Areu – Refugi de Baiau

Today was the day I would walk into another country that thankfully wasn’t France. The day dawned with a warm and dewy morning. A daddy long legs had curled up outside my tent mesh near my trekking pole, and probably had the rudest awakening of its life as I flicked it away. First creepy crawly of the trip, shudder. The beauty of a campsite night was that I didn’t have to make my own coffee. Although the designated campsite barista looked at me like I’d spoken Greek when I ordered a cappuccino (“Do you want hot milk?” “Uhm yeah, that’s what a cappuccino is…”), the result was agreeable enough that I was in high spirits as I stepped onto the forest trail. A broad gravel road made for easy walking towards the birch and pine forest. Finally we would leave the foothills behind and re-enter dramatic mountain landscapes. I was overjoyed to have a trail family again and lurched ahead into the day.

Ploughing through the dense forest, I was beginning to feel that gnawing stomach ache from eating too little too often that always sets in after around three weeks on every thru-hike I’ve ever done. All my cup noodles and Haribos were taking their toll on my courageous but ultimately mortal gut microbiome. Today’s destination was the iconic Refugi de Baiau, a tiny metal bunker sitting on a huge mountain ledge below Andorra’s highest mountain. While it was no doubt a bed bug haven, staying there would be an iconic GR11 experience.

I strode through the woods on powergear determined to get a place in the Baiau refuge. But once roots and rocks were replaced by mountain meadows, I couldn’t help but saunter. This wilderness was beautiful. A heard of free-roaming horses grazed peacefully next to the train. I stared longingly at the adorable coal-black and palomino foals that lay snoozing next to their mommas. One can never stroke too many velvety muzzles in this life.

My peaceful strolling was rudely interrupted by a heart-stopping encounter. In the exact same fashion as on the John Muir Trail, my breath caught in my throat, and I hollered “HOI!” as I twisted myself in midair away from the snake I was about to step on. The snake was equally freaked out and leapt off the ground in a panic to slither away through the grass. It didn’t look like a poisonous specimen, so I ran after it to document the exotic moment. I could practically hear it shout “FUCK OFF WOMAN!” as it out-slithered me at running pace.

I was standing at the bottom of an enormous mountain basin. Black peaks crowned the outcrop rising in the middle, where I caught sight of Refugi de Baiau as a small white speck at the top, nestled at 2500m. The temperature seemed to drop every other minute as I climbed. The trail got soggier and crossed a little lake beneath the refuge. I was the first person to reach it for the day. A white, bread-shaped metal bunker, extremely tiny but in spectacular surroundings. Nine narrow bunk beds lined the walls in three levels, leaving only a strip of old floorboards and a tiny table at the inner end. I seized a middle bunk to avoid the iron roof and dirty floor. I tried my best to not think about bed bugs as I spread my sleeping bag over the thin mattress. It was cold enough despite the dim sunlight that I had to wear all my clothes and snuggle up in my sleeping bag to stay comfy.

One by one, my trail family and verious others trickled in. The refuge filled up all nine bunks long before dinnertime. The tiny space was bursting with merry hiker conversations as I cooked up two noodle packets for dinner (I swore these would be my last ones). However, Marc and I eyed one another nerviously as an additional young couple came in. Then an older man. Then a group of three. We were now 14 people in a tin of sardines barely designed to fit nine. There wasn’t any space for more than half of us to sit at the table or stand on the floor at any given time, so anyone with a bunk had to lie in it or go outside in the cold.

I lay lazily in bed with my book when someone opened the door and shouted “Guys, come and look!”. We spilled out and gasped in astonishment. The entire valley lay bathed in the most splendid sunset any of us had ever seen. Everything was covered in molten gold, the refuge glowed like a diamond against the apricot evening sky. Everyone reached for their phones in a frenzy to immortalise the wonder. No angle or setting could possibly capture the feeling of being there in the dazzling light. We ooh’ed and aah’ed until the sun finally sank below the mountains.

Witnessing that miraculous sunset only served to hammer in the point I always make about thru-hiking – but also life in general: always opt for the choice that will bring you the most memories. Say yes, lean in, go out, do the little extra. If you don’t, you will inevitably miss out on life. Fomo is helpful as it drives action.

Back in the refuge, everyone was laughing at the pure chaos. No inch of floor was free from hiker or gear. I peered down at Mark who lay below me, and we winked at one another in a silent treaty of snorer-eviction. It was an absurd situation but decidedly a memorable one. Today was wild and tomorrow would be wilder still.