The Hills are Alive...

"The hills are alive with the sound of music, a song they have sung for a thousand years." Ok, it's not the Alps but close enough for an Aussie. I may have spread my arms out, spun around and sung "these are a few of my favourite things" but there's no evidence and you'll never know.

Started this morning being dropped at Le Croix, the point where the Camino trail leaves the road to traverse the wilds of the Pyrenees. Whoever was in charge of setting the scene for the day nailed it, the mist was thick and the way forward invisible. Manolo, my Camino spirit guide, materialised out of the mist to give me his morning wisdom - only 2 1/2 hours to Roncesvalles from here.

Thankfully I bought a very expensive French Sim card just for this misty eventuality. I turned on my GPS, opened my Camino Ninja ap and made sure I stayed on track. Manolo had merged with the mist again but I quickly made a new friend (who had a flat phone and was walking in the wrong direction).

The mist stayed thick for a while and the hill was steep. It seemed much harder than yesterday which could have to do with the 8kg in my pack and the altitude of approx 1000m.

It was windy and cold for a while but not Tassie cold - puffer jackets not required as long as you didn't stop for long. At every necessary point the mists cleared and spectacular views across France and then Spain were revealed. Crossed a cow grid that was also the border and pilgrim greetings quickly changed from bonjour to hola, and bon caminho to buen camino.

After a while the mists were gone and I rambled through some glorious beech forests with autumn leaves covering the path, and some moss covered forests that dropped away from the path at an almost 90 degree angle. The hillsides are extremely steep, and it's hard to imagine an invading army attempting to cross the narrow paths but this has been attempted several times in the regions past.

Finally the highest point in the crossing was reached up above 1400m and the steep descent began. The views over Spain went for miles with the magical monastery the goal in the valley below.

Four hours after starting I wandered into the 200 bed Roncesvalles Albergue (hostel), a massive stone monestary serving peregrinos (Spanish for Pilgrim) for centuries. I was greated at the front door not by a monk, but by Manolo of course. My deep and meaningful question for him this time was "where's the food?" After a short lecture of the 'we will meet again' kind, I stumbled across a few cobblestones and sat down to have lunch with Isobel from Germany and Jason from Colorado who I met somewhere in the mist earlier.

Refreshed I strolled the last 3 km to my first hostel stay along a flat forest path known to have homed witches of old (several of whom were burnt at the stake).

"Cow bells and sheep bells and horses that glisten,
Pilgrims with tales which you really must listen,
Mist drops and wildflowers covered in dew,
These are a few of my favourite things

When the wind bites
When the blisters sting,
when I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favourite things, and then I don't feel so bad."Read more