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| Carcassonne |
When I had stayed in the youth hostel in Carcassonne in summer last year I had been all alone in the dormitory. But now in low season I had to share with several other girls - luckily all non-snoring. One was particularly interesting because she was writing her PhD about hikers on the Sentier Cathar. I had hiked short sections of this trail last and this year and found it and its castles great but now I became more interested in the faith of the Cathar people. The Cathar people had lived and built their castles in Southern France in the 12th century and their religion was a mixture of Christian and Hindu elements. They posed a threat to the Catholic church and were finally eradicated by the Inquisition. The ruins of their castles remain and are now an incredibly scenic background for the trail that visits them. I can highly recommend that trail for the great nature, the breathtaking locations of the castles and the fascinating history of the Cathar.
I left Carcassonne in high spirits and good weather after two full rest days and was immediately dampened by the Alaric hills. I was on the GR 36 goes straight through Carcassonne, leaves it via a military training area and then climbs up the rocky and steep Alaric hills on bone wrecking trails. I hadn't expected such difficult terrain because these hills had looked quite innocent on the map. I hadn't made it as far as expected and as it was difficult to find a decent campsite in all those rocks I was relieved to come to a trail crossing on a flat and grassy shoulder. I was tempted to camp in the open but in the last minute opted for a hidden spot in the trees off a side trail.
When I was about to go to sleep around 9 pm I suddenly heard voices. I was surprised but expected hunters. Soon there were more and more voices - all male - and unfortunately the group seemed to gather at the trail crossing next to my stealth campsite. I became more and more nervous as I could not find any logical explanation why a group of at least 10 men would gather on a rocky plateau in the pitch dark night. Torches were flashed but so far I had not been detected. I hardly dared to breathe when I realised in great horror that the men started down the side trail where my campsite was. I lay only 5 metres off trail! But it was pitch dark and the men were obviously concentrating on the difficult trail - and swearing wildly in French. For me it felt like they were walking right through my tent....but after 10 minutes they were all gone without having detected me. When I started to relax it finally dawned on me what all this had probably been about: There were a lot of military installations in the area like the training field I had passed earlier today and the men had probably been soldiers on a night exploration march...
I had several other interesting encounters in this stretch: Half a day out of Carcassonne I suddenly ran into a big group of young nuns - all dressed in their white habits and veils, but with backpacks. First I thought they had only dressed up but they seemed to be real nuns going for a picnic.
The next encounter was less peaceful as I ran into a huge hunting party. I first noticed their dogs in the mountains. Luckily these hunting dogs following a scent will totally ignore you but their bells can be confusing. Cows, sheep or dogs? Lately bells ringing somewhere usually meant hunting dogs. When I descended into the valley I soon spotted a neon orange jacket but to my great horror the hunter pointed his rifle straight at me. I was so scared I jumped behind the next bush but as soon as I emerged again he pointed his rifle at me again. He couldn't be so stupid as to mistake me with my orange cap for a wild pig! I was about to yell at him when I noticed that he did not want to shoot me but watched me through the lenses of his gun. I don't know whether good hunters are supposed to do that as I found it quite frightening. I passed several other members of this hunting party on the trail and they were far more friendly. One even explained to me that they would never shoot at anything ON the trail - I hope he was right.
Several days later I had a different hunting experience. It was close to midnight when I woke up to dogs barking in the distance. I had not heard then earlier and wondered what had roused them. The barking would not stop and even seemed to come closer. I was still wondering what all this was about when I suddenly heard am animal crushing through the trees - probably a wild pig. Unfortunately I seemed to come straight towards my tent and in slight prefix I started clapping in order to warn it. Seconds later it had passed but by now it had dawned on me that the barking had come from hunting dogs. And for sure - a minute later I heard a pack of dogs coming through the trees - again straight towards my tent. I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. It was scary as the dogs seemed to come straight at me and in the morning I found that even a tent stake had come out probably from one of the dogs tripping over the guy line. But they left me alone and were soon gone - and I felt pity for the poor wild pig. Still I don't understand why the dogs were out at midnight as I had thought that it was too dark for shooting.
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| A Kathar castle |
Beside all these adventures I was hiking through some really beautiful scenery: Green mountain ranges everywhere that got higher and higher the closer I got to the Pyrenees. Some of them crowned.with castle ruins like Termes or Peyssarance. The castles were almost impossibly glued to the crest like birds' nests. Between the mountains flat sun bathed plains full with vineyards, orchards or olive trees. The grapes had already been harvested but I could usually still find some leftovers. This and the occasional fig tree were a nice addition to my diet. I even discovered a new fruit! I had seen plenty of trees with orange and red fruits that were cherry size but soft and without any stone but had not thought much of them. One day I passed a French couple on the trail who were full of praise for something delicious - I didn't understand more. But after I had told them about me poor knowledge of the French language they patiently explained to me that they had been collecting these red fruit which are edible. I have been snacking on them ever since although I don't find them that tasty.
