Not all circuses have clowns. Some, like the one in Gavarnie, only have giant mountains that look at each other as if competing to see which is the highest. From my doggy height, I vote for the one on the left.

Today we set off at a decent time - although, between you and me, it was thanks to the time change rather than our eagerness to get up early. Half a turn of the clock and, hey presto, we seem to be on time. In one go we arrived in Gavarnie, a name that sounds like a fairy tale and a roller coaster all in one. Daddy Edu says we've come to see the Cirque de Gavarnie. "No clowns, eh?" he clarifies straight away, as if he sees me waiting for juggling or an elephant balancing on a ball. This circus is something else: a natural rock amphitheatre, one of the largest in Europe, with walls that touch three thousand metres. And I thought my bed was high when I jump on it.

But of course, to see it up close you have to walk for a good while. And as hunger gnawed at our stomachs (Daddy Edu's more than mine), we decided to leave the big excursion for tomorrow. Before that, we drove up to the Col de Tentes, at over two thousand two hundred metres altitude. From there you can walk to the Port de Boucharo, right on the border with Spain. Daddy explained that in the old days shepherds, smugglers and pilgrims used to cross there... I listened attentively, although I confess that "smugglers" sounded like "dog-smugglers" and I imagined a gang of dogs passing sausages from one side to the other.

Unfortunately, dogs are not welcome in that area of the National Park. "Regulated Zone", says the sign. Daddy sighed, got out of the car, took some photos of the landscape and that was about it. I stayed guarding the campervan, which is my speciality. Then we went back down towards the valley.

Outside the regulated zone there are cool places to park, eat or sleep, but there is no phone signal there. So we went on a bit further and found a great spot just west of the village. It's not a campsite, nor a paid car park, but a kind of abandoned quarry, with views that take your breath away (and your bark). We parked there and ate warm. With good coverage and all the bars of possible tranquility.

In the afternoon, we went on an excursion. We went down a path that looks like part of the Way of St. James. I jumped puddles, sniffed a thousand things and guided Daddy like a good dog-pilgrim. We passed through the village - quite quiet, or as Daddy says, "dead" - and saw a waterfall roaring like a dragon with a cough. Then we went back along the road, about five kilometres in total. A short little route, but full of fresh air and cold mountain wind.

We got to the car before six o'clock. With the winter time, the sun hides quickly, as if it's in a hurry to get into bed. Outside the wind is blowing, as if coming straight from Siberia, but inside the campervan the air smells of hot soup and happiness.

Tonight we'll sleep here, sheltered by the rocks. If the wind sings too much, I can always snuggle closer to Daddy. After all, there are no clowns, but this natural circus already has its own show.