From the Pyrenees to the Mediterranean Sea
Hey, I’m Pablo, NomaTrails’ lead runner. Why do we run the Pyrenees? It’s simple, really. The south of France, we call it home, you see, because it’s still Catalonia, part of our land. For about seven years, I kept thinking we could hold an event, actually, one of our run tours, right across those mountains. It just felt right, you know?
Girona folks, we always look North. We only head to Barcelona if we absolutely have to, honestly, the Pyrenees is where we spend most of our time. Girona’s province holds the highest peaks in our part, and Northern Catalonia – what we call the south of France – feels even more like home than south of Barcelona. It’s just different, isn’t it?
Families here, they hit the mountains. On weekends, it’s totally normal for everyone to go walking, exploring the beautiful places we’ve got. We basically never repeat a route, which means we’ve ended up discovering the entire Pyrenees, at least all of it around Girona, and a big chunk of the French side too. That’s just how we roll.
Figuring out where to run, that was tough. I mean, when I first wanted to organize this big event, we hadn’t nailed down an exact route. While there are classic trails like the GR11 or the GR10, those didn’t quite capture the spirit I was after, you know? We needed something more, something that told a story.
Catalonia adopted me, that’s my story. I came from Costa Rica, and I’m telling you, this is the only place I know where a foreigner truly becomes a local. You just want to be Catalan, speak the language, and you’re in. So, I’ve always been ‘more Catholic than the Pope,’ obsessed with Catalan culture, its classic authors, literature, and poets – I was, actually, thinking back, a pretty strange kid. It was a passion, you know?
One day, on the radio, I heard someone talking about Jacint Verdaguer and his epic poem, The Epic of Canigó. That poem just grabbed me. I dedicated so much time to reading it, almost memorizing it, because I saw it as a geographical tool, incredibly precise, almost proof of time travel. How could anyone, without satellite images, GPS, or even aerial photos, know these valleys, towns, rivers, and mountains so intimately? Verdaguer connected everything, didn’t he?
The poem builds on the idea of a journey. The Queen of the Fairies takes the protagonist to tour the Pyrenees in a flying carriage pulled by deer. And that’s when I decided: I’d follow that carriage, I’d run Verdaguer’s route. My exploration began, you see.
That exploration took time, happy time. I spent it doing what I liked best: running through the mountains, following the valleys, rivers, and paths that Verdaguer describes in his poem. I felt like Dante, but with Verdaguer as my guide, showing me every turn. It was incredible, honestly.
The poet describes so many moments, you know? Our beautiful Pyrenees-to-Med route has countless spots depicted with absolute precision, like the Epilogue he wrote: “Superb abbeys, what has come of you all? Marcevol, Serrabona, Sant Miquel, And crumbling San Marti, who with your strains Of psalms and melody once filled the vale.” He saw it all, didn’t he?
Well, then we had the route, the idea, the concept behind it. We were following what and where, connecting valleys behind a single idea: Canigó. We cross the Tet, Tec, and Ter valleys, all born from the Canigó mountains, from the Pyrenees chain. This route has meaning, a reason, even a political idea for the ancient Catalan nation. It’s deep stuff, isn’t it?
Canigó also symbolizes something profound. It’s a sacred mountain for Catalans from both France and Spain, representing an ancient myth of light. On the summer solstice, the light of Canigó generates a flame, like the Olympics, carried with mirrors throughout Catalonia, leading to a massive celebration in all Catalan places, from Valencia to an Italian city. It’s pure magic, you know?
There’s a song by Joan Manuel Serrat that says, ‘On the night of San Juan, everyone shares their bread, their wife, and their homes.’ I mean, they share their house, their food, and their partner. It’s a night of absolute madness, a night when, if someone wants to do something wrong, then this is the night they have to do it. Total freedom, really.
Canigó connects the entire country. When I say ‘country,’ I mean all of Catalonia. You clearly see Canigó from Girona, and from the Mediterranean Sea, you can spot its snowy peak. For many years, we used to think Canigó was the highest mountain in the entire Pyrenees, because from the stop on its north side – which is a place where we slept one night, actually – it looks like a giant, rising alone. It’s deceptive, isn’t it?