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| French Pyrenees |
The weather was generally good and sometimes so warm that I hiked in shorts again. Quite nice for early October. I had finally hit the warm and dry Mediterranean climate I had been longing for for so long. Best of all was the lack of condensation in my tent. It was great to pack a dry tent almost every morning - and get into a dry tent at night! I still had one big psychological obstacle in front of me: the Pyrenean crossing. I had to go up to 1,400 metres. I had intentionally chosen a very low crossing in a Southern climate but still didn't really know what to expect. It turned out to be easy and in hindsight I guess this crossing is doable year round. On two days I had to go up to almost 1,400 metres.
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| Reservoir of Vinca |
On day one it started to drizzle high up on Col de Formantere and with minutes there was almost zero visibility due to fog. No problem though as I was hiking on easy forest roads. Day two on the HRP from Amelie-Les-Bains to Roc de France was much more of a problem although the weather wasn't too bad. The HRP is not marked. This was a stretch were I had to rely on my very old map and a GPS track from some unknown internet source. So far almost all the GPS tracks had been good but just on this stretch where I totally relied on it the GPS track was completely wrong. Whoever had posted this track on the internet deserves to wander around lost like me. I just could not find the trail out of Amelie-Les-Bains. I wasted more than an hour crawling through thick undergrowth on unused trails trying to locate the trail. In desperation I asked a local who told me I was totally wrong.
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| Amelie-les-Bains |
I finally ditched the GPS track and found the hidden start of the trail with the help of my antique maps. Luckily the trail was marked in yellow as a PR and several signposts. I climbed 1,200 metres and had almost reached the crest when it started to rain. Probably the French way of saying good bye.... But finally on November 4th at 4 pm I reached the French-Spanish border at Col de la Neige, in rain but luckily not in snow. This was the halfway point for me. I have approximately hiked 1,900 km to get here and have now left another 1,900 km in Spain.
The first day of hiking brought me down into the valley of the river Ebro almost at sea level. The closer I came to the river the more terraces and olive trees. The farmers were harvesting the olives and I saw several oil mills. And I found myself a cosy campsite on an abandoned terrace out of the wind. As usual the morning was cold but I soon beheld a beautiful sight: a mandarin tree. I was so enthusiastic that I stuffed all my pockets with the fruit only to realise five minutes later that there were mandarin and orange trees everywhere! The Ebro valley is agricultural country and the main produce seems to be olives and citrus fruit. The farmers and I were all dressed in hardcore winter clothes but for me the juicy fruits felt like summer. This was what I had hoped for: free fruit even in winter. This gave me the idea for another winter hike: there is a new trail, GR 99 or Camino del Ebro, that follows the river for 1,200 km. The stretch I had seen was brand new and incredibly well marked and signposted. 
But the climb had taken too long to reach the next shelter before sunset. By coincidence I found a solution: National Park signs indicated that the next village could also be reached via dirt road - and that made night hiking possible! I would not be able to reach a shelter or village that night but the dirt road went lower than the trail and I could camp at 800 metres. I happily embarked onto that longer but easier route and found a good campsite for the night. In the morning everything was frozen. Luckily my shoes and socks had been dry. I passed another refuge in the morning and although the main building was closed there was an open and comfortable emergency room but I could not have made it the night before.
I seriously started to worry about the rest of this hike. If the cold temperatures and strong winds continue especially in combination with snow this hike will turn into torture. But the next day at least one of these problems was removed. Once out of the park I entered cattle grazing country again. Although at the same altitude I was in more open country now and there was no trace of snow here. Even the wind relented and I spent another very cold night at 1,100 metres. The cold had one good thing: there were no more cows in the pastures.
Next day the rain stopped completely and I finally joined the GR 7 close to the little village of Bellprat. I will now follow the GR 7 for the rest of this trip and about 1,700 km. The rain had two bad side effect: the trails and forest roads had been completely flooded and were now covered with huge puddles. This sounds innocent enough but you have to picture the dense vegetation here to see the problem. I was on a stretch with a decent forest road but the huge puddles presented a dilemma. I could either walk through the puddles and get wet feet or try to squeeze past them which meant getting stuck in blackberry bushes or other prickly stuff. Carrying a rather delicate Silnylon backpack made things worse although I only ripped a big hole into my wind jacket. And then I realised with great horror that my maps were gone! I always carry the day's maps in a plastic bag in the pockets of my cargo pants and it dawned on me that they had probably gotten stuck in one of the bushes when I had tried to squeeze past. I deliberated what to do. Hike on without the maps or go back and try to find them. I could have done without the maps for this day but unfortunately I had printed on both sides of the paper and in this case this meant that I would be without maps for two days. I turned around and hoped to find the maps soon but no such luck. Eventually I set myself a stop point and just when I was about to reach it there they were: my little plastic bag with the maps was still dangling from the branches of a blackberry bush. The whole thing had cost me over an hour which did not make me happy with only 10 hours of daylight.
