The following day we took the winding road due north from Jaca into France. We followed the road through the small, picturesque towns of Urdos, Etsaut, Cette and Eygun. The mountain houses on both sides of the border are charming: tall, sturdy wood and stone structures with massive wood shutters. Brilliant red geraniums spill from every window box. The countryside opens out into wide, treeless alpine stretches that turn into cross-country ski areas in winter. Small herds of chestnut-colored draft horses, on summer vacation, wandered the roads and fields. The short green grass is a carpet of flowers: pink lillium and heather, white alpine yarrow and reddish thistle. Near the boggy stream sides, long leaved butterwort was a bright chartreuse contrast to the darker grass around them.
Alpine chough (pronounced chuff) and red-billed chough eddied and called in huge black flocks above us. They would land on the roadside, then take off in swirling clouds as a car approached. Northern wheatear bobbed on house-size rocks. We also had good looks at carrion crow, European serin, goldfinch, citril finch, common crossbill, great grey shrike, rock thrush, common raven and linnet.
At the rocky pass where Espana becomes Francia, there is only a small stone marker in the parking lot with an "E" on the Spain side and an "F" on the France side. A small simple house tucked into the rocks at the summit advertised goat cheese for sale. Dozing in the warm sun, shaggy goats balanced on the narrow windowsills of the house. As we topped a hill and looked down into France, paragliders hung in the warm air below us, looking like brightly colored toys.
The sun was setting as we headed back to the lowlands. Just outside of Jaca in the deep dusk a flock of corn buntings flew across the road and disappeared into a grassy field.
We left Jaca the next day and moved farther south, into the Rioja area of Spain. This area is flatter and more agricultural than the north, producing the grapes for world-renowned red wines. We stopped in the small wine country town of Alfaro, which prides itself for having the world's largest urban white stork rookery. The tile roof of the ancient, rambling cathedral in the center of the town is home to countless white storks. Hundreds could be seen flying out early in the morning and returning to huge, twiggy nests at dusk. The people are very proud of their birds and we were presented with a beautiful photo album of stork pictures at the small restaurant where we had dinner, I think simply because we voiced sincere interest.
An early morning walk along the wooded path that follows the Rio Alhama was productive for more birds. This small, slow river meanders past fields of neat rows of purple and green artichokes. We saw house martins, barn swallows, European goldfinch decked out in red, gold and white and grey herons. A hummingbird hawkmoth fed convincingly on a buddliea using its bill-like proboscis, hovering and moving from blossom to blossom. We had to keep reminding ourselves that there are no hummingbirds in Europe, though he was quite convincing.
One last booted eagle scanning the grassy fields from his perch on a power pole was our final tick on an unforgettable birding trip.
