After several moments enjoying the view, staring at the plaque dedicated to the guy who died climbing it and trying to identify different points on the map at the top, we decided to head down.
Following a couple of others down we found the route down surprisingly easy and it was only when we got back to the point where we’d started dragging ourselves up rocks that we found that we’d decided, accidentally to take the hardest walking route. Further down we found a family sitting there with an exasperated child asking in French, how much further. The woman, who must have heard us speaking in English asked us, in English, how far it was. We said about half an hour to 45 minutes. She turned around and told her son, in French, ten minutes more. Oh the joys of bilingual lying