Day 21. April 21, 2011. Auch to Montesquiou (31.7 kms).
I visited the magnificent Gothic cathedral at Auch. I sat in absolute silence. Two pigeons fluttered around in the vault like lost souls trying to find the light.
There is nothing to compare with the beauty of shape and form of the great cathedrals of Europe. And there is a presence here, human, if not divine, of the workers who spent more than a hundred years building this place, and left their mark in the gargoyles and sometimes in crude carvings, and of the people who worshipped here in times of war and pestilence over the centuries.
The Choir is a marvel with114 carved wooden misericords.
Today there was still no rain, but the weather is changing. We are now at least ten on the road: Patrick and I, the Norwegian ladies, a Dutch girl, an Icelander, and two French couples.
We walk separately for the most part, but find each other from time to time, at a bar or by the side of the road. This is one of the pleasures of the Camino.
This is foie gras country. As we reached our destination, we passed a field of ducks whose days were numbered, and we discussed whether killing baby seals with a club was crueller than force-feeding birds to make their livers fat.
As it turned out, the farm where seven of us are staying produces foie gras in the traditional way, with grain and corn rather than artificial proteins, but the poor birds are still force-fed. The French maintain they are force-fed in a gentle manner.
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There is nothing to compare with the beauty of shape and form of the great cathedrals of Europe. And there is a presence here, human, if not divine, of the workers who spent more than a hundred years building this place, and left their mark in the gargoyles and sometimes in crude carvings, and of the people who worshipped here in times of war and pestilence over the centuries.
The Choir is a marvel with114 carved wooden misericords.
Today there was still no rain, but the weather is changing. We are now at least ten on the road: Patrick and I, the Norwegian ladies, a Dutch girl, an Icelander, and two French couples.
We walk separately for the most part, but find each other from time to time, at a bar or by the side of the road. This is one of the pleasures of the Camino.
This is foie gras country. As we reached our destination, we passed a field of ducks whose days were numbered, and we discussed whether killing baby seals with a club was crueller than force-feeding birds to make their livers fat.
As it turned out, the farm where seven of us are staying produces foie gras in the traditional way, with grain and corn rather than artificial proteins, but the poor birds are still force-fed. The French maintain they are force-fed in a gentle manner.
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Day 22. April 22, 2011. Montesquiou to Marciac (23.6 kms).
I set out this morning to the song of a black bird.
I think that if I were a believer I would be a pantheist. I have elusive bits of Wordsworth floating around in my head about "jocund company" and the plants and animals enjoying the air they breathe.
Certainly, this blackbird was enjoying life. And I have seen young lambs and goats cavorting around and having such fun. And a swan clucking contentedly with her little cygnets.
I have never understood why the fundamentalists have such a problem with evolution. There is surely a life force operating here which they could see as the manifestation of God.
I came to a bridge which a man was repairing. I tried to make a joke about his being the guardian of the bridge and asked if I had his permission to pass?
“I just work here,” he said.
That reminded me of my daughter Rachel's story about trying to busk outside a liquor commission, and being told by a couple of panhandlers to move on because they were working there.
As I thought about the meaning of life, I lost my way. A farmer stopped to give me directions, and we chatted about the weather. We hoped for rain for him but not for me.
After an easy walk, we arrived at the gîte. We are having couscous for dinner. Had we arrived yesterday, we would have had couscous. If we arrived tomorrow, we would have couscous. Couscous is served 365 days a year and 366 in a leap year. Don't ask me why.
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I think that if I were a believer I would be a pantheist. I have elusive bits of Wordsworth floating around in my head about "jocund company" and the plants and animals enjoying the air they breathe.
Certainly, this blackbird was enjoying life. And I have seen young lambs and goats cavorting around and having such fun. And a swan clucking contentedly with her little cygnets.
I have never understood why the fundamentalists have such a problem with evolution. There is surely a life force operating here which they could see as the manifestation of God.
I came to a bridge which a man was repairing. I tried to make a joke about his being the guardian of the bridge and asked if I had his permission to pass?
