LIVE from the Camino Pilgrimage through the Voie Nive Bidassoa: A Winter Adventure

[Aurigny]

It's practically a year to the day since I was out on pilgrimage, on a route that began in Geneva and reached SJPP in January 2022. My intention was always, having reached this point, to make my way across to Hendaye and proceed via the Norte to SdC. Originally I'd hoped to do so by following the arduous but spectacular GR 10 across the Pyrenees, which was the programme for this summer. But a combination of work and family responsibilities ruled out any travelling at that time. Now that I've managed to get a couple of weeks to myself, a small change of plan is in order. The GR 10 not being suitable for winter travel, I'm going to try the low-level alternative, the Voie Nive Bidassoa, and pick up the Norte at its starting-point as previously intended.

I'm also coming a little better equipped than I was on the last section of the Podiensis a year ago. On that occasion, I found myself sleeping in a church doorway in a village a long way from anywhere when a gîte d'étape that was supposed to be open, wasn't. The night was foul, with high winds, sheets of rain, and temperatures of around 2C. It wasn't my favourite experience, and bearing in mind that I'm now heading out on an even more remote trail at the same time of year, it seems wise to take action to prevent a recurrence. So I've acquired a tent that weighs only about 1.5 kg but by all accounts provides very effective shelter from the elements. It takes up surprisingly little space in my backpack, and provides me with a fallback option if all else fails.

SJPP, when I arrived last night, was even quieter than when I was last here. In these post-coronavirus days, eating options in the town during winter are almost non-existent. My hopes were raised by an automated pizza machine at the side of the Place Charles de Gaulle; regrettably, it was empty, as was a baguette-making equivalent at the rue d'Espagne. Éric Viotte, the congenial host of the Gîte le Chemin vers l'Étoile (EUR 35, including self-service breakfast) at which I was staying, confirmed that the only restaurant open was the Pizza Ka establishment on the road out of town past the Place Floquet. It looked OK from outside, but I wasn't in the mood for a meal consisting almost entirely of starch, and instead retired to bed, chewing healthily if boringly on a handful of walnuts I'd brought with me.

This morning dawned clear and cold. I dropped in at the Pilgrims' Office to obtain a new credencial, the one with which I'd begun in Geneva being practically full. The volunteer staff were charming and helpful, as always. I didn't ask them about the Voie Nive Bidassoa because there were only two people on staff and one of them was preoccupied with training the other, whose first day it was. Perhaps I ought to have. But I'd had a long conversation on the subject with a gentleman there a year ago, who was only able to tell me that it passed through Bidarray and Espelette, and that the former might make a logical night-stop.

On the way out of town, other pedestrians and I had a bit of difficulty making our way past the municipal employees who were completely blocking the street with a cherry-picker they were using to take down the overhead Christmas decorations. This involved swinging the enormous fake sapins de Noël back and forth across the street at the end of a chain in an effort to deposit them safely on a flat-bed truck close at hand. A couple of old-age pensioners and I, attracted by the opportunities presented by this unconventional adventure sport, picked our moment to scuttle past on one of the upswings, the pensioners exchanging raucous commentary with the operatives who responded jovially in kind.

The Voie Nive Bidassoa is a relatively recent addition to the route network, though many pilgrims undoubtedly travelled along what is now known by that name. Information about it on the internet is extremely limited, the state of the art seeming to be a 2015 route description in French that, although detailed, requires the wayfarer to recognise turning-points whose appearance on the ground eight years later may be hard to reconcile with the word-picture provided. In what follows, I describe what appears to me to be a possible and viable VNB, without any guarantee that I have been proceeding along the "authentic" route, if such a thing exists.

