Day 8 - to Le Salvetat-sur-Agout

One of the things I find most difficult to cope with in dormitories, apart from snoring, is the tension between those who want to roast and sane folk like me who prefer it to be a little more on the mild side, with some fresh air.  In the Murat gite there were at least two heaters working overtime all night, and while the window by my bed was open, it was not enough to get sufficient fresh air into the room.  So I did not sleep so well - unlike Jacques and Marie.  I am not sure whether they had put the heating on or it was just automatic.

It was a good day - high light cloud and no wind.  After a visit to the boulangerie for a baguette I found my way via back streets to the footpath [and this also gave me a glimpse of the old town, including the ancient pilgrim auberge].  

The path took me up the side of a hill to a lookout with great views over the town and countryside.

This was a very pleasant path leading through paddocks and then became a sunken path to a large farm, with the sound of many sheep from a large shed.  I walked by the farm buildings, with the smell of cheese - a fromagerie.  There had not been many markers thus far and now there were fewer.  The path continued on beside a brook and then into a paddock and at some stage I realized that I had not seen a balise for some time.

Common sense would have said "turn back NOW, and find a balise."  But I thought better and marched on - over a few fences, fortunately with the electricity turned off, aiming for a farther ridge where I would be able to get some perspective.  But those paddocks just kept on going, with the promise of a ridge-line not eventuating.  
 
I had to go around a field of what looked like young wheat, thinking [for no good reason] that there might be a road there.  Of course there was not.  Finally I did reach a high point and could look across a number of valleys to four villages, but with no road immediately to hand.  Finally I did stumble onto a farm track, perhaps a road.


In all this time since leaving Murat, I only saw one person, in the distance and on a tractor, ploughing a paddock.  So there was no opportunity to test my French and ask for directions.  The track went slowly down towards the nearest village, but took some time as there was a creek and woods between me and it.  I was hoping that the village would be Condomines, but that was silly.

I finally arrived in Moulin-Mage, a village not even appearing in my guide, so I was well off the path.  Fortunately there was a tourist map on the wall of one building.  The road was the D62 and following it to the left would take me to the Lac de Laozas [on the path], so that was the way to go.  I was over my self-imposed 2 hour time limit for a rest stop, but I wanted to go a little further and find some 'sign' that would encourage me.  Not too much later and I came to a turn off to the left with a sign 'Salvetat 19k', now the D62A.  I found a quiet spot and stopped for an egg sandwich.

While I did take my boots off, I left the socks on and think that was a mistake.  My feet were getting sore, probably from the hard road..  It was only a short stop and then on again.  Towards Nages the road became more 'undulating' and then I saw balises [the red and white bars] but I figured that there were for another path and resisted the temptation to turn.  Shortly after I passed through Nages, I now know 8.7kms from Moulin-Mage.

I continued hoping for another sign that would give me some comfort as my feet were hurting, especially the right.  Finally I got a sign - only 10kms to go, and stopped for lunch, finishing the last of the pate and some cheese.   
 
[what was annoying - I had walked a good deal more than 14kms to get to this sign!]

 Rain appeared to be threatening so I set off again about 2:00 and was in sight of Salvetat by about 3:30, even if it seemed far off.  One of the features of that last section was the 12th century bridge of St Etienne.
 

The road took me into the new town and I guessed that the gite would be in the old town, on top of its hill - of course.  I tried an old geezer for directions but failed, and of course the mairie was shut.  But I climbed up anyway and finally found the tourism office and a friendly soul stamped my creancial, took my E10 and walked me around the corner to the gite.  I dropped my pack on the bed about 4:00 - and could hardly believe that I had managed it!  The pedometer said I had walked 26km, but I wondered whether it wasn't more - from Moulin-Mage to Le Salvetat alone is 22.5 according to Google Maps.

