Farewell to Camping Gavin where the eagles soar overhead. It was a nice campsite, one of the best and I felt a little sad to be leaving after four nights there. With our eyes locked firmly on the sky, we drove up the Valle de Tena and over the Col du Portalet to make another assault on France in the Vallée de Ossau. There were clouds around, but this time they were clear of the peaks. Rodney the Mountain Man was smiling as he bought the two tickets for our day’s outing.
Andy & Carole, stop reading here. A rather old, battered, but hopefully well-maintained cable car took us from the car park at 1,240m to a ridge at 1,920m which had brilliant views down over the Lac de Fabrèges. From there we boarded the midday ‘Le Petit Train’, originally built to serve the building of the local hydro-electric scheme. At the start of the ride we squeezed our way through a tiny, very dark tunnel, 315m long; I was glad it was a diesel train and not a steam train. As we popped out at the far end, everyone went “wow!”
The view of the Gave de Soussoueou was spectacular; a huge bowl of a valley and we were hanging half way up it. The train tootled along the side of the valley, at times almost scraping the rock face on our right and most of the time hanging on the edge of a sheer drop on our left. It really was a very scary ride, especially with everyone leaning to the left with their cameras. Choofity choof, jolt, choofity choof, jolt, and every time it jolted on the edge of a precipice or bend, my heart jolted too. Choofity choof, jolt, choofity choof, jolt, don’t look down, just look up at that waterfall, wow, look at the snow on those jagged peaks. Choofity choof, jolt, choofity choof, jolt. This was not a trip for the faint hearted or anyone with no head for heights, but oh my goodness the scenery all around us made it so very worthwhile. Waterfalls, hillsides covered in pink azaleas bushes, marmots whistling and masses of wildflowers, it had it all.
With a top speed of only 15kmph, and a few halts for track changes for passing trains, it took nearly an hour to travel along the 10km valley side to Artouste 2000. Beside the ‘station’ a rough track leads up to and over the dam wall which is holding back the deep blue Lac d’ Artouste. We wandered away from the crowds a bit and sat for quite a while above the lake, enjoying just sitting and gazing at the beautiful ring of mountain peaks and the icy water below. After all the time spent on the coast of Spain and Portugal, the mountain scenery has been such a massive contrast and after all the wet and unsettled weather on the north coast, the change has been really refreshing.
The train twisted and turned and thankfully, didn’t tip over on the way back. The cable car floated safely back down to Fabrèges and we drove back down to the Spanish border. No, we haven’t finished with Spain just yet. At the Col du Portalet there is a strange gaggle of ‘supermarkets’ and cafés on the very edge of the French side. When we stepped inside one, we gave each other a very quizzical look. The majority of products for sale were bottles and cans of alcohol, every type you could imagine. Wine, beer, Ricard, Martini, liqueurs, whisky and vodka in flagon jars, even a large display of absinthe. The rest of the stock was tiny in comparison, but we managed to get the basics that we needed. We took a peek in a couple of the other ‘supermarchés’ and they were all the same. We’ve come to the conclusion that the tax on goods in France must be lower than in Spain, hence all the Spaniards buying up big on all the booze and cigarettes. Or perhaps they just like a flagon of Ricard and can’t buy it in Spain…..
Back down the Valle de Tena, then a quick wave to Camping Gavin as we passed the gates, then we drove on past Torla to check in at Camping Ordesa. We picked a spot with nice views of the mountains, although when we’re sitting inside Eileen, they are too high and too close to actually see them. We ordered bread for 9am tomorrow, sorry, can’t get it any earlier and then we had a hot shower before strolling over to the Restaurante Ordesa, attached to the Hotel Ordesa, which is attached to the Camping Ordesa. There were thick white cotton tablecloths and sets of tall shiny wine glasses laid out on the tables. Posh. I ordered a Bacardi and Rodney thought he was ordering a €9 glass of red wine to go with his steak, but it turned out that was the price of a whole bottle!!! His Spanish still hasn’t improved…..
Tuesday was planned as the big hike day. Boots on, provisions packed, and we caught the bus at 9:30am up into the Parque Nacional de Ordesa. On the dot of 10am we were off and hiking. The walk that we chose took us gradually uphill under the cover of pine and silver birch trees through the Valle de Ordesa for two hours.
We passed a couple of impressive waterfalls along the way, but I was a little disappointed at the lack of views. Finally we popped out from under cover just near the base of the Gradas Soaso, a waterfall that looked so much like a staircase, it almost didn’t look real. I considered stopping at this point and letting Rodney go on ahead, but it seemed like a good idea to get to the top of the waterfall and see what was beyond, so I kept going.
Now we could see both sides of the canyon and the ground was covered with wild flowers in so many varieties that it rivalled what we’ve seen in Switzerland. There were cowslips, gentian, wild roses, irises and even edelweiss. I kept walking. Suddenly the canyon opened in to an enormous bowl at the head of the valley and we found a group of Japanese tourists all sitting around on the rocks eating their lunch. We really hadn’t expected that sight ! We found a tree that would give us a bit of shade and ate our lunch too.
Again I was going to stay put, but everyone passing us seemed to be heading for the far side of the valley bowl and disappearing behind a huge rock, no one seemed to be coming out again. Curiosity got the better of me and we hiked over there too. Behind the rock was the beautiful Cola Caballo, the horsetail waterfall; definitely worth the walk and we took off our boots and socks to soak our feet for a little while in the incredibly icy water. Now we had to get back to the far end of the valley, the temperature had increased a great deal and we were out in the open.
On the way down we heard marmots whistling, but, this time sadly, never managed to spot one. We refilled our water bottles from a natural spring and continued to enjoy the stunning cliff walls. Half way back, at the Cola La Cueva, the cave waterfall, there was a bridge that took us to the other side of the Rio Arazas and we were glad to be back under cover of the trees and out of the intense heat again; but my legs and feet were getting really sore. We played a word game to distract the time away and finally reached the bus stop at exactly 5pm. We had been walking for seven hours, probably covered around 17kms and I felt exhausted.
Back at the campsite, we walloped down an ice cream and then threw ourselves in the freezing cold swimming pool. But even after soaking, rubbing and resting, my legs would not stop twitching and the blisters on both feet did not make me a happy bunny. I’m enjoying looking at the photos, but still trying to blot out the pain!
