For some reason I didn't think it would be particularly hard to get back on the road. In truth it was plenty hard enough and I am plenty tired enough (and one, no two, Martini Rossos down) as I write this.
As we left this morning the cheery hostel keeper said 'the sun is coming today!'. (Turns out we met him walking last year on the Camino Frances - when I asked him if he had indeed walked it last year he said 'of course, I do it every year').
The sun did come out, but not until we had been properly tipped on on the top of the pass. I was slightly peer pressured into taking the high route, 'for alpinist pilgrims', as the sign said. It must have been very beautiful on a sunny day as it seemed there was rivers or sea on all sides and a 360 view back across to France in one direction, and onward to Spain in the other.
Plenty of ups and downs and once we were lower and our breath had stopped smoking and everything was beginning to dry, it was a lovely walk.
Full marks to the voluminous lime green poncho (thanks Dad) which somewhat hampered my ability to get through narrow gaps but definitely made the downpour less troublesome.
Late morning with the worst of the walk cracked we walked into a tiny ancient port village that I had visited I think 5 years ago with Laurie, my Boston friend. Two coffees, pinxos (bar snacks) a plenty, we were ready to tale the ferry across the river and face the last 10k along the beautiful and now mostly dry coast path to San Sebastian.
...which is a really cracking town. Two beautiful sweeps of beach, a lovely old town, and a typically odd youth hostel managed by a grumpy lady who shouted at me for skipping the queue, and was disgusted by my choice to stay with the group ie in a mixed sex dorm. ('There won't just be these men. There will be other men too!').