The 'old' town of Le Salvetat-sur-Agout looks old, but after looking around I think most dates from the nineteenth century, although the walls would be a lot older and there is apparently a chateau dating from the 12th century.  The place featured in the Wars of Religion, with the catholic population holding out against a protestant siege.  The dominant colour is grey - stone, slate roofs.  After wandering about I could find no obvious place to eat, and from a few signs it looked like Thursday was the one day of the week when nothing opened.  So I found my way to a supermarket  At some stage I spoke again to the man from the tourist office and he told me that "your friend" has arrived.

This turned out to be Jacques and we had dinner together, or at least our respective dinners together.  He is a man who likes his pork and had a feast of sausage.  I had some charcuterie and also a couple of small potatoes and rissoles - plus camembert and yoghurt so that I could claim four courses.

Jacques is from Nantes, down the Loire from Phil.  He and Marie are not a couple [as I had assumed] but had just met and walked together for a few days.  I could not work out where she was.  He shared a bottle of French cider that was very pleasant.  The wind was now blowing through the town and it was cold and bleak, so we did not linger too long, and I was not going out again.

I called Phil and he sounded in good spirits but doubted that he would be walking from Toulouse.  He has done some real tendon damage.

Day 7 - Tuesday 12 April: to Murat sur Vebre

I woke early to an overcast sky but with no rain or no wind, so very happy.  Breakfast was at 7:30 with Michel - old and tired rye bread, but with plenty of butter and jam - and stewed and lukewarm coffee in a bowl.  It could not be much more basic

Michel is like a cartoon hermit, a little unkempt in an old cardigan, stinking of stale cigarette smoke, hunched over and silent.  The whole house smelled of old cigarette smoke and it was hard to align the positive comments in the register.  Mine was more to the point 'thank you for the refuge when I needed one.'

I took a quick turn through the village and then got my daily bread and picked up my gear, walking out of the gite for the last time at about 8:30.  Five minutes later I had crossed the bridge and was walking out of the village.  The balises (markers) were frequent which reassured me.  The track climbed steadily through bare chestnut trees with heavy forest litter that wild boar or other beasties had been digging through.  In an hour I was looking down on Andabre and the track then descended to the road.  The trickiest part was getting past a crane; a stone mason was using the bucket as a bench.  

There were mostly conifers down by La Mare, the small river.  This was all very pleasant walking.  I stopped at a rest area just after the ruin of a mill (a sign about Visigoths!) about 10:30 for a second breakfast of baguette and boiled egg.  Got the boots and socks off to air my feet (I won't mention this again, but at most rest stops I will try to get my boots off to give my feet a break from confinement.)

 
Just after Castenet le-Haut I crossed this small and ancient stone bridge and the path began climbing again, with fewer balises.  Then after a while I realized that I had not seen one for a while.  There was a very rough path so I persevered until I found myself at a tiny creek with no real sign of a way forward; it looked like an area used by hunters, with a rough hide.  It reminded me of being in the hills in Spain two years ago, but this time with just me and not three of us.  I did have a poke around in case this was really the path, but this just proved that it was not!  So I retraced my steps for a couple of hundred metres until I saw a walker turning off the well worn path.

 

There I found a marker for the turn.  It is the standard two bar (red and white) bar but with a 'leg' on it indicating the turn.  I had missed that detail.  In my defence, this new path was a real goat track and climbed straight up, but in a short time it hit a substantial gravel road.  For the first time on this Camino I found myself walking between two pairs of other pilgrims!  The road climbed through the forest and into open emerald green pastures with wonderful views back over the mountains; unfortunately it was too misty for a decent picture.
 

Just after the road reached the high point and headed down, I stopped by the D53 for lunch, at 1:00, with Ginestet just ahead, and a row of wind turbines off to the left.  I made it a short stop, knowing it was to be a long day.

Shortly after the path again left the pasture country and back into forest, lovely; but I was intrigued that most parts were almost all of one species - chestnut, spruce, pine and what I took to be elm.  I really enjoyed this walking through undulating forest, occasionally looking down at little creeks.
 

