Before I start, I would like to take a quick little moment to explain why I hiked *only* 42,33 km in three days. On paper, 42 km is easily doable in two days, and in this case it probably would have been too, but since my legs need to carry me for another 900 kilometres, the decision was made to go easy on my body. On the last day the elevation gain was 800m, with a cumulative elevation of 1200m, over the distance of 12 km. I know myself, and there’s nothing I would have loved to do more than rush the entire thing, push myself as hard as I can and probably make it to the top of the Somport pass with at least one messed up tendon somewhere in my body. So, precautions were taken in the form of splitting this two-day stretch into three.
From Sarrance, I walked 8 km towards the city of Bedous, where I drank a coffee together with Jordi, the Catalan man, and Sophie and Alan. After that, they continued towards Borce while I stayed behind in Bedous. I spent the day lounging around the city, drinking coffee and writing a bit. I treated myself to a little fika in the form of an eclair that turned out to be filled with chocomousse (absolutely delicious!). Bedous didn’t have a pilgrim’s hostel, so I stayed in a bed & breakfast instead. It was an old, giant, creaky house that looked like it had either housed many many generations of people being in love, or it had seen some horror movie scenes from up close. Could have gone either way with that one.
The day before, we had gotten a thunderstorm warning for the cities Urdos and Somport, so I tried to explain to the hostess that I would leave at 6 in the morning, before breakfast. It was 18km to Urdos, and I didn’t fancy being stuck in a thunderstorm while hiking, so I wanted to arrive before 2 in the afternoon. Inexplicably, the hostess did not agree with this and kept insisting that there wouldn’t be a thunderstorm, and that us pilgrims didn’t know the mountains like they did. After showing her the official warning on Meteo France, she softened a bit on this front, but kept insisting that I couldn’t leave without breakfast. Maybe it was the fact that I was all alone, but her insistence started shifting from sweet to slightly creepy. (Or maybe it was just my brain that is prone to take a situation and make up the scariest and most unlikely scenarios. Given the tunnel story – more on that later – this is quite a likely option.) Either way, the creepiness only levelled up when, in the middle of the night, I woke up to the sound of someone breathing in my room.
It took me a while to figure out that it was, in fact, not in my room but the room next to me, but my nerves were officially shot to hell after this and there was no going back to sleep. I killed time by reading a book and waiting for 6 am to arrive. And then I stayed in my room for another half an hour because I didn’t consider the fact that it would be seriously dark outside and I had this sudden realisation that I’m kind of scared of the dark.
For the first time since my first day on the camino, I was walking all alone again. I quickly discovered there’s a difference between hiking alone and knowing there’s a few other people doing the same stretch as you, knowing that you’ll meet them again in the evening and hiking without having this certainty. I vastly prefer the first one. Despite not feeling super comfortable with hiking alone, I’ve come to enjoy the moments of peace they offer. If the loneliness continues after the hike however, it becomes difficult. In other words, I felt quite sad while hiking the first stretch between Bedous and Urdos. Luckily, that sadness quickly dissipated when I found a sign that cheerfully stated that the Western Pyrenees are home to the brown bear, and to always leave the animal alone. (Yay!) After that, the energy I had been investing in my sadness was easily thrown into a frantic internet search to check if the sign was true. My overall pace per kilometre went up after finding out that, yes, it is indeed true*.
Now to be clear, the sign about the bear was the only sign of bears in general that I encountered on my hike. However, a much more common animal that will make my pulse skyrocket was persistently present, and it was nothing but the good old mountain cow.* Or rather, the cowbell, because as it turned out I have some sort of pavlovian response to the sound. Just the mere tinkling of the damn bell will make me stop in my tracks, and in one particular situation I waited behind a bend for at least fifteen minutes, silently hyping myself up to go past the turn and face the Big Scary Cows. I finally started walking again, legs shaking and heart beating in my throat, ready to jump behind the first tree that I could find if the cow showed just the smallest sign of being annoyed at the presence of another pesky human, only to find out that some people are insane and put cowbells on horses.
Seriously. Who does that?!