“I just work here,” he said.
That reminded me of my daughter Rachel's story about trying to busk outside a liquor commission, and being told by a couple of panhandlers to move on because they were working there.
As I thought about the meaning of life, I lost my way. A farmer stopped to give me directions, and we chatted about the weather. We hoped for rain for him but not for me.
After an easy walk, we arrived at the gîte. We are having couscous for dinner. Had we arrived yesterday, we would have had couscous. If we arrived tomorrow, we would have couscous. Couscous is served 365 days a year and 366 in a leap year. Don't ask me why.
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Day 23. April 23, 2011. Marciac to Maubourguet (17.6 kms).
Today is Shakespeare's birthday.
O for a muse of fire that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention.
What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?
We are all crawling between earth and heaven on the Camino. Some are closer to heaven. I am more down to earth.
The German couple has left us to go to Lourdes. They are probably closer to heaven.
We are now six: Patrick, who has taken on the role of booking the accommodation each night, for which we are most grateful; Elisabeth and Marte, the Norwegian ladies whom I mentioned earlier; Anna Maria, the Icelander; Miek, the Dutch lady; and I. A most excellent company of pilgrims!
We walk with another couple as well, Jean-François and Geneviève, who often arrive first at the bar at the end of the day, and make sure that our beers are on the table.
We are all closer to earth than heaven, walking the Camino for our own personal reasons.
We had a spot of rain last night, and this morning the sky was overcast with the sun struggling to appear.
We walked separately, but met up for lunch at a hamlet with a church too big for the little village, and a tower and steeple too big for the church. A few drops of rain drove us to seek shelter.
If rained gently for the rest of the afternoon as we walked into town.
Tonight we are all in a dormitory on demi-pension.
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O for a muse of fire that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention.
What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven?
We are all crawling between earth and heaven on the Camino. Some are closer to heaven. I am more down to earth.
The German couple has left us to go to Lourdes. They are probably closer to heaven.
We are now six: Patrick, who has taken on the role of booking the accommodation each night, for which we are most grateful; Elisabeth and Marte, the Norwegian ladies whom I mentioned earlier; Anna Maria, the Icelander; Miek, the Dutch lady; and I. A most excellent company of pilgrims!
We walk with another couple as well, Jean-François and Geneviève, who often arrive first at the bar at the end of the day, and make sure that our beers are on the table.
We are all closer to earth than heaven, walking the Camino for our own personal reasons.
We had a spot of rain last night, and this morning the sky was overcast with the sun struggling to appear.
We walked separately, but met up for lunch at a hamlet with a church too big for the little village, and a tower and steeple too big for the church. A few drops of rain drove us to seek shelter.
If rained gently for the rest of the afternoon as we walked into town.
Tonight we are all in a dormitory on demi-pension.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Day 24. April 24, 2011. Maubourget to Anoye (21.6 kms).
The unbearable heaviness of pack!
Sometimes when I set out, my pack feels so light that I wonder if I have forgotten something. Not today!
Everything is closed tonight at the village where we are staying, so we had to carry our supper and tomorrow's breakfast with us. That included five bottles of wine that I am aware of. There may be more. By the end of the day I was carrying leaden bricks.
Patrick led us astray today, but said it was meant to happen because when looking for directions he ran into someone who spoke Occitan. He is passionate about his language, and says as we go to sleep, "Bona neit e totas las piusas dins ton leit," thereby wishing fleas upon us rather than bedbugs from us.
We passed some pigs which were running free in a field. Happy pigs! I've seen all the farm animals I would expect to see: horses and cows, sheep and goats, ducks and geese and chooks. And donkeys.
I've seen some more exotic animals as well. A llama, black swans, and two kangaroos. The kangaroos were protected by an electric fence, not to keep the animals in but the humans out.
Electric fences are everywhere in France. You have to be very careful. This morning I was leaning over a fence to pat a horse and almost touched the wire. Quite often the fences are enclosing only an empty field, and are obviously intended to keep people out.
