Le Gughe

I am afraid of heights.

Once I had no fear of heights. I walked the parapets of Salisbury Cathedral, I strode across mountainsides like the proverbial goat and I shinned up lighting towers with nary a thought of what disasters could and might befall me (the emphasis being on the "fall" part there).

This all changed one day when I decided I would drive through the Pyrennees to Spain. We were on one of those camping holidays I may have mentioned in previous posts. Wife, two daughters and myself were camped in the western Pyrennees. Opposite our tent were camped a number of Spanish families and the idea crept into my head that we were so near Spain that we could easily cross the frontier from where we were. Even now, the stupidity of what I did next still scares me.

I decided to drive over the mountains and didn't even consider the use of the coastal approach. I looked at the map and the road was certainly serpentine but there wasn't much chance of taking the wrong turning. In those far off days, I didn't really go in for altitude readings or contours. We set off early in the morning in our family saloon, which may have been a Nissan in those days. A great deal of detail has been removed by the terror which was to overcome me later in the day.

I did the driving as I was wont to do at the time, Ingrid was relieved of her usual navigation duties in the front passenger seat and the two girls hunkered down in the back seats. I loved the early stages and the ascent was exciting. The mountain sides soared above us on the left and going up we had to drive on the right of course and the driver's position is on the right of the car. (I had to stop while writing there to lay down on the floor and take deep steadying breaths) I got wonderful views of the valleys below unobscured by the tiny stone walls built along the edge of the roads. Occasionally we would pass through tunnels or stone arches. There was one point at which I delightedly pointed out to the girls a shepherd perched on the stone wall with his goats on the other side away from the road. They were remarkably unimpressed as children often are in the back of the car which seems to have been going nowhere for hours.

It may have been at this point, though I can no longer be sure, that the icicles of doubt began entering my mind. I was beginning to tire of the strain of keeping the car on the road. Too many of the bends to the left had nothing but blue sky in front of them and I began to slow down more and more as I approached them. The sections with right bends showed the road ahead clinging to the mountain. (I have just had to wipe the palms of my hands as they have become very sweaty). There were occasional panoramic viewpoints with minimal parking space but I slowly realised that I couldn't stop but had to keep going until I got to the top of the mountain or at least the pass or col before going down the other side. What if the other side was an exact copy of this side? The car was now unhappy at the low gears continually being selected and I began to wonder if I had spent enough time and attention on its mechanical upkeep - especially the tyres, the brakes, the gear box.....

How long this continued I don't know but it seemed like the proverbial lifetime! My wife became aware of my distress but there was nothing she could do. The drivers behind became impatient as you can imagine. Finally the col was in sight and there was just one stretch of road to complete before we could reach the buildings whose roofs we could see. There was now no mountain side on our left but a small alpine rise and a small steeply inclined alpine meadow to our right before you came to the precipitous drop down to France many, many metres below. Imagine the desperation as I neared the sanctuary.... only to see a herd of long horned cattle wander off the alpine rise to the left on to and into the road where they stopped. Despite the parping of car horns the creatures with their own horns refused to budge. At one stage I actually got out of my car to scream at them in anger, frustration and fear. This seemed to amuse the drivers coming down the mountain from the other side and the ones now lined up behind me. They gestured that I should get back in my car and drive slowly at the cows. I did and had to edge my car around a large steer as a car from the other side edged towards my side of the road. I do not know how I managed to get past the cow as my wheels touched the very edge of the meadow to our right and even now my mind refuses to return the memory from the unconscious to the conscious. I only know that we succeeded in reaching the car park outside the chalet, which offered refreshments, in the col. The col was about the size of a football pitch with building, car park and alpine meadow complete with cows and horses. The road we had just come up was now out of sight around bend to our right if we looked back and the road ahead was round another bend to our right. The view was stunning! I parked the car, stepped outside and literally threw myself to the ground. I lay on the ground because I knew that if I stood up I would make it easier for the overwhelming urge to throw myself over the nearest edge, that was pulsating through me, to take over. That urge to jump has remained with me in high places ever since.

Ingrid had to drive down the other side of the mountain and that is when we discovered her ears have problems with high altitudes. She is subjected to lots of pain. But she drove down the mountain - on the more alpine side admittedly. I have since learned that mountains are like that - a sheer drop side and an alpine side. Meanwhile I cowered and whimpered in the passenger seat. Going down the mountain the right hand drive car has the driver next to the rocks on the mountain side and the passenger has the other side of the road before the drop. I think that is what probably kept me sane enough to descend - otherwise I may still have been up that mountain. Eventually as we descended we came to a junction where we would have to ascend some more if we were to make Spain or descend to the Valleys of France and return at almost sea level if by a more circuitous route back to our campsite. My fear and Ingrid's eardrums and the unpleasantness of the experience at the top of the mountain made the decision easy to make. We returned to the tent but I was a changed man.

Ever since I have had this fear of high places.