One thing seems certain. There are no distinctive VNB-waymarkers on the way out of SJPP or, if there are, they're so inconspicuous as to be easily missed by someone looking carefully for them. I didn't have great expectations in this regard, and resolved to make my own way in the approximately correct direction and see what happened. The first step, then, was to get onto the Route d'Ascarat, which runs south of the village of the same name. This is easily done. One leaves SJPP as though one were starting the Francés. Instead of taking the turn-off toward Roncesvalles, though, one keeps on the Route de Bayonne and has the option of either bearing left a couple of hundred metres past the new Lidl supermarket (not open, alas, until 09:00) or taking the well-marked D 403 which brings one on a loop via Lasse. The result is the same in either case: one winds up on the D 15 heading in a more or less northwesterly direction. The paved footpath runs out a little beyond Ascarat, but there's quite a wide grass verge that is easily walked, and the road itself is not heavily trafficked. For the experienced pilgrim, proceeding along it should cause little concern, even at night provided that one is suitably equipped.

A pair of radar-gun-wielding gendarmes had set up a speed trap at the long straight stretch on the approach to Irouléguy. One of them, mistaking me for a Francés-traveller, considerately let me know that I was heading in the wrong direction. I explained that this time I was proceeding to SdC via Hendaye, something that interested but perplexed him and his colleague: a testament to the lack of local knowledge of the VNB that continues to prevail. Abeam the Citroën dealership just before Irouléguy, though, I spotted a small and inconspicuous shell-marker on the back of a yield-right-of-way sign. It didn't identify the VNB as such, but I reasoned that it couldn't be signifying anything else, so I peeled off to the right in the way it suggested. Before long it was followed by another, this one including the magic word "Hendaye." Clearly I was where I was supposed to be.

For the next fifteen kilometres or so, the route-marking was not at all bad. The symbols are small, consisting of scallop-shell adhesive stickers some of which are the approximate dimensions of a standard postage stamp. The point of convergence is nearly always oriented in the direction toward which one is supposed to go. Spotting them definitely requires paying attention, but in daylight at least, making one's way by means of their guidance is not a difficult task. As the name of the route implies, one is initially following the branch of the river known as the Nive des Aldudes, which in these parts is a mere stream. Keeping it on one's left as far as the fish-farm at the Pont d'Eyheralde – a landmark impossible to miss -- makes it difficult to get off track. From time to time some ambiguity does creep into the waymarking thereafter: it would be helpful, for example, to have confirmation that on striking the main road after Eyheralde one is supposed to turn right. But the possession of a compass and even a rudimentary topographical map will not allow one to go wrong for very long. The correct route heads north or north-west with almost no deviation; if one is going anywhere else for more than a hundred metres, one is certainly off track.

The countryside along this stretch is picturesque, reminding me of the first couple of days of the Invierno. The ridges on either side loom intimidatingly high, resulting in the experience familiar to Alpinists of the sun having "set" behind the mountains at noontime. But the trail nearly always manages to find a soft spot between them. It's road-walking the entire way, on narrow asphalted country lanes that usually aren't more than a couple of metres wide. Vehicular traffic, happily, is almost non-existent.

So are amenities. There are public toilets and a water-source at Irouléguy, behind and to the left of the village hall, but the first and, indeed, only open commercial establishment I passed the entire day was the Manexnea hotel-restaurant, about 15 km along. It's a good idea to get something cool and wet here, because it's followed a couple of kilometres later by the only real climb of the day, the uphill haul into the village of Bidarray. The gradient is by no means impossible, but it'll certainly keep one's pulse elevated in a manner that one's cardiologist will appreciate.

Bidarray itself, at around the 22-km mark, would be a nice stopping-point in the summer, featuring as it does a couple of auberges, several bar-restaurants, and a railway station with regular services back to SJPP for the benefit of day-trippers and those who decide that the VNB is not for them. At this time of year, however, it makes SJPP look like a hive of activity. I sat down outside one of the closed bars to eat some of the road food I'd brought down from Bayonne in anticipation of such a situation. After ten minutes, though, I had to move the scene of operations across the road to the village church (regrettably, closed) when no fewer than three passing cars pulled up, interpreting my presence as an indication that the establishment was open for business. As there were only about three hours to sunset, I didn't stay too long, but continued on my second leg to Espelette.

