Day 41, May 17
16 miles, 486 miles
Altitude: 3,116 feet
Weather: blue sky with clouds 55-75F
Roncesvalles
FRIST DAY IN SPAIN
Refuge Auberge d’Orisson, 2,526 feet
Vierge de Biakorri, 3,592
Climbed 1,066 feet in 3.1 mile
Flora in nooks and crannies. It’s not always sky and mountains.
Day 41, May 17
16 miles, 486 miles
Altitude: 3,116 feet
Weather: blue sky with clouds 55-75F
Roncesvalles
FRIST DAY IN SPAIN
Refuge Auberge d’Orisson, 2,526 feet
Vierge de Biakorri, 3,592
Climbed 1,066 feet in 3.1 mile
Cows too or three.
Day 41, May 17
16 miles, 486 miles
Altitude: 3,116 feet
Weather: blue sky with clouds 55-75F
Roncesvalles
FRIST DAY IN SPAIN
Refuge Auberge d’Orisson, 2,526 feet
Vierge de Biakorri, 3,592
Climbed 1,066 feet in 3.1 mile
Expresso? Make mine a grande. The kind barista backed it with a complementary single shot of expresso. Rocket fuel.
Day 41, May 17
16 miles, 486 miles
Altitude: 3,116 feet
Weather: blue sky with clouds 55-75F
Roncesvalles
FRIST DAY IN SPAIN
Refuge Auberge d’Orisson, 2,526 feet
Vierge de Biakorri, 3,592
Climbed 1,066 feet in 3.1 mile
I walk with clouds at eye level. Griffon Vultures are spellbinding riding drafts in endless circles.
Day 41, May 17
16 miles, 486 miles
Altitude: 3,116 feet
Weather: blue sky with clouds 55-75F
Roncesvalles
FRIST DAY IN SPAIN
Huntto, 1,640 feet
Refuge Auberge d’Orisson, 2,526 feet
Climbed 886 feet in 1.9 miles
Steady pace.
Endless people.
I went 35 days before meeting another American albeit Hartman from Hawaii and now I am assaulted by English spoken many ways…Irish English, Scottish English, English English, Polish English, German English, Japanese English, Korean English, and even Alabama, North Carolina, and Georgia English.
With French spoken, I listened to beautiful sounds. With English spoken, I understand more than I care to know.
Day 41, May 17
16 miles, 486 miles
Altitude: 3,116 feet
Weather: blue sky with clouds 55-75F
Roncesvalles
FRIST DAY IN SPAIN
Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, 475 feet
Huntto, 1,640 feet
Climbed 1,165 feet in 3 miles
A 7:00 AM start put me in the middle of the pack to cross the Pyrenees. Saint-Jean looked like ants scrambling from flooded colonies as pilgrims poured out of gites. I could not leave France without one more baguette tucked into my pack.
With a sense of euphoria heightened by a clear and crisp day, I deliberately slowed my pace to capture the moment and final views walking along the famed Route Napolean. The route immediately climbs through steeply wooded countryside with scattered farms.
Linda Scandore 