Pyrenees Day 11: Into the Breach of Roland
Roland's Breach may not be as well known as Roland's horn, but it is attributed to the same historical/mythical character, a leutenant in Charlemagne's army, whose forces were ambushed by a group of Basques as they were retreating across the Pyrenees after being defeated earlier by the Moors, or Saracens, as the Song of Roland calls them. According to one story, Roland himself gouged out the breach in the ridge separating Spain from France with his sword. Putting aside the technical difficulties with this theory, there is no evidence Roland ever entered Aragon, and the events of the Song of Roland explicitly take place in Navarre, hundreds of kilometers to the west.
Nevertheless, the moment we saw the breach we immediately understood why the story had such appeal. The clean vertical walls of the breach looked so artificial and different from the surrounding landscape that it was natural to assume it was the creation of some intelligent force. It was of a scale much smaller than the glacier-cleft valleys and was probably a hundred meters tall by thirty meters wide.
Another odd rock formation, in the shape of a carved chess piece, stood nearby and was simply and generically called "the finger," but of course it was natural for us to think of it as Roland's last message to the impetuous Saracens and treacherous Basques.
We made our way to the breach over a couple of boulder fields and past a large cave, which could have easily accomodated all of Charlemagne's army. At the breach, we were met by a more contemporary, though no less numerous, army of French hikers, most of whom hiked up from a parking lot several hours away on the French side.
Our descent into France crossed a small glacier, but the path through was level and well-trodden, so we didn't encounter any difficulties traversing it. Then followed a steep descent over loose gravel to a French refugio, where we parked our packs for an hour and went over to check out a nearby waterfall, the highest in all of Europe, according to the Spanish guy who recommended it. It was certainly a long fall, but not particularly impressive due to the water shortage.
Our detour into France only lasted a few hours, and we soon found ourselves at the border once again. There used to be a parking lot here, but several rockslides had blocked the road leading up to it, so the French day-hikers had to walk a couple of kilometers on foot to reach it. The descent into Spain from here was far less popular, and involved a bone-jarring descent down a steep path used by cattle. Having only two legs on such a path was a clear disadvantage, and keeping both of them intact was a challenge.
We reached the hamlet of Bujaruelo at around 5pm, and I cooled my tired feet in the ice-cold water of the nearby Ara river, just downstream from a small arched stone bridge, which featured on several postcards I later saw in Torla. From here, we followed the GR11 in reverse to loop back around to Torla, our final destination. It was a scenic walk, but it was getting late so we gladly accepted a lift about half-way down the path from a couple driving a van along a road that intersected with our trail.
Nevertheless, the moment we saw the breach we immediately understood why the story had such appeal. The clean vertical walls of the breach looked so artificial and different from the surrounding landscape that it was natural to assume it was the creation of some intelligent force. It was of a scale much smaller than the glacier-cleft valleys and was probably a hundred meters tall by thirty meters wide.
Another odd rock formation, in the shape of a carved chess piece, stood nearby and was simply and generically called "the finger," but of course it was natural for us to think of it as Roland's last message to the impetuous Saracens and treacherous Basques.
We made our way to the breach over a couple of boulder fields and past a large cave, which could have easily accomodated all of Charlemagne's army. At the breach, we were met by a more contemporary, though no less numerous, army of French hikers, most of whom hiked up from a parking lot several hours away on the French side.
Our descent into France crossed a small glacier, but the path through was level and well-trodden, so we didn't encounter any difficulties traversing it. Then followed a steep descent over loose gravel to a French refugio, where we parked our packs for an hour and went over to check out a nearby waterfall, the highest in all of Europe, according to the Spanish guy who recommended it. It was certainly a long fall, but not particularly impressive due to the water shortage.
Our detour into France only lasted a few hours, and we soon found ourselves at the border once again. There used to be a parking lot here, but several rockslides had blocked the road leading up to it, so the French day-hikers had to walk a couple of kilometers on foot to reach it. The descent into Spain from here was far less popular, and involved a bone-jarring descent down a steep path used by cattle. Having only two legs on such a path was a clear disadvantage, and keeping both of them intact was a challenge.
We reached the hamlet of Bujaruelo at around 5pm, and I cooled my tired feet in the ice-cold water of the nearby Ara river, just downstream from a small arched stone bridge, which featured on several postcards I later saw in Torla. From here, we followed the GR11 in reverse to loop back around to Torla, our final destination. It was a scenic walk, but it was getting late so we gladly accepted a lift about half-way down the path from a couple driving a van along a road that intersected with our trail.
posted by Dmitri Evseev at 2:40 PM
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