Touched by the Hand of God - The 'DSM' magazine

“We're going on a short holiday to Pau.” Said Anna, my wife. 

“Why and where is Pau?” said I.

“It's somewhere my mum has always wanted to visit and it's near the Pyrenees.” said she.

“Is your mother coming?” Said I, trying not to sound anxious.

So it was, we found ourselves driving 85km from the Spanish border to Pau, not 'Pow', 'Payoo' or 'Poo', but 'Po' (as in the red Teletubby or a chamber pot). It was a grey old day so the Pyrenees were shrouded in clouds.

Anna had booked an Airbnb in the centre of the town which looked lovely on the internet, but was, rather alarmingly, situated above a Cuban nightclub Habanita Chic. 

After a wander around the town, including the impressive Château de Pau, a sizeable Greek meal, several glasses of wine (with sundries), it was bedtime. Habanita Chic only had one customer (it was a Tuesday), but that didn't stop the pounding Cuban music... which continued until 2am. It seemed to be the same song on a continual loop. 

The next day we decided to visit Lourdes (which was just down the road) to drive out the evil spirits living within Anna. The town itself was quite touristy selling statuettes and water containers of every shape and size. As we followed the masses clutching their water bottles we rounded the corner and there was the Basilica (which looked similar to Sleeping Beauty's castle in Disneyland). 

We didn't know much about Lourdes other than an apparition of the Virgin Mary appeared (eighteen times), to a 14 year-old peasant girl called Bernadette, in a grotto, telling her the water from the spring would heal the sick and to build a church (why it took eighteen rendezvous to communicate this wasn't clear). 

And what a church it is. At ground level is the Rosary Basilica, on top of that the Upper Basilica and above that the Crypt, a Basilica sandwich, if you will. Complying with strict Covid rules we wandered round the different layers looking for the famous Grotto. 

We were passed by a line of people being pushed in old fashioned bath chairs. It was hard to know if they were coming or going from being dipped. We found the Grotto under the rock the church is built on, with holy spring, replica Virgin Mary and praying pilgrims it really was a spiritual place, whatever your beliefs. 

Wandering by the side of the river, I thought the sun had come out but it was a forest of burning candles lit in memory of loved ones. These were not the usual night lights you get at the back of a cathedral. You could pay 500 euros for a candle the size of a small tree trunk!

That night I prayed for a miracle, but I was not in luck, the salsa beat came pounding through the floor.

The next day we did the touristy thing: we walked along Pau's Boulevard des Pyrenees which would have offered 'countryside views and mountain panoramas'...had it not been cloudy, bit of shopping (Anna bought a beret, which made her look like a member of the PARAs), we visited the local art gallery, carried out a reconnaissance on a Indian restaurant for that evening, drank a lot of coffee and beer and watched the good people of Pau go about their business. 

As we were enjoying our 'plat du jour' (burger and chips), Anna became enraged that a gentlemen at another table was listening to loud music on his mobile phone. She was convinced it was the proprietor of Habanita Chic, but it wasn't. I explained she was experiencing anger through sleep deprivation, but agreed the music was very loud and completely selfish. 

The next day, after a good four hours sleep, it was time to head home. As I was lifting our suitcase into the back of the Sandero I looked up and between two high rise blocks, I saw the Pyrenees. Just a small bit, but so clear. We jumped in the car and drove to the Boulevard des Pyrenees where we had the most wonderful panoramic view of the mountains in all their glory. I tried to take photos of the spectacle, but it is one of those things you can't capture in a picture...we just stood and marvelled at the incredible sight. 

I had had a moment of serenity looking at the mountains...I was a changed man...I even agreed to stop off at the Ikea in Bordeaux on the way home (not the best place to go when experiencing sleep deprivation, but the lure of the meatballs won over).