Day 4. April 4, 2011. Montpellier to Montparnaud
Last night I slept right through. Until now, I have been waking up at three or four in the morning and listening to the mumbles and rumbles and snores of my companions.
What a nightmare it is to get in and out of Montpellier! It took me three hours to get to the outskirts.
I was looking for an avenue which seemed to have disappeared to make way for a new tramway when I saw a fellow on the other side of the road, the only person in sight who could give me directions. I dashed across the road and accosted him. He was amazed to see me. I was the second Canadian he had met in the very same spot at the very same time in less than a week. He kept going on about it. I told him his role in life was obviously to wait in that same spot at the same time each day to direct Canadians to Santiago. He walked with me for a while and pointed me in the right direction. Then I got lost again. Someone would send me in one direction and then someone else would say, No, it's that way. It took me three hours to walk ten kilometres.
A little later I experienced the joy that every walker feels when he's off the road, out of the woods, and in a high place, all alone, with the sun shining, the breeze blowing, and the birds singing.
Then I got lost again. And then I took a tumble. At two-thirty, with 20 kms still to go and a bruised knee and a bruised ego, I decided to do the prudent thing and stop half way. But I'm sorry to have dropped behind my two companions.
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What a nightmare it is to get in and out of Montpellier! It took me three hours to get to the outskirts.
I was looking for an avenue which seemed to have disappeared to make way for a new tramway when I saw a fellow on the other side of the road, the only person in sight who could give me directions. I dashed across the road and accosted him. He was amazed to see me. I was the second Canadian he had met in the very same spot at the very same time in less than a week. He kept going on about it. I told him his role in life was obviously to wait in that same spot at the same time each day to direct Canadians to Santiago. He walked with me for a while and pointed me in the right direction. Then I got lost again. Someone would send me in one direction and then someone else would say, No, it's that way. It took me three hours to walk ten kilometres.
A little later I experienced the joy that every walker feels when he's off the road, out of the woods, and in a high place, all alone, with the sun shining, the breeze blowing, and the birds singing.
Then I got lost again. And then I took a tumble. At two-thirty, with 20 kms still to go and a bruised knee and a bruised ego, I decided to do the prudent thing and stop half way. But I'm sorry to have dropped behind my two companions.
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Day 5. April 5, 2011. Montparnaud to Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert (21 kms)
It was a wise decision to stay at Montarnaud last night, not that it was an interesting town. Today it has taken me six hours to arrive here at Saint-Guilhem. Had I continued yesterday I wouldn't have arrived before 8:30 pm. Not a good idea to be benighted in the middle of nowhere.
I am now sitting in a square drinking a beer, with the abbey church in front, a row of arched religious buildings to one side, and medieval houses and shops completing the square. In the middle is one of the most enormous plane trees I've ever seen, six metres in circumference, planted in 1855 and called Le Roi Platane.
The abbey with its cloister is beautiful in its simplicity, so different from the garish churches in parts of Spain.
This a medieval village that reminds me of le Mont Saint-Michel, but is squeezed in a narrow valley rather than confined to an island. And there's hardly anyone here. This is one of the reasons I walk the Camino: to pass through beautiful places like this where the best way to arrive is on foot as pilgrims did in the past.
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I am now sitting in a square drinking a beer, with the abbey church in front, a row of arched religious buildings to one side, and medieval houses and shops completing the square. In the middle is one of the most enormous plane trees I've ever seen, six metres in circumference, planted in 1855 and called Le Roi Platane.
The abbey with its cloister is beautiful in its simplicity, so different from the garish churches in parts of Spain.
This a medieval village that reminds me of le Mont Saint-Michel, but is squeezed in a narrow valley rather than confined to an island. And there's hardly anyone here. This is one of the reasons I walk the Camino: to pass through beautiful places like this where the best way to arrive is on foot as pilgrims did in the past.
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Day 6. April 6, 2011. Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert to Lodève (37 kms).
I am hobbling around at the gîte, having spent the last three hours walking 15 kms along the highway. I had taken another wrong turn! Of the three of us who set out this morning only two have arrived.
Last night I met a 77-year-old, Didier, who was doing his seventh Camino, always the same one, Arles to Santiago, because it was the one he could remember. He said that this was his last one.
I left Saint-Guilhem by the Rue du bout du monde. How apt as it turned out! The climb was perhaps the most spectacular and most difficult I have ever done. It took me four hours in all. Finally, I arrived at a microwave tower on the highest peak in the area. I thought to myself that Didier will never make this climb.
