Bonjour tout le monde! After four days of walking we have located an internet cafe - few and far between in these mountainous climes. So, without further a-do, I'll give you a run down on the route so far...
Arrived in Biarritz, southern France, on Sunday afternoon on the 15th May, fresh from an amazing day at the rugby. An hour bus ride later, we were sipping ice-cold lager in Hendaye, the sandy start of the GR10. Our first night under canvas passed without event, and without payment - the campsite didn't officially open until July! But we snuck in and pitched up close to the ocean, with the sound of the waves in our ears as we polished off a decent bottle of Bordeaux and a plate of pasta. So far, so good...
Monday 16th: day one. A morning of last-minute admin and shopping and we set off into the midday sun. Quite frankly, it was horrid. Our packs weighed 20kg each, the dusty track seemed to go on forever, teetering up into the foothills of that foreboding mountain chain. Things started to rub, feet throbbed, heads dizzy with the heat. Up and up. There was no down - not one little bit. By three o'clock we stopped talking, both silently questioning why on earth we had come on this silly walk. By five we had already resorted to the emergency energy gels to get us to the end of our 25km day. The silver lining came eventually in the form of a cottagy gite (basic self-catering lodge) where some kind soul had left behind a meal of chilli and pasta for hungry walkers. We ate and collapsed into beds. Only 47 more days to go.
Day two was similarly arduous. I wish I could say we rose to the challenge but actually we just put our heads down and walked. It was another hot, tough day - 25°C, 22km and those ridiculous 20kg packs. One of our petrol canisters exploded which was quite exciting. Apart from, that it was just blooming hot.
On day three we finally found our feet. Donning packs at 7am, they didn't feel quite so cumbersome. As we walked down through the pretty French village of Ainhoa in the early morning sunshine, we started to look up from the pavement and notice things: wildflowers growing in the hedgerow, a cemetary set on the hillside with brilliant white headstones, scruffy mountain ponies with tiny foals, golden eagles circling overhead and the coppery tinkle of cowbells.
Our day three route left behind the bussle of coastal villages and took us 21km up and along a beautiful ridge. We stopped halfway at a tiny farm selling homemade cheese and pate, cold beer and strong coffee. And after lunch, we hid those heavy packs in a bush and scaled one of the peaks to check out the panorama. From the top of Iguzki on the 18th May, two years after Matt died, we scattered some of his ashes into the wind to mark the beginning of our journey.
Today, day four, set a much brighter tone despite the fat droplets of rain that greeted us at dawn. We swiftly revised the route to avoid two high and cloud-engulfed summits, plumping instead for a lengthy routemarch through a string of pretty villages along a valley floor. We are now a full day ahead of the planned itinerary, having arrived in St Jean Pied de Port in time for copious amounts of ice cream and general re-provisioning. Here, the GR10 intersects with the famous Santiago de Compostella pilgrim trail, so the place is well geared up for trekkers. If my randonnee ramblings leave you chomping at the bit, there's a brand new film called The Way - it's all about a father undertaking a memorial walk through the Pyrenees. Funnily enough, it starts right here in St Jean Pied de Pont. Check it out here: http://www.theway-themovie.com/ - it might just give you a flavour of trail life on Matt's March.
Meanwhile, I'm going to try and upload a few photos for you all. And Mum might even tell you a bit about her own solo mission to Skye this week, to mark the second anniversary of Matt's death.
Until the next time mes amies...
Sarah and Rick
Arrived in Biarritz, southern France, on Sunday afternoon on the 15th May, fresh from an amazing day at the rugby. An hour bus ride later, we were sipping ice-cold lager in Hendaye, the sandy start of the GR10. Our first night under canvas passed without event, and without payment - the campsite didn't officially open until July! But we snuck in and pitched up close to the ocean, with the sound of the waves in our ears as we polished off a decent bottle of Bordeaux and a plate of pasta. So far, so good...
Monday 16th: day one. A morning of last-minute admin and shopping and we set off into the midday sun. Quite frankly, it was horrid. Our packs weighed 20kg each, the dusty track seemed to go on forever, teetering up into the foothills of that foreboding mountain chain. Things started to rub, feet throbbed, heads dizzy with the heat. Up and up. There was no down - not one little bit. By three o'clock we stopped talking, both silently questioning why on earth we had come on this silly walk. By five we had already resorted to the emergency energy gels to get us to the end of our 25km day. The silver lining came eventually in the form of a cottagy gite (basic self-catering lodge) where some kind soul had left behind a meal of chilli and pasta for hungry walkers. We ate and collapsed into beds. Only 47 more days to go.
Day two was similarly arduous. I wish I could say we rose to the challenge but actually we just put our heads down and walked. It was another hot, tough day - 25°C, 22km and those ridiculous 20kg packs. One of our petrol canisters exploded which was quite exciting. Apart from, that it was just blooming hot.
On day three we finally found our feet. Donning packs at 7am, they didn't feel quite so cumbersome. As we walked down through the pretty French village of Ainhoa in the early morning sunshine, we started to look up from the pavement and notice things: wildflowers growing in the hedgerow, a cemetary set on the hillside with brilliant white headstones, scruffy mountain ponies with tiny foals, golden eagles circling overhead and the coppery tinkle of cowbells.
Our day three route left behind the bussle of coastal villages and took us 21km up and along a beautiful ridge. We stopped halfway at a tiny farm selling homemade cheese and pate, cold beer and strong coffee. And after lunch, we hid those heavy packs in a bush and scaled one of the peaks to check out the panorama. From the top of Iguzki on the 18th May, two years after Matt died, we scattered some of his ashes into the wind to mark the beginning of our journey.
Today, day four, set a much brighter tone despite the fat droplets of rain that greeted us at dawn. We swiftly revised the route to avoid two high and cloud-engulfed summits, plumping instead for a lengthy routemarch through a string of pretty villages along a valley floor. We are now a full day ahead of the planned itinerary, having arrived in St Jean Pied de Port in time for copious amounts of ice cream and general re-provisioning. Here, the GR10 intersects with the famous Santiago de Compostella pilgrim trail, so the place is well geared up for trekkers. If my randonnee ramblings leave you chomping at the bit, there's a brand new film called The Way - it's all about a father undertaking a memorial walk through the Pyrenees. Funnily enough, it starts right here in St Jean Pied de Pont. Check it out here: http://www.theway-themovie.com/ - it might just give you a flavour of trail life on Matt's March.
Meanwhile, I'm going to try and upload a few photos for you all. And Mum might even tell you a bit about her own solo mission to Skye this week, to mark the second anniversary of Matt's death.
Until the next time mes amies...
Sarah and Rick
Deary me Pappa Elliott and Smelliott, the first few days sound like they were gruesome. Thinking of you lots you crazy duo. And I'm off to see The Way next week :) xx
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