Sunday, November 17, 2013

Jaca, Spain (gateway to the Pyrenees), May 8 and 9, 2013

If I could runaway and hide anywhere in the world, Jaca would be in my top three.
Gateway to the Pyrenees. Every hilltop in northern Spain is topped with a centuries-old village and cathedral.

Escarilla, Huesca, Spain, about 15K south of the French border. 

Ski area of Formigal, which looked similar to Alta in terms of challenge, vertical and terrain, but with a serious, and endless, side-country that Alta would wet itself for. Oh, and no 1 million+ population a mere 20 miles away. 

Nice welcome sign to France. 

I hear the French don't give a shit . . . the tagging of the border patrol headquarters might just prove it. But what the hell do I know? I'm from the emigration-paranoid, tea-party hot bed of Utah.  
!Te quiero Espana!

Lanuza, Spain.

Our hotel in Jaca, at the base of the Pyrenees.

The Pyrenees make the Wasatch look like foothills for nose-pickers. We saw about 1/500 of the range during a 20 mile drive over to the French side of the range, and I saw hundreds (thousands?) of ski lines, all bigger, steeper and more committing than almost anything in the Central Wasatch. 

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