The colours are muted and in the elm, or is it beech, forest, the leaf litter was so deep that it was hard to see the path, or the rocks and holes beneath.  I was now being very careful to keep an eye out for markers, with the track so indistinct.
 

In the sections of spruce forest there were several coupes of recently felled trees, with substantial piles of logs  This clear felling looks as ugly here as it does in a eucalypt forest at home.
 

I was very pleased to reach Les Senausses, morea collection of houses than a village, but a sign that there was just over 5kms to go.  This was now back into pasture country and I came across a Mum and kids bringing back firewood.  The border collie got quite defensive and was going to eat me, but the white kid that was part of the party was just curious.

Finally the path reached the D922 and Murat was just around the corner.  It was two hours from my lunch stop (3:30) but I kept on and signs took me off the road and onto a gravel foot path between holly hedges.  This brought me into the village/town and I found my way to the mairie (town hall), and booked in to the gite communale - for E12.  It is behind the school and in a basement - looks very basic - a kitchen opening onto a dormitory with the toilets in a room outside and a separate laundry, with no sign of showers.

My pattern on arriving at my accommodation is to have a shower as soon as possible so I can wash at least some of my clothes - either in the shower or a tub.  There might be enough time for them to dry before night falls.  With no sign of showers I had to improvise by climbing into a laundry tub and having a quick but cold 'top and tail'.  Very glad there was no audience and it was just a little cool (the hand basins on the opposite wall did have hot water, but too hard to manage that).  Later I found a sign behind the door that gave directions to the showers beyond the locked door - with the key on the clothes hook.  But then I found from others that there was no hot water there either, so I didn't miss much.  By now the wind was blowing and the clothes line was in the sun, so my clothes dried quite well.

I then had a poke around the town to check out options for dinner.  It seems a quite new town but with a huge list of World War I dead, but that is probably from the region.  The hotel meal seemed quite expensive, so I went to the supermarket and got supplies, then had a quiet pernod at the bar.  I saw the other people from the road before lunch.  One was shopping and we did not have the chance to talk, but the others turned up at the gite.  I found out that they had gotten badly off the Way and walked an extra 5 - 10kms.  So I did not do so badly after all.  I cooked boy food (a fry up) early in case there was competition for the stove, but the others went out anyway.

According to my pedometer App I had walked 26.5kms.  At lunch I did a check; at that stage the App showed 16.33 and the sign said 9.5 to Murat (25.83) and I might have done a little more going by the footpath than on the road.  So perhaps the App may not be under-reading as much as I had thought - or perhaps it under-reads on the flat walking around Beaumaris, when my stride lengthens, but averages out in undulating walking like this day.  My MMD guide map gives a distance of 21kms, but is not necessarily reliable.  I will need to do some more checking.

Day 5, to Arboras

Another night of disturbed sleep,but I am still functioning.  When I look outside, the sky is totally clear - and it is probably because of the very strong cold wind blowing.

After getting our gear together we made it to the church at 7:30 for the service.  There were 8 nuns doing almost all the singing and only 4 others - and all from the gite.  The others were Anna and a teenager who was part of a family group we saw in the kitchen last night.  I was interested in the demographics of that group of nuns - one was African [or that heritage], two east Asians, one French and very old, one in her sixties (Sr Chantal who looks after the gite) and one young woman.  You have to wonder how many were here in the 'glory days' - but they are holding up a tradition that has existed here (apart from the time after the Revolution when it was broken up) for over 1,000 years.

We adjourned to a little cafe at the edge of the square that was not quite open - Cafe du Penitents (! - not about their customers, but an order that used to be here).  A French breakfast - cafe au lait and chocolate pastry - I am far from convinced that this sets me up for a day of walking!


Our gite courtyard, looking up to the dormitory, with the kitchen/dining area below.

After finally getting away from the gite, we found (much to my surprise) the boulangerie, and so could get bread for lunch.  

