After the workmen clomped out of the adjacent cabin we dozed off, to later awaken to traffic noise; heavy lorries passing. Karen_comments Shutting windows attenuated this noise a little but rain sustained wakefulness, drumming on the roof boards. So, there were limits to the value of our lie-in, and there are limits to home comforts when only bunk-beds are available!

  I was worried that the panaderia would be running out of our favourite pan integral, and as the rain eased it became imperative to forsake the cabin and seek the goods; besides which we had some research to do. It proved to be a long walk to the bread shop; local supermercados stocked bread, but the only panaderia was 2km away in Canfranc Pueblo. We were not a minute too early, for there remained just one loaf of the favorite.

  Re-tracing our steps, we walked the route lined with drab five-storey appartment blocks which seemed at least half vacant; glimpses of the River Aragon held more interest. Our next stop was the tourist office. The weather checks noted floods in southern Spain, wrung from a cyclone spinning its way northwards; it might fill in before arrival at the Pyrenees, if we got lucky. Information on refuges was not so abundant; some do operate under a club umbrella which disseminates information efficiently, but many are private and must be interrogated individually.

  We arrived back at the cabin just ahead of the rain, which fell in sheets, bouncing and spattering on the outer edge of the deck. This forced us to cower by the rear wall and stressed assimilation of breakfast somewhat, but it remained just warm enough to sit out. How lucky we felt to be under a secure roof though; the more impressionante when thunder-claps relegated the drumming torrents to a murmur.

  What concerned me was that some-time our luck must run out with the weather; it seemed stressful enough at times coping with the demands of the trek, and differences between Karen and I, but foul weather would not aid us one bit. How ironic that we should be teamed up on this adventure; the developing legend sketched itself as 'The Lady and the Knight, a tragedy in 43 stages'. Possibly Karen is a lady, but certainly I am no knight! I have little emotionally or materially to help bridge troubled mud-puddles; in any case, Karen has always encouraged the notion of equality, so that's a mutual expectation.

  The dutch couple from cabin No.3 had left by now. They climbed Monte Perdido two days ago in fine weather, and now they would travel northwards to the channel, then Oxford via Southampton. How bizarre, we had been on holiday now for two weeks, and that would routinely have seen us returning home also. This break however is open-ended, conferring a degree of insecurity. There is no-one back there waiting for us to return; family, colleagues, or even manager.

  The rain faded again, so we set out to do the one-point tourist round. Its a one pointer which questions 'what point?'. The train station here boasts the second longest platforms in Europe, but daisies and dandelions are cracking the flags, the unlit parcel delivery room stares out bleakly through star-shattered holes in the windows glass, and graffiti decorates the walls. It was built for trans-Pyrenean trade back in 1928, before the lorries stole the cargo. Finally though, the Spanish undid their own business by stealing French custom for the ski-slopes; they under-cut ski-pass prices, and the French response was to shut the tunnel, so now the over-size platforms bears witness to a monumental mistake.

  The rain came on again and we dodged our way back to the mainstreet and a choice of bars. They were all equal really, but a selection was made and we settled down to letter and postcard writing over a poleo de menta. This town is sizeable compared to Les Aldudes but there is no handy internet access here. Not such a bad thing; hand-writing yet remains more meaningful and folk would always appreciate recieving a picture from abroad. Karen_comments

  Back at the cabin, Karen re-arranged the washing inside to take advantage of the electric heater; it was programmed to come on after 5pm only. We bemoaned the lack of cooking facilities once again as we crouched to cook over the camping stove. 'On the grass if you please, there's a fire hazard and I can't risk you cooking inside or on the deck'; the proprietor's words echoed brusquely.

  The late sun shone finally as we ate; lots of salad and more chick-pea stew. High above the crumbling cliffs which hem this valley in, and despite such proximity, vie sauvage in the forests and hanging meadows would be busy as normal, delighting in security through inaccessibility. In such places, nature has at least fashioned a handful of fortresses for its vulnerable creatures; we imagined them now, active in the gathering dusk. It was a happy thought to end our day with.