An After-Dinner Stroll

This year, we've not been up to our 'Pad in the Pyrenees' as often as we would have liked. This has mostly been due to me being a temporary hotel manager with guests that insisted I keep up with them in the food and drink department.

This has done my overall health and wellbeing no good.

No good at all. 

As I was about to find out.

As some work needs to be done on our pad, we popped up there for a couple of days for a 'site survey'. Oh good, only new stairs and a garage door...

Whilst there, we were invited by friends (Peter & Babette) for lunch in their new abode, an old farm they moved into a year ago.

After a lovely meal of sea-food starter, magret de canard followed by tiramisu, swilled down with a good belgian beer and a 'couple' of glasses of decent plonk, all was well with the world.

A walk was suggested.

This took me back to my youth when, after Sunday lunch with Aunty Win and Uncle Louis, we'd go off for a walk beside a local canal, ending up with tea and jam sandwiches on a tartan rug. 

The walks were always agonisingly slow, complicated by Uncle Louis' penchant for taking photos of old disused industrial sites. This would always be further aggravated by an evening spent looking at slides of the last walk... 

Yawn...

Oh dear, I've just realised that is exactly what I am doing now...

"Well", I thought, "what could be more pleasant than a slow country walk after such a wonderful lunch?"  The trouble is, canals are kinda rare here, due mostly to those big pointy things that were all around us. Still, no worries, their abode was surrounded by rolling hills.

"This will be easy" I thought.
Uh, no.
We were taken further into the mountains, up to Portet d'Aspet (one of the Tour de France hot spots), where we would start our afternoon stroll in an upward direction.
It started easily enough, peaking through breaks in the trees to see the peaks beyond.

This was to be a long uphill walk,

up the mountainside through thick forest.

There were certainly a lot of trees. 

Until there weren't.
We'd reached the tree line.
I now know why trees don't grow high up mountainsides.
Their hearts give out.
Mine certainly had.

Both I and Aros (the pyrenean mountain dog and erstwhile god of love) were completely cream-crackered. Carrying all that extra weight was taking its toll.

The sun was going down as we reached the top.

We needed to get down fast. Our intrepid leader once more led the way. This guy is somewhat fitter than Eros and I. You can go off people...

Going up was hard for me, going down was harder for Annick. She had broken her knee less than a year ago, and although well healed, it was somewhat painful for her.
I would've carried Annick if my heart wasn't also giving up.

I need to get fit.
We arrived back at base camp in time for the sunset.

And so. If you're looking for a gentle canal walk, the Pyrenees are sadly lacking.
For me? Back to jogging.
And maybe keep out of the food and drink department.
Eesh.