The strangest animal I have seen was a curious snake-like creature that was stretched across the road in front of me in the forest. But it was too long and too thin to be a snake. It was a chenille processenaire, a procession of caterpillars crawling head to toe, appearing as one, across the road. They may be part of the same cycle as the wasp-nest-like cocoon that I've noticed in the pine trees.
As I arrived in town, I passed a sign which said, "Pas de Pub". And there wasn't. And I was desperate for a cold beer. Fortunately, there were some in the fridge at the gîte.
The gîte in Anoye, like others, has helpful translations for foreign guests:
Throw in the toilet only what they have to contain.
If you want to do a laundry, ask the dip pots of washing at the grocery store.
The grocery store of breakdow will be open around 18h.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Sometimes when I set out, my pack feels so light that I wonder if I have forgotten something. Not today!
Everything is closed tonight at the village where we are staying, so we had to carry our supper and tomorrow's breakfast with us. That included five bottles of wine that I am aware of. There may be more. By the end of the day I was carrying leaden bricks.
Patrick led us astray today, but said it was meant to happen because when looking for directions he ran into someone who spoke Occitan. He is passionate about his language, and says as we go to sleep, "Bona neit e totas las piusas dins ton leit," thereby wishing fleas upon us rather than bedbugs from us.
We passed some pigs which were running free in a field. Happy pigs! I've seen all the farm animals I would expect to see: horses and cows, sheep and goats, ducks and geese and chooks. And donkeys.
I've seen some more exotic animals as well. A llama, black swans, and two kangaroos. The kangaroos were protected by an electric fence, not to keep the animals in but the humans out.
Electric fences are everywhere in France. You have to be very careful. This morning I was leaning over a fence to pat a horse and almost touched the wire. Quite often the fences are enclosing only an empty field, and are obviously intended to keep people out.
The strangest animal I have seen was a curious snake-like creature that was stretched across the road in front of me in the forest. But it was too long and too thin to be a snake. It was a chenille processenaire, a procession of caterpillars crawling head to toe, appearing as one, across the road. They may be part of the same cycle as the wasp-nest-like cocoon that I've noticed in the pine trees.
As I arrived in town, I passed a sign which said, "Pas de Pub". And there wasn't. And I was desperate for a cold beer. Fortunately, there were some in the fridge at the gîte.
The gîte in Anoye, like others, has helpful translations for foreign guests:
Throw in the toilet only what they have to contain.
If you want to do a laundry, ask the dip pots of washing at the grocery store.
The grocery store of breakdow will be open around 18h.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Day 25. April 25, 2011. Annoye to Morlaas (15.2 kms).
We stayed last night at a gîte run by a commune which could not possibly have benefitted financially from our presence. There were no shops where we could spend our money. Eight of us paid ten euros each, but this would barely have covered the utility costs of this newly renovated building. One possible benefit to the commune was putting an old building to good use.
We have stayed in hotels, gîtes and chambres d'hôtes.
Hotels are hotels, but sometimes the demi-pension rate is cheap enough to attract us (around 40 euros).
Chambres d'hôtes are bed and breakfasts. They supply towels and sheets. They provide individual rooms and sometimes dormitories. They often offer demi-pension.
Gîtes provide beds in a dormitory or separate rooms, without towels and sheets. Sometimes they offer demi-pension. They may be run by the church, the commune, or private individuals. Sometimes they are set up specifically for pilgrims.
We have stayed on farms, in former presbyteries, in Mairies, in old houses in the centre of town, and in newer houses on the outskirts.
The food has always been good, ranging from a five-course meal with aperitif, to simple farm fare. With one exception, the wine has been excellent as well.
Today was the shortest step I have taken. In fact, we have been spoiled with a series of short walks which end tomorrow. Then will follow a series of long days as we climb into the Pyrenees.
We are still walking across fairly flat agricultural land, through fields of wheat, maize, and canola. Occasionally we pass through wooded country, and we always go through a hamlet or small village during the day.