The other rain related problem was the soggy ground. Unfortunately the trail was routed along field edges which means there is no trail - you just walk on the edge of a field. Normally this would be easy because the sun baked ground is rock hard. But now it had turned into a sticky quagmire. I seemed to carry around several pounds of clay with my shoes which looked like they would never ever be clean again. But worse than that sometimes I sank in and had a hard time extracting myself again. Needless to say I looked like a pig out of a mud bath.
But even when the rain had stopped and the wet ground had dried the weather played tricks on me. Now it was the wind. The temperature was not that warm with 10 Celsius to start with but the strong and ice cold wind made me feel like in Sibiria. Luckily I had bought gloves in Igualada and now I was hiking with almost all my clothes on. Camping became a problem because I had to find a wind sheltered spot. Not always easy and I spent one extremely turbulent night on a ridge. The next day became almost unbearably windy. I had climbed up to the ridge of the Sierra de l'Argentera which has a huge wind farm on top. When I topped out I got nearly blown over. I am not kidding you: I had problems to keep standing and was afraid to be blown off the ridge. Hiking there in these conditions was physically almost impossible. 
This is a good time to say something about the trail marking in Spain which can be anything from excellent to non existent - and you'll never know what to expect. Two aspects are especially bad so far: Spanish trail marking focuses on signposts - and neglects blazes. It is infuriating to see a detailed new signpost in the middle of nowhere and 5 minutes later you are lost already because there is no sign or blaze whatsoever at the next junction. The other negative aspect is constructions like roads, train lines and wind farms. They destroy the old trail marking and often pose insurmountable obstacles. I spent several hours around La Riba because all of a sudden there was a new train line that didn't appear on either my paper or GPS maps. No trail marks remained and I was blindly wandering around. Not only are my maps outdated and my GPS track rather vague and inaccurate but the GR's have been vastly rerouted. Every day I encounter several small and big reroutes and I never know where the trail will take me. This fact and the unexpected difficult terrain make safe night hiking difficult or impossible.
But when I approached in the last dwindling daylight I was shocked about what I saw: the supposedly lonely hermitage was a major tourist spot with a huge bus parking lot! The parking lot was flat enough but you don't want to camp there. Even tucking myself away into a corner wasn't an option as the occasional car still came in and I was afraid that this would turn into a love lane at night. It was dark by now and I still wandered around looking for a campsite. I found a dirt road but it led to the local garbage dump - where I eventually found the worst campsite of this trip. At least it was away from the garbage containers, but it was rock hard, bumpy, sloping and covered with prickly stuff that clearing it took forever. I hardly slept that night....
I arrived already grumpy at dusk. The campground manager was totally surprised to see me and said there was only one other camper staying. He even had to turn on the hot water especially for me, but at least he made me a special price and even threw in a packet of biscuits for free. The shower was great but everything else made me even more grumpy. The wifi did not work and the condensation in my tent was a nightmare because the campground was right next to a river. I was so frustrated that I hardly slept and left at sunrise to catch the first bus to Olot. To make things worse the bus was full of teenage school kids who had probably never seen a smelly hiker before. They assumed that I don't speak Spanish and talked quite rudely about me - hiker harassment! I was glad to finally arrive in Olot where things turned out great now.
As a Lidl and Aldi junkie it was time for a shopping trip to one of my beloved discounters. Whenever I visit a Lidl in a new country I feel like Alice in Wonderland and this time they even had Christmas stuff. I ended up eating Spanish almond cake and German Christmas Stollen until I was almost sick! I even managed to find a second hand bookstore and buy an easy Spanish book. I'll be reading Rosamund Pilcher for the next days.... Not my usual choice of literature but it had to be easy Spanish and 1,150 pages for 2 € was a good deal. I then indulged into hourlong skype sessions with friends back home thanks to the good wifi in my hostal. I even found time to visit Olot's museums and discovered a provincial gem: the museum of saints. Olot is the centre of saint production in Spain (I am talking of statues and busts...) You can see all sorts of tacky saints and other religious paraphernalia plus there is a real workshop attached to the museum. I watched how glass eyes were inserted into baby Jesuses and Virgin Marys got their halos attached. Unfortunately no photos were allowed so the photo here shows an Olot statue in a church. The little town museum boasted a nativity scene that took up a whole room. I love these provincial towns with queer museums -especially if everything is within walking distance like in Olot.
I was rewarded with one of the best campsites of this trip: I camped at 900 m next to an old hermitage on top of a mountain with an almost 360 degree view. I arrived at sunset and even cooked and ate dinner outside watching the lights in the valley below. It drizzled a bit overnight and when I woke up to a brilliant sunrise I saw that the Pyrenees in the distance were now snow covered for the first time. But it was a hot day and the sun melted the snow soon as I could watch from a distance as the day went on.