Who knew that megaliths, menhirs, dolmen, and cromlechs lay just a few minutes away from our place in the Pays Basque?  I described some that we saw in Brittany in my post A Brief Trip up the West Coast of France - Quiberon.  Those were certainly impressive as were the associated museums that explained how they came to be.   But yesterday, we came upon local prehistoric structures during a hike in the Pyrenees just across the Spanish Border.  

Our friends Elaine and Jean-Luc invited us to visit Sare, a small Basque village at the foot of the Pyrenees where they claimed we could find the best gateau Basque in the region.  If the weather was nice, they proposed a short hike/walk from the village up towards the GR10 for some picturesque views, followed by a visit to the witches village, followed by a hike in an area they had recently discovered.  The GR10  is the Grande Randonnee trail that runs from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean along the Pyrenees - about 900 km (560 miles).  

We had agreed that if the weather was bad, we'd visit the famous caves of Sare and those in the witches' village.  As it turned out, the day was  overcast but comfortable, with the temperature about 70 degrees (20 C) - perfect weather for a hike.  Rain was forecast for late that night into the next day.  We decided to pass on the caves for this trip.

Karen and I encountered heavy Sunday morning traffic getting to Ciboure where we were to meet up with Elaine and Jean-Luc, so it was a bit later than expected when we left their place to begin our explorations.  After a 15 minute drive, we were in Sare.

Parking on a side street, we followed the signs towards the GR10.  Not far into our walk, we realized that there was a mountain bike competition going on as riders descended the trail at breakneck speeds towards the finish line on the fronton in the village.  We spoke to some of the trail monitors who told us that only about half the field had passed them so far.  So instead of continuing up the trail, we made our way back to the village where we realized we were hungry.  We visited all of the open restaurants but couldn't resist the tempting dishes we saw being served on the terrace of the Hotel Arraya.  The service and  food were excellent and as often happens with French meals, wine and dessert extended what was supposed to be a brief stop into a 2-hour lunch. 

After exploring the village, we stopped at a cafe across the small plaza from the Church of the Assumption for coffee (sparkling water for me), and our gateau Basque which was as good as promised.  We took the narrow road up the hill a short distance to the place where Elaine and Jean-Luc had hiked before.  They suggested we try a different trail, one on the right (west) side of the road.  There was a large sign in Spanish, Basque and French that described several trails.  Looking at the time, the thickening clouds, and recognizing that we had probably had too much food, we decided on a 5 km loop.  We didn't even think about what the red, 'pi'-like symbol was at the top, but were surprised to find that there would be megaliths along the trail.

​We started out on what looked like a well traveled path, but as we turned up the hill past an abandoned bergerie, the trail thinned and markings were hard to find.  We pushed on, assuming we had to get to the saddle on the top of the ridge.  Along the way, we passed groups of Potoks, the small horses that live in the Pyrenees.  

Once we reached the middle of the saddle, we couldn't easily determine whether to turn right or left.  I went left, Jean-Luc went right and about 100 yards from the saddle, Jean-Luc found a trail marker so we went that way.  If you go, when you reach the saddle, turn right (west).  Thereafter, the trail markers were easy to find. 

Climbing towards the west peak of the saddle, we had not only spectacular views of the French coastline and La Rhune, but of Spain to the south and the Pyrenees to the east.  We began our descent into a beautiful valley.  

Near the bottom of the hill, we saw our first marker for cromlechs.  Before I continue, let me give you a few definitions.  A menhir or megalith is an upright stone.  Most are flat.  Notable ones are several feet high, but sometimes they can be quite small.  A dolmen is a structure build of megaliths.  They usually have at least two upright stones with a flat capstone on top.  Most were used as burial tombs.  Some of the ones we saw in Brittany were huge.  It seemed like a feat of engineering to raise the capstones, but in fact, the process was quite simple.  After the side stones were placed, they filled the space between and around with dirt.  They  dragged the capstone onto the top of the mound, positioning it above the 'walls'.  Finally, they dug out the earthen mound leaving a stone structure - no pulley needed to raise a stone weighing many tons several feet to place it on top.  

Finally, a cromlech is a circle of menhirs or megaliths.  Stonehenge is probably the most well-know cromlech.  It appears no one knows exactly what cromlechs were used for.  At least that's the case outside the Basque region.  Theories abound.  But in the Basque region, archaeologists have concluded that these are burial site markers, often with a dolmen in the center.  Most of these structures were built between 4000 and 2000 B.C..

Continuing on our hike, we saw the marker for the cromlechs, but the cromlechs themselves weren't easy to spot.  Unlike Brittany where these monuments are well-maintained, those before us were buried in the ferns and tall grasses.  Plus, after 5,000 years of neglect in lightly traveled areas, most of the structures have fallen down or been eroded by the elements and severe storms of the Pyrenees.  Somehow though, finding these structures out in the middle of nowhere seemed more authentic.   ​

Leaving the cromlechs, we continued south along the trail through meadows, crossing streams, and entering the forest after the trail turned east to begin our loop back.  We passed a few bergeries and with the thickening clouds, began to wonder if we'd make it back before the rain started.  As we passed the 5 km point as indicated by Karen's Garmin, we still seemed to be quite far from our starting point.  But the trail was well-marked and there really weren't any alternatives unless you were a mountain goat, so we pressed on.

We crossed a boulder-filled creek next to a small waterfall and soon found ourselves on the edge of a the ridge that would lead us back to the car.   As we passed one final bergerie, the first few drops began to fall, but the car was in sight.    We got into the car, closed the doors, and the sky opened up.  Somehow even with the morning delays, the long lunch, and some trail misdirection, we'd timed it perfectly.  The hike was a bit over 6 km (not 5 km as promised by the sign), and it had taken us 2 hours including pictures and exploration of the cromlechs.  According to the sign, there are 7 km and 10 km monument hikes nearby.  We'll be going back and will allocate more time to explore.