At least 20 people die each year on the Camino in Spain, and I imagine some die in France as well. Those of us who complete the journey spend less time in Purgatory, but if we die on the way, we go straight to heaven. I'm sure that is on Didier's mind.
How glad I am to have worn my leather boots! A couple of days ago I walked through a stream, and today, on the stony paths and rocky slopes, they made the rough places plain.
A word about boots. What to wear: heavy leather or lighter boots? For 15 years I wore a pair of Zamberlans and when they finally gave up the ghost, I bought a pair of Meindels.
The guides suggest you give up your clunkers and wear something light. So for this trip I had bought a pair of Keene mid Targas. Very, very comfortable, but they were almost worn out after walking around town for a year. Would they last the Camino? I was tempted to buy another pair or something similar, but at the last minute I decided to go with leather and bought a pair of Asolos. So far they have served me well.
Lighter boots are more comfortable and I'm sure they don't weigh you down at the end of the day as my Asolos do. But I have more support, no blisters, and the assurance that they'll last the distance.
As I downed a beer at a bar in Lodève after pounding the pavement for 15 kms, one of my companions, René, from the night before saw me and was able to direct me to the gîte. All's well that ends well! However, his friend has not appeared and has obviously taken the wrong route.
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Last night I met a 77-year-old, Didier, who was doing his seventh Camino, always the same one, Arles to Santiago, because it was the one he could remember. He said that this was his last one.
I left Saint-Guilhem by the Rue du bout du monde. How apt as it turned out! The climb was perhaps the most spectacular and most difficult I have ever done. It took me four hours in all. Finally, I arrived at a microwave tower on the highest peak in the area. I thought to myself that Didier will never make this climb.
At least 20 people die each year on the Camino in Spain, and I imagine some die in France as well. Those of us who complete the journey spend less time in Purgatory, but if we die on the way, we go straight to heaven. I'm sure that is on Didier's mind.
How glad I am to have worn my leather boots! A couple of days ago I walked through a stream, and today, on the stony paths and rocky slopes, they made the rough places plain.
A word about boots. What to wear: heavy leather or lighter boots? For 15 years I wore a pair of Zamberlans and when they finally gave up the ghost, I bought a pair of Meindels.
The guides suggest you give up your clunkers and wear something light. So for this trip I had bought a pair of Keene mid Targas. Very, very comfortable, but they were almost worn out after walking around town for a year. Would they last the Camino? I was tempted to buy another pair or something similar, but at the last minute I decided to go with leather and bought a pair of Asolos. So far they have served me well.
Lighter boots are more comfortable and I'm sure they don't weigh you down at the end of the day as my Asolos do. But I have more support, no blisters, and the assurance that they'll last the distance.
As I downed a beer at a bar in Lodève after pounding the pavement for 15 kms, one of my companions, René, from the night before saw me and was able to direct me to the gîte. All's well that ends well! However, his friend has not appeared and has obviously taken the wrong route.
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Day 7. April 7, 2011. Lodève to Lunas (27 kms).
This was another day of ups and downs. I wasted almost an hour trying to get out of town because my guide and the trail markings were at odds. I am paranoid about following the right GR. Finally a kindly householder put me right and told me that lots of pilgrims had tried unsuccessfully to find the nonexistent set of steps mentioned in the Guide.
After that, a long climb, some pleasant rambling on forest roads, a very painful stretch along the highway, and some more striding along grassy paths.
As I walked among the pine trees, I noticed a wasp-nest-like growth on many of the branches. Is this spruce budworm or something similar?
Somehow I missed a village. I was expecting it at 16.7 kms and when it didn't appear I was worried about how little progress I was making. When I finally arrived at a village it was the next one, five kms on. So how did I miss a village? My friend passed through it. And I didn't lose my way today. Strange things happen on the chemin.
The Chemin d'Arles is certainly a lonely road. I hadn't seen a single walker for the previous two days. But this morning as I paused for a moment I was suddenly taken unawares by a line of lady walkers coming round a bend. I stopped what I was doing in mid-stream and said, innocently, Bonjour.
I've lost a sock. On past walks, I've lost socks, shirts, underpants, glasses and guide books. I've left them behind at gîtes and on the wayside where I had lunch. Once I walked an extra five miles into a town to buy a pair of reading glasses so I could follow the map.
