A bit of a Prat fall Pyrenees 3

We do look exhausted.

We had just reached a height reference and position marker after another period of being slightly off course.

No goldcrest this time, but one stream crossing a tractor trail seems like any other. And the remains of farm buildings are not supposed to be of the type to flummox the Time Team. We do not run to geophysical magnometers, although Dave is probably now searching the publications for one with a hydrating system. But more of the technical stuff later.


The weather was glorious. As we travelled east, the daily growing of afternoon cloud was being outpaced, and the sun burned down. We had plenty of water. We needed it too. In the afternoon, we spotted a number of large birds circling above. Ray named them as buzzards despite other less informed references to eagles or vultures. He counted twenty nine circling at one point. The heat was taking its toll, but we were not buzzard fare yet.


Prats de Mollo la Preste was our first French village and it was a place of great charm. For one thing, it was busy. There were squares and bars of the type we had hungered for and people going about what is normal for an afternoon in Prats de Mollo la Preste. We settled for the bar and drank our post walk beers, the welcome only being moderated by the thought of how expensive they were. Our hotel was tucked inside the town walls, and had its own square.
We were here for two days with an option to take a local walk, an idea which was evaporating as the beer went down.

The hotel was poor. Our room for two nights was not even square. Well, it was an old building but there was a serious health and safety issue with the wall that separated the bedroom from the ensuite facilities. I do not think a wall papered glass partition from floor to ceiling would be passed by many planning authorities, certainly in England. To make the probability of falling through the glass easier, you had to climb past the shower cubicle base to reach the hand basin and the toilet and of course climb back to get out. The addition of water to the floor and the task became more of a thrill.

There was plenty more to entertain us all; the castle with its amazing optional tunnelled entrance; the street market the morning after we arrived; a church of some history; public laundry facilities and a link with the Spanish Civil War with the town hosting a large refugee camp in 1939 of Spanish refugees where now stands an enclave of retired people homes.

However much it had to offer us as a diversion, the food at the hotel was not up to the demands of four hungry men. The general suspicion was that the proprietor was fleecing the organisers by offering us a scant menu which was much less than the fifteen Euro expectations. Athough meat in the form of a chicken leg was eaten, there was no real bulk, no sustenance and the carnivores were on the prowl. The food crisis, or lack of food crisis was resolved the following day by taking a long and memorable lunch in sublime surroundings. We were fed by man whose love was the process of preparing and serving us lunch. Even the Coleman Hawkins was part of the feel.

The stay ended with a pre Fete de la Musique event when local students and their teachers encouraged music to emerge with a range of ability from a spread of instruments. My clumsy spilling of a pastis was my noisy addition to proceedings, a pastis, however, that was quickly replaced and at no extra charge.