The navigation on this 18-km stretch was a good deal easier, at least for the first two-thirds, because it consists of road-walking the D 349 as far as the Pas de Roland. The starting-point is reached by crossing the Nive and the railway line by the Pont Noblia, a local landmark to which anyone will direct you, and spending just a hundred metres on the extremely busy D 918 before heading off to the west. The D 349, another modest road 12 km in length that becomes narrower the further one proceeds along it, runs to the left of the Nive, the single-track railway line along which a single-carriage toy train runs back and forth, and the D 918 itself. The countryside seems less visually appealing along this section, but bearing in mind that night had fallen before I was a couple of kilometres in, that didn't make much of a difference to me. It does, though, carry a surprising amount of evening traffic in both directions, and the pilgrim has to remain alert to avoid being put in danger by vehicles, some of them taking up the entire carriageway, coming around fairly sharp bends at speed. Crossing the road to remain on the "wide" side of these bends is a sensible practice, and I must have done so twenty times in the course of my journey.

The VNB takes a counter-intuitive loop just past the enormous Ondoria hotel-restaurant, set on a high rise a little north of the Pas de Roland. The latter is not suitable for pedestrians, so the marked trail sends wayfarers in a southwesterly direction along the Chemin du Col de Légarré, and then northward again via the Chemin du Col d'Arharri, to rejoin the main road in the vicinity of the village of Itxassou. There are plenty of commerces here, but a nice woman walking her dog, when asked at 19:30 which of them might be open, laughed and said that my best bet was probably Cambo-les-Bains. I dismissed from my mind, then, any possibility of dinner, or even a cup of hot coffee.

The trail-marking was either inadequate at this stage or, in the darkness, I was missing the ones that existed, so I compass-read my way along the D 249 for the remaining four kilometres into Espelette. It was the same story there: tons of businesses, all of them closed. So I retraced my steps to a forest clearing of which I'd taken note on the way into town and set up my tent there for a night's sleep. After a forty-kilometre day, I was much in need of it.

 

[donalomahony]

...Before long it was followed by another, this one including the magic word "Hendaye." Clearly I was where I was supposed to be....

Thanks for this. Well written. I do hope you get a warm breakfast...

 

[mspath]

Aurigny,
What a pleasure it is to be reading your progress again this year. Looking forward to your next day's account.
Carpe diem!

 

[Kirkie]

As it is unlikely I will manage much in the way of a camino this year again, it is a pleasure to follow your accounts. Thank you.

 

[Josefus]

Dear Aurigny!
Thanks for your well written report.
In 2016 I also tried to continue my Podiensis with the CDN from Irun and was looking for the route you described now. But after two hours of walking around and missing the “correct” start point I gave up and decided to take the train. This unfortunately didn’t happen too because SNCF was on strike that day. But anyhow I managed it to Hendaye and walked over the bridge into Irun starting the CDN the next day.
But obviously you found the right exit out of S. Jean Pied dePort. I wish you a pleasant camino.
¡Ultreia!

 

[AJGuillaume]

This morning dawned clear and cold. I dropped in at the Pilgrims' Office to obtain a new credencial, the one with which I'd begun in Geneva being practically full. The volunteer staff were charming and helpful, as always. I didn't ask them about the Voie Nive Bidassoa because there were only two people on staff and one of them was preoccupied with training the other, whose first day it was. Perhaps I ought to have.

In 2018, continuing our walk from Geneva to SdC, we too, walked the Voie Nive-Bidassoa.

The staff at the Pilgrims Office have a detailed fact sheet with maps. I had found the information previously here: https://www.aucoeurduchemin.org/les...ie-nive-bidassoa-st-jean-p-port-hendaye-irun/

You'll find PDF maps, GPX tracks, and other information for the remainder of your walk.

 

[Aurigny]

I had found the information previously here

Yes, that's the French website to which I referred above. It no longer corresponds in several respects to the currently waymarked trail.