Usually, first stop on arriving is at the bar where we toss back a cold beer. Today was the Easter Monday holiday and everything was closed down. We scoured the town to find a bar that was open, but to no avail. Finally, we entered a hotel and begged for a beer.
Nor were the restaurants open, nor stores to buy food, so we pooled our resources and managed an apple salad, sardine oil pasta, some cheese, and some cake, all washed down with a nice dessert wine.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
We have stayed in hotels, gîtes and chambres d'hôtes.
Hotels are hotels, but sometimes the demi-pension rate is cheap enough to attract us (around 40 euros).
Chambres d'hôtes are bed and breakfasts. They supply towels and sheets. They provide individual rooms and sometimes dormitories. They often offer demi-pension.
Gîtes provide beds in a dormitory or separate rooms, without towels and sheets. Sometimes they offer demi-pension. They may be run by the church, the commune, or private individuals. Sometimes they are set up specifically for pilgrims.
We have stayed on farms, in former presbyteries, in Mairies, in old houses in the centre of town, and in newer houses on the outskirts.
The food has always been good, ranging from a five-course meal with aperitif, to simple farm fare. With one exception, the wine has been excellent as well.
Today was the shortest step I have taken. In fact, we have been spoiled with a series of short walks which end tomorrow. Then will follow a series of long days as we climb into the Pyrenees.
We are still walking across fairly flat agricultural land, through fields of wheat, maize, and canola. Occasionally we pass through wooded country, and we always go through a hamlet or small village during the day.
Usually, first stop on arriving is at the bar where we toss back a cold beer. Today was the Easter Monday holiday and everything was closed down. We scoured the town to find a bar that was open, but to no avail. Finally, we entered a hotel and begged for a beer.
Nor were the restaurants open, nor stores to buy food, so we pooled our resources and managed an apple salad, sardine oil pasta, some cheese, and some cake, all washed down with a nice dessert wine.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Day 26. April 26,2011. Morlaàs to Lescar (20 kms)
It was raining as we left the gîte. I had to don all my rain gear, jacket, pants, and pack cover, but a little later it stopped, so I had to take it all off again.
It was misty, then overcast, this morning, and the mournful cooing of the cuckoos and doves seemed to overwhelm the more cheerful sounds of the songbirds.
The call of the dove, coo coo, coo, a three-note call, is the call that I remember from childhood in Perth. I think that we have doves in Victoria, but not with the same call.
We passed a very serious pilgrim going in the other direction - to Rome. He had more than 2,200 kms and two months to walk. He was just starting out.
In the afternoon it lightened up, and we walked through a forest, around the outskirts of Pau, along a river into Lescar, and and then climbed up to the cathedral to find our gîte.
The cathedral is magnificent. Romanesque, it sits firmly on the ground in its light brown stone, broad and solid. Inside, I noticed that 53 soldiers from this town had died in the First World War. In every village, we pass the Monument aux Morts. Even the smallest hamlet gave up a large proportion of its young men.
I left my American-European adapter at the last gîte. So that I could continue to charge my phone and receive calls from my loving wife, I walked two or three kilometres out of town to the big box stores and bought another adapter.
I have developed a case of shin splints in one leg. The same thing happened in Spain after the same number of days of walking. I think I just walked it off, and I hope I can do the same with this bout.
A man dropped by our gîte wondering if he could help us in any way. He kindly took my new adapter and cut off the top with his saw so it could receive my phone plug. He also found us a restaurant and drove us there, making two trips in his car. It was another generous act!
We ate in a huge barn of a place. It was a cider house, and we drank cider instead of wine as it was included in the price. The meal sat heavily in my stomach.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
It was misty, then overcast, this morning, and the mournful cooing of the cuckoos and doves seemed to overwhelm the more cheerful sounds of the songbirds.
The call of the dove, coo coo, coo, a three-note call, is the call that I remember from childhood in Perth. I think that we have doves in Victoria, but not with the same call.
We passed a very serious pilgrim going in the other direction - to Rome. He had more than 2,200 kms and two months to walk. He was just starting out.
In the afternoon it lightened up, and we walked through a forest, around the outskirts of Pau, along a river into Lescar, and and then climbed up to the cathedral to find our gîte.
