time I could see it.

Sitting around, drinking a Coke, waiting for the day to pass away…

The busy streets of Navarrenx.

I just love these towers!

The trail crosses this bridge on the way out of Navarrenx.

Looks too small to be a chapel, but I’m not sure what else
to call it.

The mean streets of Castetnau-Camblong.

Just as a technicality, regardless of your views on religion,
I read that they didn’t really crucify people like this.
If they hammered a nail into your hand like that, it could slide
out from between the bones of your fingers and have the
poor guy flop face down. So in real life, they
would stab you in the forearm, just below the wrist, between
the two bones there (I don’t know what they’re called)
which would help hold the condemned person in place
securely for long period of time.