 

[Aurigny]

On those occasions when I have to sleep out of doors, consideration for the locals dictates that I be on my way before anyone knows I was there. Last night being clear and very cold provided me with additional incentive to pack up early rather than to lie around to greet the rosy-fingered dawn—which at this time of year doesn't occur until about 08:00 anyway. So by six in the morning I was busy taking everything down (a challenge, inasmuch as the dew was so heavy that I may as well have been rained upon overnight), cramming the tent-components into their innumerable carrying-sacks, and preparing for my return to town.

As it turned out, I need have been in no hurry if I were concerned only about being observed. Espelette makes up for going to bed early by getting up late. Only a single premises, the presse-tabac (which, on investigation, turned out to sell only newspapers and tobacco) was open at seven. While I was waiting for the shutters to go up elsewhere, I attended to some of my daily duties. The public toilets beside the covered market turned out to have commodious sinks enabling me to get a chilly but refreshing wash-up and shave. It also bore a sign warning users that carrying water off the premises for any purpose whatever was strictement interdit. I filled up my water-bottle nonetheless, on the Ciceronian principle of salus populi suprema lex. The post office next door was also offering thirty minutes of free wi-fi to visitors, of which I was happy to make use.

By the time I had finished, the boulangerie and one of the local bars, Chez Doxpi, had each opened for business. I pounced on the first to obtain bread for the day, and repaired to the second to take the chill out of my bones with a couple of cups of steaming café au lait. Just as I picked up my bag to depart, the management started handing out to arriving patrons steaming plates of one of the most magnificent cooked breakfasts I had ever seen: potatoes, ham slices, eggs, and a curious but immensely appetising kind of onion-and-pepper hash. The temptation to sit down again was almost overwhelming, but I was entertaining hopes of finishing the VNB off and reaching Hendaye before the end of the day. Just the same, there are few things in my life on which I have turned my back with more genuine regret than the prospect of that meal.

The tourist office was opening its doors on my way out of town, so I stopped in for a tampon and directions, after confirming by a meticulous search that no waymarkers were to be found at any of the possible exit-routes. The pair of young women at the desk not only gave me meticulous instructions, but drew me a most elaborate map so that I should not go astray on my way out of town. It was extremely gracious of them, but as I found when I followed their directions, they were sending my by the road-route to Souriäde and on to Ascain, beginning with the terrifying D 918. (I've found this to be a surprisingly common tendency: locals and tourist offices alike will more often than not recommend the fastest route, rather than the one best adapted to pedestrian traffic. I've even had well-meaning people who want to steer me along the hard shoulder of motorways.)

The first six or seven hundred metres of the D 918 showed me all I wanted to see of that particular road. When the junction with the D 20 appeared on my left, I instantly took it, deciding that it had to be an improvement. It was, but not by much. The road snakes steeply uphill around a series of sharp bends, and although there's a bit of a grass verge, progress wasn't easy. The best thing that can be said for it is that it didn't last long. After less than two kilometres, I emerged at the Col de Pinodieta, where the waymarkers reappeared. Checking over the map in retrospect, it emerged that the best thing to do would have been to start off on the D 918 as I did, but almost immediately to turn left onto Gazitegiko Bidea, and then take the first right, Oilakineko Bidea, following that one all the way to the Col.

Just the same, I was now properly on my way. As I quickly discovered, though, the rest of the day would come in only two flavours: uphill and downhill. The trail proceeds alongside a military training area, with lots of signs warning passers-by that anyone who crosses the barbed-wire fence is liable either to be shot by overenthusiastic poilus, or to step on a landmine. Bearing in mind that parts of the fence are only ankle-high, there's not much other than these threats to deter trespassers.

It was a surprisingly warm and sunny day, with not a breath of wind, and before long I found that I was working extremely hard. From the upland areas excellent views can be obtained of the sea and the coastline stretching all the way along to Saint-Jean-de-Luz, but in a manner familiar to those who have travelled the first half of the Podiensis, the trail—another narrow asphalted road, the Chemin de la Carrière, no sooner topped off on one steep incline before it immediately descended the next one. Without sources of water or places to sit, this constant oscillation took a serious toll on my lower limbs. It wasn't a question of the elevations, which were comparatively modest, but the gradients, which were fierce. As my average speed fell, I started to reconsider my decision to press on to Hendaye today. Ascain, at about the 19 km mark from Espelette (though a couple of kilometres longer by the route I followed) was starting to look like a more and more attractive night-stop.