But how do you make sure you don't leave behind the really important things? You make up a mnemonic and use it every time you take off. Here's mine:
Please, God. Where am I? Help a lonely traveller.
I say it to myself every time I move on. The initials of each word stand for something I can't afford to lose. See if you can work it out. I've had to use the French word for two of the items. I'll give you the answer in a later post.
Tonight we are staying at a hotel, demi-pension. Still no sign of the third man.
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After that, a long climb, some pleasant rambling on forest roads, a very painful stretch along the highway, and some more striding along grassy paths.
As I walked among the pine trees, I noticed a wasp-nest-like growth on many of the branches. Is this spruce budworm or something similar?
Somehow I missed a village. I was expecting it at 16.7 kms and when it didn't appear I was worried about how little progress I was making. When I finally arrived at a village it was the next one, five kms on. So how did I miss a village? My friend passed through it. And I didn't lose my way today. Strange things happen on the chemin.
The Chemin d'Arles is certainly a lonely road. I hadn't seen a single walker for the previous two days. But this morning as I paused for a moment I was suddenly taken unawares by a line of lady walkers coming round a bend. I stopped what I was doing in mid-stream and said, innocently, Bonjour.
I've lost a sock. On past walks, I've lost socks, shirts, underpants, glasses and guide books. I've left them behind at gîtes and on the wayside where I had lunch. Once I walked an extra five miles into a town to buy a pair of reading glasses so I could follow the map.
But how do you make sure you don't leave behind the really important things? You make up a mnemonic and use it every time you take off. Here's mine:
Please, God. Where am I? Help a lonely traveller.
I say it to myself every time I move on. The initials of each word stand for something I can't afford to lose. See if you can work it out. I've had to use the French word for two of the items. I'll give you the answer in a later post.
Tonight we are staying at a hotel, demi-pension. Still no sign of the third man.
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Day 8. April 8, 2011. Lunas to Saint-Gervais-sur-Mare (29 kms).
Today was hard. A leisurely stroll along a river, and then a brutal 500-metre climb up a stony path, some meandering along forestry roads, another 400 metre climb, a few hours of pleasant walking on the roof of the world, and then a long descent to our next stop.
René was kind enough to walk with me. Normally, I can almost keep up with him on the flat, but he bounds ahead on the climbs.
It's becoming a habit. We lost a half hour in getting out of town, and almost retraced our steps along yesterday's path.
It is reassuring to have company in lonely areas where there is no water for 20 kms and you're not likely to meet anyone along the road. When you come to a confusing sign, you can always discuss it.
At noon, we came upon a picnic table, and who should be sitting there but Jean-Pierre, the third man.
So now, after eating a pizza, the three of us are spending the night in the communal gîte.
It must have been 30 degrees today. With the heat and 900m of climbing, it has been an absolutely exhausting day. And more of the same tomorrow.
And so to bed.
Never tired pilgrims' limbs affected slumber more.
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René was kind enough to walk with me. Normally, I can almost keep up with him on the flat, but he bounds ahead on the climbs.
It's becoming a habit. We lost a half hour in getting out of town, and almost retraced our steps along yesterday's path.
It is reassuring to have company in lonely areas where there is no water for 20 kms and you're not likely to meet anyone along the road. When you come to a confusing sign, you can always discuss it.
At noon, we came upon a picnic table, and who should be sitting there but Jean-Pierre, the third man.
So now, after eating a pizza, the three of us are spending the night in the communal gîte.
It must have been 30 degrees today. With the heat and 900m of climbing, it has been an absolutely exhausting day. And more of the same tomorrow.
And so to bed.
Never tired pilgrims' limbs affected slumber more.
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Day 9. April 9, 2011. Saint-Gervais-sur-Mare to Murat-sur-Vèbre (26.4 kms).
This morning I insisted that René and Jean-Pierre go on ahead. I would plod on behind.
At Fort William in Scotland at the end of the West Highland Way, a group of walkers confided that they had created nicknames for all the walkers on the trail. I was The Plodder.
As I was struggling up the first climb of the day, Marcelline phoned and commented on my heavy breathing. "Are you really enjoying this?" she said. "No, not at this moment," I replied. "My feet are sore, my knees hurt, and my legs are aching.
But then I reached the top, and strode along a forest track as the rising sun lit up the trees. I was filled with a sense of well-being.
Misery and joy follow each other.