The walk out of St-Guilhem is further up the narrow valley and effectively climbing into to surrounding hills, through stunted pines which is possibly all that could grow in this stony area  The surroundings are quite beautiful as can be seen from this one picture



In spite of that cold wind, which was getting stronger as we ascended, the steep climb soon had me taking off my jacket  The choice was between a cold chest and sweating in the jacket.  Once we had climbed to the edge of the escarpment we seemed to be on a plateau and the path was more sheltered among the trees.  

Soon after though, we were out of the trees and into quite open country with the wind roaring around our ears.  There seemed to be views to the Mediterranean, but I could not manage a decent picture.  We walked along gravel roads for quite some time and seemed to cross over a ridge so that we were looking inland and towards villages in the middle distance.



Finally we started to descend slowly.  It looked like the road looped away to the right with what looked like the same road below us on the other side of a vineyard.  So I suggested a shortcut.  No sooner had I warned Phil of loose rocks and the need for care, when I heard the sound of rolling rocks and turned around to find him on the deck!! Ir looked like a twisted ankle and I helped him up to the road.  

From the look of it, I guessed that he would not be walking any further this day - he did try to hobble, but that was all he could manage.  So, we opted to have some lunch and think about what next.



It really did not take much thinking.  He needed transport and probably to go back to a place where he could rest and perhaps see a doctor.  Phil has a cousin living in Montpellier, so he called her and arranged for her to come to Montpeyroux where I would meet and then guide her back to Phil.  Simple.

So, off I set, with just one pole and a water bottle.  The walking was much easier without a pack but it did seem a long way.  I passed a number of parked cars and guessed that they were rock climbers.  Then down to a D road and road signs.  But then I got a real surprise.  There was no mention of Montpeyroux at all.  The only other name I recognized was Arboras and I guessed that it was the place I could see quite near, but across a little valley.

So I called Phil.  The conversation was very difficult as the wind was now roaring and even when I found shelter near a rock wall it was very difficult to communicate. Finally we were able to sort out that I would walk to Arboras and wait by the chateau for Chantal.  Even this seemed more complicated than I expected, with a warren of village streets, but it did.

Eventually Chantal arrived and we drove back to the turn off and up the road.  She already knew that Phil had got a lift with a quad bike to where those cars were parked, so I missed the chance to see just how far I'd walked - but I guess that it was at least 7kms.

All this had demonstrated that at some stage we had got off the path - why we were close to Arboras (this would not have been a problem if Phil had not fallen, since the Way did go to Arboras after Montpeyroux.

And so we went back to Chantal's little apartment in Montpellier.

Montpellier Interlude

It seemed a long drive back to Montpellier, but Phil later told me that Chantal had got herself a little lost.  Still, it was very pleasant to be sitting down, out of the wind and looking at the countryside fly past.  We stopped off at a local Lidle for a huge lot of supplies but she would not let me use our 'bank' for more than the alcohol.

Her apartment is quite small - one bedroom with a small lounge, and smaller bathroom/laundry and kitchen - but very comfortable.  For each meal we developed a routine where I would move the little table and put out the extensions and then get the fold up chairs and set them up, and then lay the table.  We ate very well over our time there and every meal had some ceremony, a very French approach.  

I enjoyed all our meals but one lunch in particular - crab claw entree, poached salmon and vegetables for the main course, followed by cheeses and then fruit - with pinot blanc.

It was probably very good to have a couple of days where we just lay about.  Phil was able to apply an icepack to his ankle, but it was not getting any better.  Chantal has good internet connection so it was a chance to catch up on my journal. There was a little 'cabin fever' but the time passed very happily.  I learned more about Phil's back story and other things that I will not fill up this blog with.