I recently received a very complimentary email from a surfer/entrepreneur who had just read The Silicon Lathe.  He appreciated the parallels I tried to draw between extreme sports and trying to succeed in the Silicon Valley.  He spoke extensively about how the book accurately depicts the cutthroat competition of the Silicon Valley, especially for a young, idealistic entrepreneur.  But I think I most appreciated his comments about my treatment of surfing: "This is one of the truest descriptions of surfing I've ever read.  I made my wife read it and now she gets it."

Actually, I think he's wrong,  what I wrote isn't most intriguing example of surfing I've ever read (or written), and I'm pretty sure that without actually surfing, his wife doesn't really get it, but I thought I'd post one of the surfing excerpts here (there are several in the book, most more uplifting):

From The Silicon Lathe:

Surfing is not what most people think it is.  Films and popular culture have presented it as either Beach Blanket Bingo-like parties on the beach with everyone sharing waves, surf odysseys where you meet friendly people around the world as you search for the perfect wave, or hard core life-threatening big wave surfing, where one mistake means certain death.
In reality, surfing is much less romantic. 

First and foremost, it is the hardest sport I’ve ever tried.  You’re skiing intermediate and advanced slopes after a week or two of trying.  You can be soaring a hang glider within a couple of months of your first run down a sand dune.  You can be paddling intermediate Class 3 whitewater after several days on a river.  But with surfing, after two or three years of practicing every day, you might be an intermediate level surfer. 


Part of this is strength, conditioning, teaching your body to do something unnatural, learning the timing of the breaking waves and understanding the differences between waves on a beach break, reef breaks, and points.  You also need to know about tide changes, rip tides, wind forecasts, storm and swell prediction, and even water pollution levels which rise on the season’s first big swell or first major rain, both of which wash decaying matter from the hillsides and beaches into the ocean. I’ve already mentioned sharks.  But more than that, it’s cutthroat competition.  There are tens of thousands of surfers and they all expect to catch every wave that rolls in. 


Most surf spots have locals.  These are the surfers who surf there every day.  Take a wave that ‘belonged’ to a local, and you will be physically attacked by his friends when you get out of the water.  Your car will be vandalized; your girlfriend threatened.


Even when you’re a local, there are often so many people in the water that you’ll be lucky to get more than five waves in an hour.  With fifty-degree water and wind, even with your wetsuit, you get out of the water so cold that you can’t put your fingers together.  You might even have to ask a stranger to open the door to your car because you can’t grip and turn the key yourself.   And then there are the bad days. 

You paddle out, almost reaching the lineup – the place just outside the breaking waves where you wait to catch the oncoming swells, and a much larger than normal set of waves approaches.  You use all your strength to try to paddle over the wave, but it breaks on top of you.  You think this is okay because you and your board have punched through the wall of the wave and you are in the sunlight beyond.  Unfortunately, the force of the wave and the vacuum created as it tubes and barrels towards the beach grabs hold of your feet which are not all the way through.  The wave sucks you back into the hollowed hole from the collapsing tube and you are rolled over and over for what seems like minutes, even though it is only twenty or thirty seconds.  You finally get free of the wave’s clutches and float to the surface.  You quickly grab a breath as the next wave in the set breaks right in front of you.  You attempt to duck dive, to force you and your buoyant board deep under the oncoming wave, but when it’s big, you can’t get down deep enough.  The wave grabs you and your board and hurls you shoreward in a mass of churning whitewater.  You’re thrown upside down, sideways, in circles, sometimes bouncing off the bottom, stuffing your sinuses with water that will flow freely from your nose later in the day when you bend over to kiss someone.  When you finally escape this wave, there are more.  You may successfully duck dive, but with each successive wave, you lose more ground; you’re almost back to the beach. 


On a bad day, it’s all about luck and timing.  You try to paddle out again, and just as you reach the lineup, you repeat the experience.  After several times, you’re exhausted. Shoulders ache. Arms refuse to move.  As you try to get speed to paddle over the next set, you’re too weak and it just gets worse and worse.  In spite of all the energy expended, you’re now cold.  You’ve spent more time below the water than above it and the wetsuit doesn’t help much.  Tired and cold, if you’re a real surfer, you don’t give up.  Ultimately, you luck out, there’s a longer lull than normal and you make it out to a chorus of, “Man, you really got worked in there!”  And now you face the competition for waves. 


Maybe you get lucky.  Maybe your friends feel sorry for you and let you have one of the best waves of the day.  You drop to the bottom of the overhead wave and look upwards.  You aim your board at the feathering lip and feel the acceleration of you and your board as you rise upwards to meet it.  With perfect timing, your board and the wave meet and the falling water forces you back to the bottom.  You repeat this over and over.  It’s a dance.  You’re in perfect harmony.  You look down the line of the wave and you see a concave section ahead.  It’s already starting to pitch over.  You have a choice.  You could turn down and safely end your ride as the rest of the wave closes out ahead.  Instead, you go for it, crouching, then extending your body forward to add speed.  As you reach the edge of the concavity, you squat low and sure enough, you’re inside the wave with small window of light out ahead.  You hold on and pop out a few seconds later to imagined cheers from the beach.  Of course, no one saw it.  The guys in the lineup can’t see the front of the wave and are looking at the next ones in the set anyway.  It’s yours and only yours, and somehow even for just one perfect wave, the struggle and fatigue and stuffed sinuses were worth it.