Into the Mountains

At Pamplona everything changes. The city buzzes — musicians, protests, weddings, giant puppets on the shoulders of strong men. But we look at the mountains. After months through the Spanish interior, the moment has come: we're entering the Pyrenees.

The first days we climb through forests with orchids and broom bushes, over the Via Verde along the impressive Viaducto de Gulina. At Roncesvalles we visit the ancient pilgrim monastery and climb to the Alto de Lepoeder — and then, at an inconspicuous sign reading "HRP", we leave the Camino. From one moment to the next it's quiet. No more pilgrims, just us and the mountains.

What follows is raw and overwhelming. We walk through dense fern fields without a path, climb on hands and feet over boulders, and bivouac by ice-cold mountain rivers. On the Pic d'Orhy we see griffon vultures flying at eye level for the first time. At the Pic d'Anie we scramble through a boulder field where every stone shifts underfoot — accidents happen in the blink of an eye.

And then the mountains only grow higher. We cross the Col del Infierno at 2,767 metres, descend alongside gigantic waterfalls, and reach Bujaruelo — a place Mark has been visiting since 1990. Now we arrive here on foot, all the way from the south of Europe. The realisation is overwhelming.

At stage 100 we count our blessings: from the ocean in Portugal to deep in the Pyrenees. Every step brought us here.