Day 7: Bujareulo to Gavarnie
Taking the old trade route from Bujareulo to Gavarnie is pretty straightforward, you simply cross the bridge and climb up the track ahead of you.
This track to the Port de Boucharo (or the Puerto de Bujareulo) has been a busy route for centuries although these days most of its traffic seems to be organised walking groups. That being said the climb is not unattractive. The path is steep at first, offering superb views back down into the Vallée Ara and over the mountains beyond. Thought it was still early when we began to climb the shadeless path, and the large vistas, offered little protection from the sun.
Soon we were climbing up zig-zags over scree with what seemed like three or four organised walking parties. I don't want to be seen to moan at these groups but I really don't like walking amongst them. Backpackers — carrying a reasonable load — seem to get into a modest but gentle walking rhythm and slog on at a constant pace. Walking groups like these on the other hand, dash off before then taking very regular breaks, almost as if they haven't been able to get into a regular rhythm. The effect of this is that we were constantly leapfrogging each other. They'd nip past us with their day sacks and just as I hoped we'd seen the end of them, we'd find them taking a rest or waiting for stragglers. They were just enjoying themselves like us but the effect of all of this was that I seemed be constantly breaking my own rhythm, which was more than a little annoying! As we climbed towards the top of the Col the walk became quite congested and we duly took our place in a human line of walkers.
Climbing to the Col
The Col itself is something of a disappointment. Two routes greet you. The first continues to climb to the right, offering the most straightforward access to the Refuges des Sarradets/Breche du Roland; a number of our walking group colleagues seemed to be heading for an evening there.
At the top of the Port Boucharo
To the left is a broad track that runs off to the Col des Tentes. I say a track but really this is a road and — after climbing over the top of the Col — you find yourself standing in what looks like a turning circle for coaches. This broad track runs gently down to a car park where a metalled road then continues to zig-zag down the mountains in the direction of the Gedre/Gavarnie ski resort. Other walking groups seemed to be heading in this general direction, to meet up with transport I guessed.
This road has been subject to a great deal of controversy, not only over the last few years but over the last few centuries. Every now and then there are plans to turn this into a major thoroughfare connecting this part of France with Spain. Fortunately, any such thoughts seem to have been banished, at least for the moment
We only had to walk down the track for a few meters before we took a footpath that quickly descended over scree to the Vallée des Pouey d'Aspé. This is an absolutely gorgeous valley, high pasture, surrounded by dramatic mountain cliffs and peaks that were generously adorned with snow. In the distance was a lovely stream meandering through green meadows with cattle grazing all around. The only sound was that of the bells of the cattle, knocking out a constant alpine symphony of sound.
The Valée des Pouey Aspée
Our path stayed high above the valley floor before gradually descending. After a while we reached a cabanne which provided the only shade in the whole area. We stopped for lunch. Also here were a small group of young French climbers who had spread out all of their gear in the sun to dry off. They were obviously up for a night in the hut. They'd got their beer and wine and also an iPod and some battery operated speakers. It looked as if they were planning quite a party.
This was carefree walking with nothing much to expend our energy on than the lovely views. We cut around the side of a mountain on a ledge cut into scree and then all of a sudden we were faced, head on, with the magnificent Cirque de Gavarnie. We stopped for a while to take it all in, the high, sheer rock faces of the cirque, the dramatic waterfalls that seemed to drop for miles, and patches of brilliant white snow matching the snowy white clouds that punctured the azure-like blue of the sky. No matter how many times you stumble on the cirque it looks wonderful. The last time we had been in this particular spot the weather had been poor, the air cold and the cirque seemed one dimensional in the greyness of the day. Today the cirque stood out in dramatic 3D, all of the colours enhanced and saturated as if we were watching the whole scene through a lens equipped with a polarising filter. There are many superb, vantage points from which to admire the cirque but for me this is very best.
Looking out to the Cirque de Gavarnie
Soon we'd rounded a corner and begun to drop down along a rocky path, over scree and small boulders, towards Gavarnie. I don't really need to say much about Gavarnie — I've written about it before. This small village has more than a little of Blackpool about it. It is one of the most visited villages in France. Day trippers from the campsites lower down in the mountains see this as a must-do-excursion, taking trips on donkeys and horses along to the cirque. As a result the overwhelming memory of Gavarnie is of horses, donkeys and their smells — that and the sound of the wolf-whistling toy marmots. We settled down at our favourite bar/restaurant for a beer and a sandwich. As we got up to leave we were chased down the road by a waitress insisting that we'd left without paying. A heated discussion followed in the middle of the road as donkeys and horses struggled past us. We had paid but we'd given the cash to one of her colleagues and not her. She seemed unable to grasp the reality of this set of circumstances ever happening. Eventually my voice must have started getting nasty and the waitress must have sensed that we were right. She shuffled of with scarcely an apology. Gavarnie, I'm afraid, is that kind of place.
Still, we were only there for one night. We checked into the campsite and found to our pleasure that being here a little early in the season meant that we didn't have to climb another small mountain hillside in order to find space to pitch. This being Gavarnie the campsite is noticeably more expensive than any of the other sites around — you even have to pay for your showers here. But the facilities are excellent and recently refurbished, and the owners are a pleasant family who run a nice bar and provide reasonably decent food. We did our washing, had showers, a few beers and sat down to wait for Gavarnie to empty.
By night Gavarnie becomes something of a ghost town. As soon as the horses and donkeys trot down the street, back home for the evening, you really do have the place to yourself. We made our way back to our bar/restaurant where I was a little relieved to see that our waitress was no longer on duty. What had annoyed me about the encounter was that we've been here many times before; it is now the only place that we go to in Gavarnie. Eating here is fine so long as you don't expect any variety. At any one of a number of restaurants you can have steak and chips or Duck and chips and little else. (Vegetarians should just cater for themselves at the campsite.)
Our restaurant had a little originality and something of a Spanish theme. We shared a plate of tapas as a starter — ripe tomatoes, ripe melon and freshly deep fried squid and we followed this up with a decently cooked steak, chips and salad. In one of the most visited villages in France we sat in the dining room with only one other table for company. For reference purposes I can't remember the name of the restaurant but coming from the cirque or campsite it is the second restaurant on the right. (If you intend to visit Gavarnie any time soon, make a note!)
In the past we've taken rest days in Gavanie and deeply regretted it. Having said that if you're visiting it for the first time you will want to take a reasonably easy day in which to amble up to the face of the cirque and back. But we'd done that and tomorrow we'd be back on the High Route.