Destination Pyrenees

Our second foray took us deep into the blood-red beating heart of Spain...
Reluctantly relinquishing the cosy coast roads around Valencia, we pushed inwards,
mile after mile of uninhabited landscape our constant companion.

We neared the city of Zaragoza, and at the airport Miki and I said our temporary
goodbyes as the silver bird took me to England and a concert to perform.

A mere two days later. and we are reunited, this time in Pau, the Pyrenees forming a
magnificent honour guard on the horizon to welcome me to this region for the first time.

So on to Tarbes, Miki's family home, and home from home for us. Within a day, the
house was transformed into both art studio and sound studio, Creativity fired by our
surroundings.

The trips begin... up into the Pyrenees, wonderful landscapes and breathtaking views,
strange sights and glimpses of birds of prey lords of the skies these peaks strive to
reach.

The wrongness of a Ski resort before the snows, chair lifts, as though cast around the slopes
by giant hands, In winter, a neccessity, in the last days of Autumn, looking like nothing more than discarded metal and wire carelessly abandoned.

Donkeys and Llamas, this lofty menagerie, wander unchecked across the fields and roads,
this is their domain, we are just passing.
The highest peaks, just glimpsed in the distance, play host to the first snows of winter,
and serve warning of the coming blanket to be thrown over this region for the coming
months.

Still we journey upward, until at its zenith, an abandoned hotel, shuttered, denying
travellers' rest, gazes out alongside us at a view that catches our breath.
Peak after peak, valley after valley stretches out in front of us, into the far distance....
Fresh, pure bubbling water cascades down the mountainside, exhilarating, life affirming.
This, if there ever could be such a place, is God's Country.

Another day in Tarbes and a trip is planned...this time, to Lourdes.
It is to prove, amongst other things, the inspiration for my latest composition,
"The Heretic's Song".

We arrive in this place, so favoured by the religious and afflicted, or both,
and I immediately feel the unease I always do in "holy" places. I have also visited
Jerusalem, and the similarities are striking. I can only describe it as "A quiet
Hysteria"

Thankfully, there are less afflicted here today than normal, but there are enough.
As we park the car, I wonder for a moment if there are more disabled parking spaces
here in Lourdes than in other towns...it would seem a sensible precaution.
I must make it clear that it is not the afflicted themselves that are the subject of my
derision, but the religion that exploits them. My song refers to Lourdes as
"Jesus Disneyland" and that is how I see it. The way they are wheeled into the
"Grotto experience" and subjected to the Holy Water on tap makes my skin crawl.

But surely the worst was yet to come... as we entered the church that has been built
to service the Miracle Industry, I noticed every single wall was covered in plaques,
commemorating individual miracles, but more importantly, commemorating
"thankful donations" by the families of the afflicted.
One child even had the middle name "Bernadette" after the girl who supposedly
saw Mary, which I found strangely convenient. The church is COVERED, without

a gap in these plaques, and all through the crypt too. The line in my
song "It takes
an awful lot of Euros, to get your plaque put up in here" refers to this.
It sits very uneasily with me that a religion that was formed to control the masses
still flourishes in the 21st century as a money-collecting service masquerading as
affirmation of faith. Nevertheless, each to his own, and it was admittedly fascinating

Once back in Tarbes, Miki painted with abandon, wonderful images from her mind, probably unconsciously inspired by the places that we had visited, and I expanded on my embryonic song idea, as it became
“The Heretic’s Song”. At times like this we seem to exist as one,
Feverishly working, apart, yet together. It is a complete joy.

We left Tarbes on an early evening, aiming to greet the dawn in Spain.
Once again we climbed into the great natural barrier between the two countries,
and crossed the border at an abandoned frontier post from a forgotten time.
Soon, our ascent was complete, and, denied further progress, we were plunged into
a tunnel seemingly with no end, hewn from solid pyrenean rock, barely wide enough
to take two vehicles, as juggernauts thundered by us on their way into France.
We inadvertently tried to make ourselves smaller as our car squeezed by these
giant metal missiles. Eventually, emerging into a Spanish night, we began a
graceful descent into the lowlands and home, but the Mountains would always
remain in our hearts.

KEV MOORE