Today was our second day in Mauléon-Licharre and, since we were caught up with laundry, we got another early start. After locating our trail, it was a long steep climb up and out of the town. Early on in the climb, the first of many enigmatic signs announced “Ball Trap.” Laurel and Betty concluded it was a sports pitch for an obscure Basque game. As the climb intensified, the signs became more frequent and an urgency was implied by the hand-written font. It was a warning and I wouldn’t expect my companions to understand. Every male hiker knows the risks associated with steep inclines (or declines) and winding roads. Care must be taken to keep your knees parallel and well spaced and your equipment must be periodically checked and adjusted to prevent slippage, binding, or God forbid, abrasion! I am happy to report that with these precautions I suffered only minor injuries during this trek; an ounce of prevention is indeed worth a pound of cure. The top of the hill, coincidentally, was also the location of a skeet shooting club.
The accent was 3 kilometres and took more than an hour. Betty’s Fitbit was buzzing as she set and broke new records for stairs
climbed; it would be 86 floors by the end of the day.
climbed; it would be 86 floors by the end of the day.
The sun’s unrelenting heat told us to turn around about 2 hours out and so we followed its advice and beat a hasty path back to town. Parched, we stopped at the first cafe we came across to rehydrate. The owner had hiked the Camino many years ago and gave us a complementary snack and some ice water. I only noticed when it was time to leave that I had stepped in some dog merde and was now leaving a scent trail every where I went. I tried everything to decontaminate my boot: the curb, gravel, grass, and a fountain—nothing seemed to work. Finally, after lunch, I stopped at a car wash and power-scrubbed my boots avec mousse et plus forte.
Siesta and then back to town to watch a game of pelote. Every Basque community has a large stone or brick wall and adjacent
paved surface in the centre of town that is the field of play for a
number of games known collectively as pelote (ball). The games are mostly variations of squash but played with hands, paddles/bats or woven scoops. We enquired at the Tourism office about when and where to catch a game—“every night at the main square,” was the reply. We parked at the church and then walked nearly 3 km to essentially cross the street—Betty was navigating—only to find the court deserted. This game is elusive or fictitious, perhaps a scam to sell people like me a €32 paddle and a €5 ball.
paved surface in the centre of town that is the field of play for a
number of games known collectively as pelote (ball). The games are mostly variations of squash but played with hands, paddles/bats or woven scoops. We enquired at the Tourism office about when and where to catch a game—“every night at the main square,” was the reply. We parked at the church and then walked nearly 3 km to essentially cross the street—Betty was navigating—only to find the court deserted. This game is elusive or fictitious, perhaps a scam to sell people like me a €32 paddle and a €5 ball.
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