Partly for that reason, I ignored the route-marker that sought to send travellers along a variant in a northward direction to Saint-Pée-sur-Nivelle. The marker was expressed in such peremptory terms that the neophyte pilgrim might easily assume that this was the VNB's actual direction. In fact it is not: and although on another day I might have accepted the invitation to check out what I hear is a very pretty little town, the extra four or five kilometres it would have involved were more than I was willing to contemplate. So I pressed straight on in a westerly direction, and in due course the VNB waymarkers appeared again. One of them marked the point at which the Voie de Baztan intersects this trail. It would be interesting to know how many people have done both of them.

Much of today's route overlays the GR 8 long-distance hiking trail, and as I proceeded, I was starting to see more of the latter's waymarkers and fewer of the VNB's. It wasn't a great problem, though I was intrigued to see that the GR 8 weaves through a cultivateur's farmyard. He didn't seem fazed as I passed, straightening up from his work to give me a wave. Indeed, that was not the only friendliness displayed to me during the day. On the stretch between the Pont d'Amotz and the D 3 road, I was joined for almost its entire length of more than three kilometres by an ebullient spaniel who took my presence as licence for going on a walk with me. I've had such things happen in the past, though I give the animals in question no encouragement of any kind. And they always end in the same way. When my companion reached a house whose canine inhabitants made abundantly clear that they had no desire to widen the circle of their acquaintance, the spaniel anxiously looked to me to offer him protection. He looked in vain: and, realising that no assistance was to be expected from that quarter, smartly turned on his heel (or, to be strictly accurate, all of them), and trotted off homewards, attempting to retain as much of his dignity as he could in the process.

Other four-legged diversions awaited me. Near the top of the Suhalmendi mountain, a fenced-off area is devoted to the welfare of a small herd of Basque pié-noir pigs, who are allowed to roam the hillsides free-range. I knew nothing about these creatures when I arrived, but thanks to the comprehensive information-boards provided, I could now pass an examination on their history, characteristics, preferences, and prospects.

From the cross at the western end of Suhalmendi, one can see Ascain clearly, about fifteen hundred feet below. Getting there is a tricky matter, as the track down is exceptionally steep, circuitous, and covered with loose stones that slither away from under one's feet. I nearly wiped out several times as I made my way down, and appreciated all the more the numerous Ascain residents of all ages who were climbing up for a late-afternoon ramble and didn't seem to be drawing even a long breath as they did so. They make them tough in these parts, it appears.

To my great gratification, Ascain is the one place I've encountered so far where normal commercial life has not been largely suspended. It has a good and competitively priced hotel near the Roman bridge; restaurants to suit all budgets; quite a few bars; and a Spar supermarket. It didn't take me long to decide that I had gone as far as I needed to for the day. Hendaye will no doubt thrive without my presence for twenty-four additional hours.

 

[Aurigny]

Having made heavy weather of getting out of Espelette, I proceeded to repeat the experience in trying to leave Ascain. In reality the process is not at all complicated, though I found that out only when it was too late.

Once again the difficulty stemmed from a lack of waymarking out of town. This is a very common shortcoming: local volunteers seem to assume either that the correct way to go is obvious even to a stranger or that pilgrims can always ask townspeople for directions. In neither case is such confidence always justified. The tourist office on the southern side of the main square might have been able to help me, but a typewritten note in the window advised visitors that normal hours wouldn't be observed today. Being in need of a tampon before departure, I stopped in at the mairie, where the receptionist quickly supplied one. But she wasn't sure where I should go afterwards, except that she thought it might be in the direction of the Pont Romain.

