We left our lovely campsite in France yesterday morning, mostly to avoid the rain. A campsite so picturesque, nestled at the bottom of a hill, beside a river, surrounded by fields. Where the people were kind and friendly. We arrived in Spain in the Pyrenees ten hours later to a campsite that more closely resembles Milton Keynes, all regimented straight lines, with the recreational announcements of Butlins circa 1968. It smells nice though and is very clean. The Spanish however, where the French were welcoming and cheerful, have all the friendliness of the central line on a Monday morning.
The journey here was absolutely breathtaking. Firstly we went to Lourdes which was a bit dingy but not quite as tacky as I expected, I didn’t go into the disneyesque church for fear of being turned to a pillar of salt (and the dog wasn’t allowed in), R did, he joined the throngs of sick and injured and went to see the service, hopefully he didn’t catch anything.
We left Lourdes armed with two baguettes and set the sat nav for Spain. The scenery was spectacular, we passed fields of sunflowers and castles and as we approached the mountains our way was blocked by cows wearing bells or donkeys that wanted to be stroked. The little villages that are ski resorts in the winter were so pretty and the mountains looked beautifully naked without snow. We arrived in Spain through a long tunnel and were confronted by a totally different set of scenery. On the French side it resembled the Alps and I expected to see Heidi depending from the alm, this side it looks exactly like an American cowboy film with the river snaking through gorges gouged out of the mountains.
Today we are going to go for a hike, suggested by R. Clearly Lourdes worked.