Thursday 2nd November Ostabat to St Jean Pied de Porte
Yesterday when the proprietor picked us up from our sombre gite (from the land of no return) and drove us down the hill I noticed for the first time the road signs indicating St Jean Pied de Port- our final destination- it has become a reality after 34 days -we will finally get to the end of the string. It is a funny feeling at this stage as there is the sense of achievement, there is a sense of relief, there is a sense of sadness and also happiness.
We didn't think we would make it several times and we just kept saying well we will see where the end of the day brings us and then take it from there. There was always a determination and a hope to finish but after seeing several very strong and fit individuals, much younger than us acknowledge that they were unable to achieve this objective, we never assumed that we would be able to do so as well.

My wish of having the last day of walking in brisk chilled air where the plant life is sprinkled with dew and waiting to greet the day where everything is fresh was not to be. Stepping outside we are hit by a warm wind straight in the face. I had to admit that I was disappointed as I love the first couple of hours walking in the morning when it is in the chilled atmosphere and now on the last day I felt I was being let down by the chemin. But the chemin gives in other ways and today's walk was no different and especially good in other deliveries.
Firstly as we walked out of the village there was a patisserie where we could stock up for our day and what's more there were a couple of bananas for sale inside as well. Now we felt we could face anything having some food in the bag. Who would have thought a couple of croissants and bananas can give so much joy!!

The next delight was meeting Denis just as we set off from the patisserie. His early morning departure from Ostabat meant he arrived at our hamlet just as we started walking. He is obviously a spiritual man as he said he would first pray and then catch up. As we left the village the church bells chimed eight and I could see Denis standing under a tree with his head bowed. It was a very simple but tender sight. Because of his long marathon legs he was able to join us in no time and it was lucky for us. As we chatted and spoke of different ailments and how to treat them ( he too was feeling the pain in his legs) I strode off up a muddied track in confidence, only to be called back by Denis- 'Anne that is the path for the hunters who are seeking the 'Palombiéres'. We had found out last night that this is the target for all the gun shots we hear- the palombiére is like a pigeon but larger and here I was about to take us up a very muddy path to join these gun toting individuals. It was with much appreciation that I was able to come back down the track and join the one for pelerins. At the gate I saw the sign pointing to 'palombiére' with a scull and crossed bones. Another escape from a sombre scenario. I also found out last night the final solution about what birds were migrating- not geese and not storks but actually they were cranes.

The next part of the walk was with a lot of sleepy eyed sheep casually strolling through the vineyard, a curly horned ram that was taking great pleasure rubbing his head against a branch, and beautiful green rolling hills. We were walking up above the main road and while the noise of the traffic was obvious, at least we weren't walking next to it. There were quite a few different farm gates to co-ordinate in order to stop the various animals taking their own pilgrimage and then we came across a lovely little sanctuary at a farm house with a welcome sign and inviting all pelerins to take the time to have a coffee, a rest and to sit and look out at the incredible beauty of the Basque countryside. A Labrador puppy is delighted that he has new company and is ready for a good chew on my fingers or anything else he can grab. We are told by the lady that we must be firm with him as he needs to learn and to be especially firm about not following as he will take on our journey in the blink of the eye. Denis bids us farewell and we enjoy the serenity of the farm's kind gesture. It is a cheese farm and inside her fridge there is an array of cheeses for sale. We eagerly place our euros in the honesty box and leave a donation towards the cost of the coffee and a block of fresh sheep cheese joins our bananas and croissants. It is indeed a good day to have all this food loot - we feel as if we can walk all day.
Suddenly the lady is running around the farm house calling for the puppy and then she has jumped into the car. The puppy has decided to join the chemin after all, even though we didn't see him leave but he must have taken off after Denis.
There is so much trust along this route as we are left to ourselves with the farm house, the money, the cheeses, the other delicacies that she is willing to sell. I guess they realise that people going to the effort of walking are unlikely to be the sort of people who would cheat or steal. I always wonder about the puppy as we don't see it on our travels or the puppy owner's car again. I suspect the puppy and the owner did return home as it seems to be a common occurrence for this young four legged child.

Now that we are in Basque stronghold territory there has been quite a change in the landscape, the architecture, the people and the culture. Nearly every village has proudly displayed its church, cemetery and almost always next to it has been a fronton. The fronton walls are often in the Basque red but not always and the structure is quite large and confronting.
Wikipedia definition-The fronton (Spanish: frontón; Basque: frontoi or pilotaleku; French: fronton) is a two-walled or single-walled court used as a playing area for Basque pelota. Pelota is like an outdoors squash game but they use a little basket contraption which makes the ball travel at exceedingly fast speeds.
Wikipedia explaination- Basque pelota (pilota in the original Basque language also pelota vasca in Spanish, pelote basque in French) is the name for a variety of court sports played with a ball using one's hand, a racket, a wooden bat or a basket, against a wall (frontis or Fronton) or, more traditionally, with two teams face to face.

At one of the cemeteries the grave sight is covered in plaques to the gentleman indicating that he was obviously a well regarded player with many awards.
The wave of acknowledgment we always give to the farmers is not returned as often by the Basque farmers as they were in the rest of rural France and their faces look a lot grimmer. I don't know if they are upset with pelegrins walking through their territory or if this is just their nature.
I do know they are very proud and we see this when they sing, they talk of their heritage or demonstrate their beliefs. We see a tractor trundling down a hill leading his sheep to the next pasture and high up in the seat next to this big burly lad is a tiny little boy who I would say was about three years old sitting as if he was driving the machine. About half an hour later when the tractor had delivered its animal charges to the green cuisine it chugged past us and turned into the farm barn. Out jumped the father in gum boots, followed by the pint sized farmer also in his gum boots and ran off into the barn as if he was born to this land. Both George and I remarked that his destiny has been set and he will grow up to be an amazing farmer.