It was a good guess, but not a correct one, as I verified with a little exploring in that area. Instead one should exit the town along a parallel street to the west: in fact, the main drag, the rue Fourcade. This one features a lot of the town's amenities: the mini-golf course, the pharmacie, and the Spar supermarket I had already visited to obtain provisions for the day's journey. At a Y-junction just before the river, one bears left to join the route de Ciboure: this is the point that the first VNB waymarker will be encountered.

The problem lies with the second one. It makes its appearance at a point where a little river-walk commences along the Nivelle—after which one of France's more unfortunate Great War generals was named—gently curving off to the right from the paved road, though the two run more or less parallel for several kilometres beyond. The positioning of the marker, as opposed to its unhelpfully vertical orientation, seems to indicate that the river-walk is the direction intended. Reasoning that the VNB was unlikely to deviate far from the river whose name it bears, I headed off along it. Once again, a good guess, but inaccurate. After about a kilometre and a half, I became suspicious of the fact that no further waymarkers had shownup, and decided to take the next left turn up the Chemin des Truites to see whether I ought to have been on the road after all. In fact I wasn't. Consulting the topographical map, it appeared that what I was supposed to have done was to shun the river-walk and stay on the route de Ciboure before taking an early left turn onto the Chemin du Bois, which, after a couple of further adjustments, would have set me onto the Chemin de Gaineko Borda, the main path out of town.

Fortunately little harm was done. I could see that if I mended my course up the route de Dorrea, the westerly-oriented continuation of the Chemin des Truites, it would lead me down to the Ch. de Gaineko Borda after all. The path I took resulted in my walking three sides of a square, but I had not gone far enough out of town for the additional distance to be in any way significant.

Moreover, that was to be my biggest navigational challenge of the day. In contrast to yesterday's exertions, the Ascain-Hendaye leg is fairly undemanding. There are a few climbs and descents, but none that goes on for very long. The countryside is enjoyable if unmemorable: nearly all pasture, nearly always grazing sheep. Probably the most remarkable feature of the journey is the church in the substantial village of Urrugne, a little shy of the half-way point. This is surprisingly large; built like a fortress (which, in fact, was a deliberate design feature: its predecessor was destroyed in a Spanish raid in 1550); and houses unusually impressive interior wood carvings, not least a remarkable figure of Samson bearing the church pulpit on his shoulders (having sat through many an interminable sermon, I can empathise greatly with how he's feeling). A new 3,000-pipe organ, installed in 2009, does not look out of place here, and I only wish I had the opportunity to hear it. Other than that, if a cold drink or a top-up of one's water-bottle is required, Urrugne can also supply it. One would have to be lucky with timing if one were seeking anything more substantial: this is the land of the long lunch-hour.

Beyond Urrugne the VNB joins the last stages of the GR 10 Pyrenean hiking route, and from this point on the former's markers (some of which refer to it as the Chemin de la Côte) fade out of the picture altogether, leaving one to follow the latter. There are only two remaining points of ambiguity of which the pilgrim need be aware. The first crops up when one encounters the major Route Nationale 10 dual carriageway. The waymarkers first point to a slip-road (or, for Americans, off-ramp) curving downhill to the RN 10 that is firmly gated and fenced off: obviously, one is not supposed to go that way. Closer inspection. however, will reveal a second, smaller arrow pointing up a steep bank. It's necessary to clamber up this, which will require the use of hands as well as feet. At the top, a narrow passage can be found between the wire fence protecting the road on the left and a barbed-wire equivalent delimiting some farmer's field to the right. The remaining space, not more than a metre wide, is now partly blocked by brambles and thorn bushes, evidently not having received much, or any, pedestrian traffic in the past couple of years. It is definitely not a section of the VNB along which to wear one's best Balenciaga dress unless one is going for the distressed-hem look. But if one belongs to the hard-core element who believe that no penitential experience is complete without the shedding of one's blood, this stretch will tick off that requirement quite adequately.