After a deal of thinking we agreed on a way forward.  Despite our initial hopes that Phil could rejoin me at Toulouse, his ankle does not look good and that is unrealistic, so he will return to Chenaud to recuperate.  Chantal will drop me at Mosson (the tram terminus) on the afternoon of Monday 11 April where I will get the first of two buses to get me to St Gervais, where I will recommence my camino.

Day 6 - 11 April: To Saint-Gervais

Those bus connections were never going to work!  


The first was due to arrive at17:10, with the next departing at 17:10.  I gave up totally at a stop for a school.   Waiting for the laggards as the digital clock on the bus clicked over 1708, 09, 10, 12....


We were 15 minutes late.  But at least there was the sign to St Gervais.  So I decided to walk and hitch hike. 

 
The first lift came in minutes, a young woman driving but with a young fellow who had been on my bus (he recognized me, but I had not noticed him - maybe I stood out).  The second took longer; I was walking through a small town and came on a youngish woman loading up her jalopy.  She said St Gervais was on her "route" (well, something like that) and I hopped in, and we seemed to go a very long way through the mountains.  She turned off near another village and I was walking for maybe 15 minutes before another younger woman stopped.  She had her shopping in the back and it turned out she lived by the Camino and we wondered whether I would see her on the morrow.  I found it very interesting that only women had stopped for me (there was not a large number of cars passing, but many more than three and only women stopped).  And they had all guessed that I was trying to get to the Chemin.   

I got to St Gervais only an hour late and i stumbled onto the small tourist office.  The municipal gite was already closed so I took what was available, especially as it was just around the corner.  Michel was waiting at the door.

The gite is in an old building and seems to be a real rabbit warren that must have rooms for many guests.  My room was on the top floor.  What I loved was that my window looked out on this gorgeous little stream with colourful houses on the other side.  Chantal had packed me a survival kit so I sat by the window and slowly drank a beer.




My room was more than acceptable, close to the bathroom but that was up a step and I hoped that I would not have to find my way there in the dark.  What was luxury was sheets on the bed and an old towel.  So I was happy enough to pay the 17Euro.

I had a look around and St Gervais is a lovely little village.



I found the way out of the village for tomorrow and a little cafe for dinner (I had seen no sign of a decent kitchen at the gite and it was too late anyway). I selected the 16Euro three course meal - charcuterie plate, duck confit with risotto aux crepes and a small cheese.  i thought it was a bit expensive for what I got, but time will tell whether that assessment is fair (I did wonder about the pricing policy since it cost the same for the glass of pernod and the glass of vin rouge).  There was not much custom, one couple were there when I arrived and the only other guests seemed to be friends who left without eating.  It was just as well I turned up or it would have been a very dim night!

And so to bed.
. 

Day 4, 8 April - Montauban to Saint-Guilhem le-Desert

It was not the best night; my cold made breathing difficult and broke up my sleep.  Still, we got ourselves up at the planned 7:00 to be able to get the first tram from Comedie to Mosson.

I should go back a little.  It had always been the plan to get public transport to the edge of the city to avoid pavement walking.  But once you make that decision, there is the temptation to go just a little further on the bus. And so it was.  We agreed to get a bus to Montauban and so avoid the suburbs and commuter villages beyond Montpellier.  This requited us to get to Mosson, the tram terminus, early to get the bus.

It was a very good decision as Montauban 'centre ville' is a gorgeous spot with masses of suburbia on the edge, so we avoided walking through that.

 
 Our first port of call was this boulangerie where we got breakfast pastry and baguette for lunch.  Then we walked across the street to a lovely little caft.

I loved watching the village folk arrive and settle in for their morning coffee - you would have to imagine that it is the same every day.  As each arrived, the woman behind the bar would get a kiss and then they would shake hands with each of the blokes already there.

 
 After our breakfast we found this charcuterie.  You can see that it is built into the side of the hill, so that the back is like a cave.  We bought a couple of rounds of pate for lunch.