Danger safely averted, I continued on towards Urdos. Most of the residual kilometres were simply following the main road which is both horrible and terrifying because there’s no space for pedestrians, and it has come to my attention that people don’t really care for speed limits on mountain roads. Lucky for us pilgrims, the last two kilometres offered another option than following the highway. Because of road constructions, it was simply too dangerous for hikers to keep following the road, and so a diversion was created for the camino. Instead of the main road, the camino leads through an old, no-longer-in-use (unlit – important detail) train tunnel. Armed with my headlight, I started walking through the tunnel, which was advertised as only being 700 metres long (LIE). Overall, this was a really cool experience, although I did become certain at some point that vampires are real and probably lived in this tunnel. Word of advice though? It’s probably way nicer to do with friends.
I arrived in Urdos before the thunderstorm started – turned out both Meteo France and the hostess were correct, because while there was an actual thunderstorm it also only lasted a good twenty minutes. Most pilgrims will stay the night in Borce, so I got to experience the quite unlikely event of sleeping in a pilgrim’s hostel all on my own. Again, quite a cool experience but probably much nicer to do with friends. Plus, as I got to experience in the morning, without the social pressure of other pilgrims waking up at ungodly hours in the morning, I am very, very lazy in the mornings. My self-imposed leaving time of 8 am slowly shifted until 9 am, when I finally, half-sleeping still, started my hike.
video taken approximately seven seconds after I had convinced myself vampires were real
Lucky for me, I had a very rude awakening 400 metres later when I had to go through a cow field. My faint hope that I wouldn’t encounter them was completely useless because the entire herd was gathered at the gate I had to go through. What was worse, the cow’s horns were extremely pointy. I made a detour through foliage and closely growing trees in an attempt to get past most of the cows and then did a quick prayer before slowly going past the last cow in front of the gate, all the while muttering to myself that I was decidedly not afraid. Because they can smell your fear, you know. I’m not sure if telling yourself that your fear is untrue is of any help, but the cow kept happily grazing through my panicky escape and only once gave me the cow-equivalent of a side-eye.
The camino offered me some peace in return when I found a little ‘pause pelerin’ not much later. It’s not the first time I encountered a place like this, but this was by far the most beautiful one. There were tree trunks that functioned as chairs, a little wooden table with coffee cups, instant coffee, and a thermos with hot water. I sat down and poured myself a cup of coffee that I enjoyed with a view of the mountains.
After this impromptu fika, the climb up the mountain started. It was overcast, which was good for me, because it meant the temperatures were more leaning towards accessible and less towards sunstroke material. I had one more encounter with cowbells, and evidently I didn’t learn anything from the horses, because once again I spent 15 minutes behind a corner amping myself up just to realise that cowbells apparently belong on not just cows and horses, but also on goats. At this point I don’t understand anymore why we call them cowbells.
I left the goats-with-cowbells behind and continued up the path, that was now getting closer and closer to the pass. The main road was long gone – probably somewhere underneath my feet, actually, and the only road I had to cross a few times was the old, scenic route. Because it’s – as the name says – quite old, there weren’t a lot of cars, and I got to spent the last stretch of the mountain in relative quiet and peace (there was one part where it looked like someone had ritually sacrificed a couple of goats, but we’re not gonna talk about that). At this point, I could feel that I was up in the mountains, just by the cold temperature of the air around me. I couldn’t really see how high up I was, and how much further I had to go due to the clouds that were all around, but a few minutes later I was greeted with the official sign that I had finished the Voie d’Arles: the border between France and Spain.
Now, I am absolutely one big softie at heart, so of course tears were shed the moment I crossed the border. It’s just not everyday that you get to say that you crossed into another country by foot, you know? Getting to pass that border, my backpack on my shoulders and the knowledge that I hiked six days for this, that it was just the start of it all, really, made me feel incredibly strong. While the first six days had been magical and amazing, I also can’t lie and say that I fully believed in myself. 979 kilometres is a damn long way to go, and there were so many moments where I doubted myself, mentally and physically. But crossing into Spain felt like passing a test, like getting a sign that I could indeed do this.
I walked the last kilometre to my hostel with a spring in my step that hadn’t been there before.
*My internet search taught me to always address the bear as Lou Moussu, calmly introduce yourself and move aside to let him pass. I’m fairly happy I didn’t have to use this new-found knowledge.
** I am truly terrified of cows, partially because I have always been and partially because I can tell you from first-hand experience that mountain cows can indeed get mad sometimes and charge at you. Unless I can hide behind my dad, I will not pass by a mountain cow, period.
Love you darling ♡
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You’re doing so well ♡♡♡