If further development of the VNB is to take place, some solution will need to be found, because as things stand right now that part of the trail is very nearly impassable. Fortunately, at 400m or so, it's relatively short. Once one has emerged at the far end and taken a few moments to count the holes in one's outerwear and suck the more sanguinary of one's wounds, things become considerably easier. The only other place where the correct direction isn't immediately obvious is a couple of kilometres further on, as one comes over the brow of a hill to be greeted by a view of the sea straight ahead, and of Hendaye to one's left. The trail bifurcates here, and the temptation is to follow the left-hand branch pointing directly toward the town, the more so because it appears to be the wider and deeper of the two. But as I verified with a man walking his dog, and as was soon confirmed by the red-and-white blazes of the GR 10, the correct direction is straight ahead, toward the sea and also toward a high-intensity white strobe light that is clearly visible even in bright sunshine, and that flashes at one-second intervals for the benefit of aircraft approaching the nearby Irun airport.

There's little more to tell about what remains of the VNB. It proceeds sharply downhill along the ominously named Descente des Fous, though there's nothing that would seem to justify such a title unless somebody were inclined to go down it in a supermarket trolley. If one keeps plugging along at the bottom toward the sea, a very nice boardwalk appears, which can be followed left-handed as far as Hendaye SNCF and the Pont St. Jacques/Puente Santiago that connects the twin towns of Hendaye and Irun and that marks the starting-point of the Norte. Probably there was a more efficient way into town if I had bothered to look for it, but I was happy to take the scenic route and enjoy the spectacle of Iberia aircraft taking off at close range. Irun airport is one of those places, like La Guardia in New York, that features short runways with water at either end. The pilots who fly in and out are clearly skilled at using every foot of asphalt available to them, and if the departing aircraft didn't actually leave ripples in the bay behind them on early climb-out, for some it was remarkable that they didn't.

As usual, I'll offer some overall comments about the current state of the VNB and its navigability tomorrow.

 

[Aurigny]

Closing thoughts:-

* The VNB is, as it were, a "service" Camino. It has no specific identity of its own, nor any particular spiritual significance beyond being one of a large number of routes used by pilgrims over the centuries to reach SdC. Its existence is defined by being the end-point of one set of pilgrimage trails – the Vézelay, the Route de Tours, the Piémont from Carcassone and, for those not continuing on to Roncesvalles, the Podiensis – and the starting-point of another. While it passes through attractive and varied countryside, few people would feel the need to travel it in its own right.

* On the other hand, it's more or less axiomatic that everybody who does walk it for the purpose of joining the Norte will by then have completed at least one long and strenuous route. The VNB's clientèle, therefore, can be assumed to be more experienced; accustomed to dealing with longer stages and fewer amenities; and probably physically fitter than the average.

* For this cohort, in its current incarnation the route presents few insuperable challenges. With some effort, it's possible to figure out where to go nearly all the time. There's not a lot of infrastructure between starting and finishing points on each leg; adequate food and water will have to be acquired ahead of time. (This applies particularly to the Espelette-Ascain stage, which not only has nowhere to top up a water-bottle but not really anywhere to sit down, unless one is willing to venture off-trail.) But experienced pilgrims will know how to deal with that. Likewise, there's nothing like a gîte d'étape or albergue-equivalent network. Accommodation will have to be sought from rural hotels, chambres d'hôte, and the like. But again, the seasoned pilgrim will not be fazed by such a thing.

* The time of year does matter. This time around, the winter has been unusually mild. Twelve months ago, the snow on the Pyrenees was so dazzingly white that I was cursing my failure to bring sunglasses, and I was weaving my way around patches of the stuff two days before reaching SJPP. This week, in contrast, I couldn't see a single snowflake even on the higher elevations. That was very convenient for me; if anything, there were times when I felt overdressed. In a more normal year, though, parts of the VNB are likely to be completely impassable if there's significant snow or ice on the ground. Under such conditions, as a case in point, I can't imagine anybody even being able to stand upright on the descent off Suhalmendi, far less being able to negotiate his or her way to the bottom. Other spots are nearly as potentially treacherous.

