Day 28. Oloron Sainte-Marie to Sarrance

As I left town today, the grand old bloody Duke of York took a hand in things again, sending me up a long flight of stairs to the top of a hill and then down the other side, all the while ignoring a road around the side. Later, a woman in a village told me to ignore the GR where it took a pointless loop. I followed her advice.

Patrick, on the other hand, made the mistake that I made on the Stevenson, following a GR towards Saint-Jean Pied de Port. He arrived last at our gite. Usually, he arrives first.

Normally, cowbells are cracked and tinny, but this morning I heard one with a clear ring that sounded like the school bell that used to bring the kids in from playtime.

For the past couple of days I have been walking through boggy stretches. Normally, you can negotiate a dry path around the edges, but not today. I had to squelch my way right through the middle, up to the top of my boots. Once again, I was glad to be wearing my clunkers.

With the pain in my calf, tendinitis, I'm told it is, I'm suffering as the pilgrims of old must have suffered, but they didn't have the benefit of little red pills to ease the pain.

Until Oloron, we had been travelling west. Now we take a turn to the south - for Spain. We are walking up a valley which I think will lead to the pass at Somport. The hills are high and steep on either side.

We are staying at an abbey with a small but interesting cloister. The church is baroque in the Spanish style Not to my taste, it is dark and gloomy with lots of ornamentation and paintings in relief, including one of some poor soul enduring the torments of hell. Saints seem to have replaced the stations of the cross. It was just the sort of place to give a young Catholic nightmares.