I began the longest climb of the walk. Up and up along forest tracks to reach the highest point until the Pyrennees. This was the Cap de Faulat at 1081 metres, the site of a range of wind turbines.
One towered over me as I ate lunch. They are quite eerie creatures up close, especially when their shadows sweep down on you as they turn.
Then it was a long downhill ramble to the next gîte and a meal of salad, omelette and pasta. The French cooked. I washed up.
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At Fort William in Scotland at the end of the West Highland Way, a group of walkers confided that they had created nicknames for all the walkers on the trail. I was The Plodder.
As I was struggling up the first climb of the day, Marcelline phoned and commented on my heavy breathing. "Are you really enjoying this?" she said. "No, not at this moment," I replied. "My feet are sore, my knees hurt, and my legs are aching.
But then I reached the top, and strode along a forest track as the rising sun lit up the trees. I was filled with a sense of well-being.
Misery and joy follow each other.
I began the longest climb of the walk. Up and up along forest tracks to reach the highest point until the Pyrennees. This was the Cap de Faulat at 1081 metres, the site of a range of wind turbines.
One towered over me as I ate lunch. They are quite eerie creatures up close, especially when their shadows sweep down on you as they turn.
Then it was a long downhill ramble to the next gîte and a meal of salad, omelette and pasta. The French cooked. I washed up.
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Day 10. April 10, 2011. Murat-sur-Vèbre to La Salvetat-sur-Agout (20.9 kms).
I set out this morning into a biting wind from the west. I had the option of walking 40 kms, or breaking it into two steps. With a mist threatening to become an English drizzle, I stopped half way. My camerades du chemin have gone on.
Today I was not Plodder, but Strider. Most of the time I was racing along grassy tracks or dirt roads with little climbing. Again I was glad of my leather boots as I forded a couple of raging streams and strode along a boggy stretch.
As I walked along a dirt road, the GR markers suddenly sent me up the embankment, along the top for 50 yards or so, and then back down onto the road. There was no need for this. The road was a perfectly adequate surface to walk on.
It wasn't the first of what seemed to be a quite unnecessary detour. The other day, the GR sent me up to the top of a hill and then down again when there was a perfectly good path around the side.
Sometimes it seems that the spirits of Albert Wainwright and the grand old Duke of York have possessed the designers of the grandes randonnées.
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Today I was not Plodder, but Strider. Most of the time I was racing along grassy tracks or dirt roads with little climbing. Again I was glad of my leather boots as I forded a couple of raging streams and strode along a boggy stretch.
As I walked along a dirt road, the GR markers suddenly sent me up the embankment, along the top for 50 yards or so, and then back down onto the road. There was no need for this. The road was a perfectly adequate surface to walk on.
It wasn't the first of what seemed to be a quite unnecessary detour. The other day, the GR sent me up to the top of a hill and then down again when there was a perfectly good path around the side.
Sometimes it seems that the spirits of Albert Wainwright and the grand old Duke of York have possessed the designers of the grandes randonnées.
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Day 11. April 11, 2011. La Salvetat-sur-Agout to Bouisset (27.7 kms).
As I left town this morning, first one clock and then another struck eight. Often there is more than one in town, on the Mairie and the church tower perhaps. And their chimes, always cracked, follow each other from hour to hour. Something to look forward when you can't sleep.
Last night I took a demi-pension at a bar with rooms above. In the halls and stairways, the lights were managed by timed switches. These can be treacherous. They can turn off the light just before you reach your destination. Sometimes they glimmer and you can find them again, and sometimes they don't. These didn't.
Once I was in a toilet on the Camino in Spain and the light suddenly went out and left me in the dark. Obviously, they didn't want you to spend too long doing number twos. Not a glimmer of light and I hadn't noted where the switch was. I had to crawl around the wall with my fingers to find it and get out.
My mnemonic came in handy this morning. Before leaving, I said to myself: Passport, Guide. Water, Appareil, iPod. Hat, Lunettes, Telephone. And I realised that I didn't have my Guide. It was under the blanket.
The mnemonic didn't help with my socks though. I've lost a pair. So now the contest is on. I'm wearing my Tilley Endurables and Smartwool PhDs on alternate days, each with liners. Which pair will last the distance?
Today was another fairly easy stroll through the woodlands. Lots of broom, but only one bush in flower. I reached my destination (Anglès) early and decided to go on another eight kilometres to Bouisset. That will reduce tomorrow's distance.