* Likewise, this is, I think, a route that needs to be done in daylight. The only part that I walked after dark, a 15-km or so jaunt from beyond Bidarray to Espelette, coincidentally was among the few sections where such a thing was practical. Even so, I was probably off-piste for the last three or four kilometres of it. Other sections, due to the inconspicuousness (and occasional absence) of the waymarkers, would have been far more difficult to complete after dark. The chances of going astray are, in my view, unacceptably high. I'd rate them at about an even-money chance under such conditions.

* Speaking of the waymarking, it's now extensive enough to be helpful over a very large proportion of the trail without ever being sufficiently comprehensive that one can navigate with sole reference to it. At a large number of ambiguous spots, one has to take one's best guess in the absence of any supporting evidence. For long stretches of several kilometres at a time there's no waymarking at all, either because the volunteers believe that there's no possibility of wandering off track (much of the D 349) or the correct direction is too obvious to require pointing out (the descent into Ascain). That said, sometimes the waymarkers are flat-out wrong. Half a kilometre before the Pas de Roland, for example, following one around a corner put me in somebody's front garden. It indicated a right turn when it was supposed to signal a left. Doing a reality check with these things is always necessary.

* Despite its relatively short length (c. 80 km), it's quite physically demanding. The first section, to Bidarray, is reminiscent of the early Invierno in both terrain and elevation. The third, from Espelette to Ascain, took me by surprise. Although the summits are modest, the gradients are not. I worked as hard physically on that stage as I have on any comparable day along these various routes. None of it is impossible, but one should expect to be challenged. The VNB's reputation as a "low-level" option, in contradistinction to the formidable GR 10, does not mean that one will not be doing quite a lot of serious climbing and descending every day.

* So far as staging is concerned, sensible people will make a four-day trip of it: Bidarray, Espelette, Ascain, and Hendaye. The unreasonably optimistic, like me, will do it in three. Complete maniacs will attempt it in two, although even for the obnoxiously fit it will, as I say, be necessary to wait for the summer days to become long enough that no part of the second 40-km stretch will require to be done in darkness.

But all that said, I'd encourage anyone wishing to link up with the Norte to go ahead and walk it in its present incarnation, and to do so without any anxiety. A little advance planning is unquestionably required, but I believe it has now reached the stage of development where it need cause few qualms for the experienced pilgrim.

 

[Dave]

Thanks for your write-ups, Aurigny! I appreciate the detail. And yeah, this is a really good option for those who aren't interested in the more intensive GR-10 for connecting SJPDP and the Norte. I really enjoyed my afternoon in Espelette, in particular.

 

[jackinatent]

Hi Aurigny and everyone else

We enjoyed your write up as we walked the VNB last year, as it is the only write up in English we could find. To help others who may find themselves here in similar circumstances, we have a couple of things to add:

1. An updated list of instructions can now be had from the pilgrim office in SJPdP. We found these fairly useful with only limited French
2. GPS tracks can be found online, though the source we found failed to include a short section on the descent to Ascain, why I don't know, but if you have any common sense or a map it is hard to get lost. If anyone has any interest i will export my GPS track to fill in the gap.
3. Accommodation at Espelette - we stayed at the Galeri d'Art which as it sounds is also an artist's gallery. We got the number I think from Espelette tourist information. It was very good and at the right price.
4. As Aurigny says, there are few amenities. We filled up on water in churches as Aurigny suggests above but carried the entirety of our food, which was a good decision excepting that I suppose we could have resupplied in Ascain.

Overall I thought it was a fairly utilitarian route which we took to link two places. I enjoyed it though, and I don't think it was as hard as all that - I wonder if our GPS/new instructions took us a slightly different route perhaps. We took two days over it and that was a stretch, we were very fit at the time. That said i think that 4 days as per Aurigny's suggested itinerary would be a bit tedious at 20 km/day, many of them quite fast km. I would instead suggest accepting one long day and two shorter ones if you can.

One fringe benefit of the VNB is seeing your first glimpse of the Atlantic after (presumably) a long walk from somewhere in France which buoys the spirits considerably though depending on your plans might herald the unwelcome end of your walk.