We walk through another village and there was another gite on the road that looked more sombre than the one we escaped the day before. We were able to peer through the grubby window and we could see it was only one room building with the kitchen table next to the bunks. It looks again like a survival hut and we are glad that we don't have to use it. The door looked firmly locked so I guess it knows that there are not any lost forlorn walkers at this time of the year needing a bed and a roof over their head. We could see that there would definable no foe inside this room.

It has been a lovely day of vistas - our fitness has certainly improved after all these days of walking and the hills presented to us seem to be met now with a lot more ease than what we managed back in early October. The last town before SJPDP is Saint Jean Le Vieux and there is a lovely bar that allows pelerins to sit in their garden to have their picnic. This is of course beneficial for the bar as we of course buy their mineral water and coffee but it feels like a regular feast being able to eat our last lot of food loot in picnic comfort and with real liquid refreshments rather than sitting on a log sipping on our water bottle.
And so with a spring in our step and the smell of our final destination strong to our senses we head towards St Jean Pied de Port. We catch up with Jean Jacques who decides that his three day walk is enough for him and he will take a taxi back to Toulouse tomorrow. At least he began his walk and I am sure he will keep on going in the future.
Jean Jacques walks past but does not want to stop as he is on a mission to get to the final stop.
We walk past the sign post that indicated the GR 10 as well as the GR 65. ( our route) The GR 10 is the chemin that Vincent will walk next July and he will walk from his home in St Jean de Luz and walk the Pyrenees to Marseille- about a two month walk I believe. He acknowledges that walking the 10 days with us has been good as it has given him an idea of what the chemin is all about, the issues of a backpack, boots, walking poles, booking gites and purely the enjoyment of walking so closely to the earth and nature. I think the GR 10 looks as if it could be quite a challenge.

The gate of St Jacques looms ahead of us- we approach the town from the other side to where we had left it two years ago. There are many tourists milling around reading the inscriptions above the gate that explains this is the entry point for the ancient pilgrimage entering the village. They are dressed in nice clean clothes with very unsuitable shoes for navigating the rough cobblestone streets and they do look at us with some sense of disbelief at our attire and demeanour- particularly as we express our joy and excitement at finally walking through the gate. We beseech a poor tourist to take the required photos and I notice that others are also taking a photo of us- the dusty weary walkers that they have noticed celebrating their achievement.
We walk down the stone cobbled street and into the pilgrim office for the last stamp of our trip on our credencial ( the record of our trip to prove we have actually walked the kilometres- this is needed if you continue to Santiago de Compostela and want your compestela to prove you have walked more than 100 kilometres) For us there is no Compostela but there is a record of all the places we have stayed. The office has a weighing device to check your bag weight and out of curiosity I weigh my bag - 12 kilos and the camel pack had been drained somewhat and our food consumed. It doesn't feel like 12 kilos - maybe my strength has improved.

We come across Bettina our German friend who had started her walk earlier in the week. She said that she had hitchhiked a stage but had enjoyed her walk and now it was time to go home. She had done a day walk up to Orissa which is half way across the pass to Spain. As of yesterday the pass has been closed until the opening inMarch. They do this as the pass in winter is dangerous and with fog, rain and snow can lead
Pilgrims to a fatal outcome. She commented that although today was a warm day the winds were very strong up in the pass and she was glad it was only a day walk. We also came across Denis who had already visited the post office to post a package home to reduce his load and now was in search of a laundromat- a luxury on the chemin. The post office in SJPDP must do a roaring trade in sending home parcels.

We had tried to book a gite for the night especially the ones that had been recommended but all of those were closed for the season so we chose instead a BnB that had a high rating. It is located away from the high activity of the town and we walk along side the river away from all the tourist activity to a second bridge where there is a building perched on the side overlooking the babbling brook. This is our home for the night and what a delight. We open our bedroom window and immediately below is the beautiful sound of the water cascading across the rocks and stones. What a great sound to go to sleep to.
Jean Francois is the proprietor and he immediately asks us about the state of our bags and whether we have bed bugs. Our boots are to be left downstairs. He explains that normally he only accepts pilgrims leaving SJPDP rather than ones finishing here. In this way he avoids the bed bug issue. We had originally booked with his ex wife's BnB but she had overbooked and hence Jean Francois said that he would have us. He appears also to have good Australian and New Zealand friends so that might have influenced him to accept us. He also admits that it does not work mixing the different types of guest - tourists versus the pilgrims. One group is early to bed and early to rise and does not appreciate the late night revellers and the same applies to the early risers who wake up those trying to sleep in. Lucky for us we are the only guests and we get to enjoy this beautifully renovated BnB on our own.
Dinner tonight is at the small restaurant featured in the movie The Way- luckily we have made a reservation as the tables are all full and the one and only waitress is continually turning away people who come hopefully to the door.

As I mentioned earlier the chemin did deliver and it did so beautifully and subtlely and we are forever grateful.

PS - this is a delayed posting and I acknowledge that I am late - apologies. I will add some notes regarding SJPDP in the next few days.