To think that after two days we’ll be at the summit feels almost impossible, but we do it. Generally, if there’s no snow, we ascend in a beautiful way, by following the poem’s verses, our path twisting through the ancient limestone. We really make it happen.
We go North to South. Our aim is to traverse mountains and hit the Mediterranean, with Canigó always our reference point. We pass through three beautiful valleys, as I said before, each reflecting a different verse. Some are in Northern Catalonia, French territory, and others in Southern Catalonia, Spanish territory, but each is a small country in itself. You really feel the shift.
Obviously, you’ll clearly see things, like typically French architecture and more French valleys. But the wine, the food, and obviously the language also change, because in French Catalonia a lot of French is spoken, while in Spanish Catalonia, let’s say, mainly Catalan is spoken. I think this will be really visible to the people who do the itinerary with us. It’s a real experience, you know?
The first day we pass through the Vallespir, the valleys near Prada, where some of the best wines are produced. That night, we sleep in Prada in the house of a good friend who prepares a fantastic dinner for us, right there in his backyard. It’s a truly local, small rural accommodation. Real Catalan hospitality, you won’t forget it.
The next day is the ascent to the Cortalets refuge or the Marialles refuge. The exact route we follow to get to one refuge or the other depends very much on many factors – I think we’ve ascended differently each of the seven times we’ve climbed, actually. The forest is absolutely beautiful and changes depending on the elevation, the path, and the time of year we climb. It’s a really hard and short climb, but it’s worth it because that world at the foot of Canigó is unique. The air is different up there.
You’ve got to experience the mountain refuge atmosphere. It’s not a hotel; it’s a place where we all sleep together, almost like children, but the mountain atmosphere is extraordinary. You can’t get there by motorized means, you know? It’s pure mountain, just us and the peaks.
The next day we get up early and try to climb Canigó. When I say ‘try,’ I mean we’re not sure we can do it; it depends on many factors, like if there’s snow or too much wind, or a sudden Tramuntana whipping through the peaks. In any case, our attitude with the mountain is always one of being cautious and accepting what the day proposes to us. Safety first, always.
In any case, we always look for a way to continue south. We cross the Pyrenees chain, going up to a beautiful place called Plaguillan, which is also described in the poem, and then descend towards the Tek River valley, where a wonderful place awaits us in the town of Prats de Mollo. The landscape really shifts there.
The next day we have to cross the border. We start climbing again and we’ve got a relatively short day to the dump, which is, honestly, extremely horrible. But then we descend through some beautiful green meadows with a slope that’s not too extreme, letting us run and move quickly until we reach the town of Camprodon, which is also right there in the poem. What a contrast, you know?
We’re now getting a little closer to the Mediterranean. This fourth day, the options on the paths open up even more. We’re still going south, but there are so many beautiful places to see. Sometimes we go through the town of Santa Pau, other times we go through Beget, until we finish in Castellfollit de la Roca. We end the day with a short car ride and spend the night again in Girona. Back to base, you know?
This last day marked the arrival to the Mediterranean area. From Girona, we began to move towards Ampordanet, running through the most beautiful medieval villages you have ever seen, each one a postcard, steeped in history. Pure magic, honestly.
The next day we’ll finally reach the extraordinary and beautiful sea, the Mediterranean. Those who see us arrive don’t know where we come from. The story of our route up to this moment would make their mouths drop, a route a local person could only dream of, because, as I said, it’s very complicated to carry out. It’s truly unique, you know?
Many people from Girona and the surrounding area know some of these places. They’ve driven for many hours to reach a valley, and then perhaps in another year or on another occasion, they’ve visited some other place we pass through. But they’ve never been able to connect them all together. They really don’t know the paths that connect them, or maybe they’ve just heard talk of them. We show them how, actually.
It’s true, Girona has an immense mountain tradition. The best runner in the world, Kilian Jornet, is from the province of Girona, you know? A testament to our rugged terrain and the spirit of our people. But even he’d be impressed by this connected route. It’s our heritage.
In any case, this will be our first contact with the sea. The last day will simply be a celebration; we’ll run along the coast and throw ourselves into every beach we find. We’ll be able to retrace with our memory the route we made. A route that’s unique, a route that’s a dream – a dream for me and a dream for all those who have the capacity to recognize it. What a finish, really.