Crossing The Border

The next morning Steven rose at the crack of dawn and was eager to get moving. He left in the pouring rain at 8 o'clock - and I never saw him again! I, however, was relishing the unusually comfortable mattress in the gîte - and wanted to rest my feet a little longer too, as they'd been giving me hell the previous afternoon. It wasn't till 10 am that I hit the trail. But at least the rain had stopped by then - and it remained fine for the rest of the day.

There was a choice of ways to the Col du Somport and the border with Spain - one on woodland paths and one via the road. I took the easy option - along the road - and was very glad I did, for the views were much less restricted on this route. I was also pleased that the traffic was fairly light. After 16 km of ascent (except for the last 6 km most of it fairly gradual it must be said) I reached the col - at 1632 m the highest point of the whole journey.

Somport is a small ski resort, but it was too early for serious snow (in fact the weather was very mild indeed) and the place was utterly deserted. I crossed the frontier at 3 pm. I didn't stop but immediately made my way down a steep and stony path on the other side. I was in Spain! The scenery changed quite dramatically. It was wilder and more arid. There were more conifers and spiky, sun-loving plants.

I was following the valley of the Rio Aragón and would continue to shadow this river for nearly a week ...

That day I'd walked 27 km and had enjoyed every minute of it. I spent the night at Canfranc-Estación. I had no choice but to stay in some rip-off holiday accommodation as the pilgrim albergue was shut. The next day I headed down river once again - towards Jaca, 24 km distant. Castellio de Jaca was one of the prettiest villages I passed through ...





These cute chimney stacks which I photographed in Castiello are typical of the Aragón region ...

I remained close to the Aragón river at all times, and the river bed gradually widened as I walked further south ...