The cathedral is magnificent. Romanesque, it sits firmly on the ground in its light brown stone, broad and solid. Inside, I noticed that 53 soldiers from this town had died in the First World War. In every village, we pass the Monument aux Morts. Even the smallest hamlet gave up a large proportion of its young men.
I left my American-European adapter at the last gîte. So that I could continue to charge my phone and receive calls from my loving wife, I walked two or three kilometres out of town to the big box stores and bought another adapter.
I have developed a case of shin splints in one leg. The same thing happened in Spain after the same number of days of walking. I think I just walked it off, and I hope I can do the same with this bout.
A man dropped by our gîte wondering if he could help us in any way. He kindly took my new adapter and cut off the top with his saw so it could receive my phone plug. He also found us a restaurant and drove us there, making two trips in his car. It was another generous act!
We ate in a huge barn of a place. It was a cider house, and we drank cider instead of wine as it was included in the price. The meal sat heavily in my stomach.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
Day 27. April 27, 2011. Lescar to Oloron Sainte-Marie (32 kms).
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills
From whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from... Jean
Who maketh us a cup of coffee.
We are in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Just after climbing the first hill, a man beckoned us into his garden and offered us coffee and cake. We sat there on his terrace overlooking the mountains and took a welcome break. It was an extraordinary gesture of hospitality! His name was Jean.
We passed a huge stockpile of wood that was being watered by large sprinklers. Apparently it had fallen during a storm in 2009 and had to be kept moist until it could be milled. So much wood had fallen during that storm that it hasn't yet been used up.
We ate lunch at the little village of Lecommande, so named because it was once a centre for the Knights Hospitalier.
At noon, the clock struck twelve, not once but several times, and then launched into a strange tintinnabulation of chimes that lasted for several minutes. It was a strange musical accompaniment to our lunch.
It was a long, long day, up and down through oak, beech and pine forests.
How do I keep going when I'm absolutely buggered?
If I'm climbing, I find myself counting in twenties, up to a hundred, and then another, and another if I can, until I have to stop to catch my breath and let my heart slow down. I'm then a little closer to the top.
If it's getting towards the end of the day, and I'm buggered, and there's still a way to go, I compare it to a distance I know at home.
I used to say to myself, Once more around Wolseley and Welly Crescent. Now I say, Once more around bloody Elk and Beaver Lake!
The French cooked us a superb meal tonight - duck and ratatouille. Quite magnificent! We are not eating simple pilgrims' meals.
Click here to follow the next section of the journey.
From whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from... Jean
Who maketh us a cup of coffee.
We are in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Just after climbing the first hill, a man beckoned us into his garden and offered us coffee and cake. We sat there on his terrace overlooking the mountains and took a welcome break. It was an extraordinary gesture of hospitality! His name was Jean.
We passed a huge stockpile of wood that was being watered by large sprinklers. Apparently it had fallen during a storm in 2009 and had to be kept moist until it could be milled. So much wood had fallen during that storm that it hasn't yet been used up.
We ate lunch at the little village of Lecommande, so named because it was once a centre for the Knights Hospitalier.
At noon, the clock struck twelve, not once but several times, and then launched into a strange tintinnabulation of chimes that lasted for several minutes. It was a strange musical accompaniment to our lunch.
It was a long, long day, up and down through oak, beech and pine forests.
How do I keep going when I'm absolutely buggered?
If I'm climbing, I find myself counting in twenties, up to a hundred, and then another, and another if I can, until I have to stop to catch my breath and let my heart slow down. I'm then a little closer to the top.
If it's getting towards the end of the day, and I'm buggered, and there's still a way to go, I compare it to a distance I know at home.
I used to say to myself, Once more around Wolseley and Welly Crescent. Now I say, Once more around bloody Elk and Beaver Lake!
The French cooked us a superb meal tonight - duck and ratatouille. Quite magnificent! We are not eating simple pilgrims' meals.
Click here to follow the next section of the journey.