Again I'm the only guest at a chambre d'hôtes.
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Last night I took a demi-pension at a bar with rooms above. In the halls and stairways, the lights were managed by timed switches. These can be treacherous. They can turn off the light just before you reach your destination. Sometimes they glimmer and you can find them again, and sometimes they don't. These didn't.
Once I was in a toilet on the Camino in Spain and the light suddenly went out and left me in the dark. Obviously, they didn't want you to spend too long doing number twos. Not a glimmer of light and I hadn't noted where the switch was. I had to crawl around the wall with my fingers to find it and get out.
My mnemonic came in handy this morning. Before leaving, I said to myself: Passport, Guide. Water, Appareil, iPod. Hat, Lunettes, Telephone. And I realised that I didn't have my Guide. It was under the blanket.
The mnemonic didn't help with my socks though. I've lost a pair. So now the contest is on. I'm wearing my Tilley Endurables and Smartwool PhDs on alternate days, each with liners. Which pair will last the distance?
Today was another fairly easy stroll through the woodlands. Lots of broom, but only one bush in flower. I reached my destination (Anglès) early and decided to go on another eight kilometres to Bouisset. That will reduce tomorrow's distance.
Again I'm the only guest at a chambre d'hôtes.
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Day 12. April 12, 2011. Bouisset to Castres (28 kms).
I set out this morning into thick fog. As I walked along, I found myself singing,
Who would true valour see,
Let him come hither.
It just popped into my head. It must have been the challenge of the cold and damp. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't raining even as the drops pinged on my Tilley hat.
As I passed through the first village, I asked a woman if there was a bar in town where I could get a coffee. It was closed, she said, but would I like to have a coffee at her house? I declined, but was touched by the gesture, one of those "little nameless, unremembered acts of kindness" that one encounters on the chemin. My spirits revived.
The fog lifted, and I took a photo of some cows for a friend of mine who has a cow fetish. In his apartment, pictures of cows vie with books for the available space on the walls.
At the next village I found a posh restaurant and ordered a coffee. I sat at a little table in front of the hostess and watched the clients come in for lunch.
A couple entered, the woman holding a large spaniel who was struggling to get away. He didn't want to dine at this restaurant. Nevertheless, the hostess made a great fuss of him. There is no discrimination against dogs at French establishments. I have seen them sitting on a chair around the table with their master and mistress.
Not one to miss an opportunity, I visited the loo. As I sat there, the light went out. Oh, no, I thought, it's happening again. Then, I moved, and it went back on again. An interesting innovation on the timed switch!
I finished my coffee and walked on.
As the sun came out, I sat down with my back against a tree and ate my bread and cheese. The birds sang and the wind sighed in the trees. All was right with the world.
I walked on into the afternoon. My reverie was disturbed only by the mournful call of the cuckoo and the occasional angry snarl of a chainsaw.
Click here to follow the next section of the journey.
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Who would true valour see,
Let him come hither.
It just popped into my head. It must have been the challenge of the cold and damp. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't raining even as the drops pinged on my Tilley hat.
As I passed through the first village, I asked a woman if there was a bar in town where I could get a coffee. It was closed, she said, but would I like to have a coffee at her house? I declined, but was touched by the gesture, one of those "little nameless, unremembered acts of kindness" that one encounters on the chemin. My spirits revived.
The fog lifted, and I took a photo of some cows for a friend of mine who has a cow fetish. In his apartment, pictures of cows vie with books for the available space on the walls.
At the next village I found a posh restaurant and ordered a coffee. I sat at a little table in front of the hostess and watched the clients come in for lunch.
A couple entered, the woman holding a large spaniel who was struggling to get away. He didn't want to dine at this restaurant. Nevertheless, the hostess made a great fuss of him. There is no discrimination against dogs at French establishments. I have seen them sitting on a chair around the table with their master and mistress.
Not one to miss an opportunity, I visited the loo. As I sat there, the light went out. Oh, no, I thought, it's happening again. Then, I moved, and it went back on again. An interesting innovation on the timed switch!
I finished my coffee and walked on.
As the sun came out, I sat down with my back against a tree and ate my bread and cheese. The birds sang and the wind sighed in the trees. All was right with the world.
I walked on into the afternoon. My reverie was disturbed only by the mournful call of the cuckoo and the occasional angry snarl of a chainsaw.
Click here to follow the next section of the journey.
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