The way out of town was directly into rough forest and steeply climbing through a dense forest of scrub and small pines. - no suburbs here.  We did get off the path but quickly found it again after walking along the road, D111, and the track paralleled the road for quite a way -  rough stony path through straggly pine trees and then scrubby oak.  After about 2 hours we reached La Boissiere where we found a little epicerie with a tiny lounge area.  I thought the woman very unfriendly, and Phil reckoned she was doing her tax (there was paperwork involved).


Not much further along the road to Aniane (the D27), the markers  took us off onto a red dirt road (seemed Australian), which Phil's guide informed us was the route of an abandoned railway line.  There were several elaborate stone bridges and viaducts.  The wide, smooth road went under a stone bridge and just after that we turned off the old railway and onto a narrower path that must have been a light rail line built for some sort of mine.  The way was now much rougher, with a number of cuttings (Phil found that expression quite strange) and finally to the tunnel he had been promising.

 

We walked confidently in but in 100 metres or so it was no longer fun!  Fortunately my head torch was near the top of my pack and we continued with just enough light to avoid damage.   Shortly after exiting the tunnel we had our first view of Aniane, and shortly after stopped near the edge of the town, at about 12:45 for lunch of pate sandwiches, and smelly cheese - delicious.


Actually Aniane is a town without a distinct centre, just a motley mass of lanes with shops sprinkled here and there.  Fortunately we had lunched so were not concerned about finding food.  Our navigation skills seemed awry again and it took a while to find our way to the St Benoit abbatiale, a once grand 13th century church, but 'modernised' in the 18th.  I found it fascinating that St Benoit had been there in the 8th century - and that most of the damage was done in 1562 (very specific) during the wars of religion (on the Le Puy route there would have been a reference to 'the protestant vandals').

We were also intrigued at the design of the houses; it seemed that there were no living rooms on the ground floor (no windows).  Since the old town is very low, one theory was that the town was regularly flooded.  I think I prefer Phil's alternative; we read that the old abbey had been used as some sort of reformatory or prison, and he reasoned that there were probably frequent escapes and locals had decided the safest thing was to lock up downstairs and live on the first floor!!

Finally we found some markers and then a road sign pointing to St Guilhem.  We were now out of forest and into vineyards and olive groves.  The track gradually climbed and towards the top of the slope the track turned and went along the base of the rocky ridge, beside a drystone retaining wall that looked as though it had been there since prehistoric times.  We seemed to be high above the surrounding land, but after a short time we came down gradually and joined the road at the Pont du Diable.
 
 Pont du Diable - or at least the first bridge is so named.  It is the oldest and now a footbridge.  The next one is the current road bridge and the one after is an aquaduct.  

The river that they all span is L'Herault, and gives its name to the department or region.  We followed it to our destination for the day, Saint-Guilhem le-Desert.  This is the Gorge d'Herault and is incredibly picturesque.  A great volume of water pours down, and a number of waterfalls add to the volume.  For much of the walk along it we had to walk on the edge of the road, not totally comfortable.  Fortunately for the last portion we were able to get onto a rough track even closer to the river.

There are no other pictures because it was difficult to capture images in that narrow little valley, or ravine.  There were now quite a few tourists around and we had to share the track as it approached the village.  This place is a UNESCO listed site so it attracts many tourists and there were still some about when we arrived a little after 4:00.

It is a lovely place and you can understand why it is listed as a world heritage site(it reminded me of Conques - a medieval village built around an abbey and in a remote location).  We walked through the village before we found our gite, run by the Carmelite sisters.  It appears to be an old house with a dormitory upstairs in a small room, kitchen downstairs and a bathroom off a landing (only one shower.  I got annoyed when I found a couple of fellow pelerins who had been there a while in the queue for the shower - when I wanted one desperately).

We then had a look around this delightful little place - but it is very much a 'tourist town'.  There are a number of bars and cafes but only a 'hole in the wall'-epicerie.  We were reduced to getting a tart as entree and spaghetti .It was now quite cool and I had to add a layer.  There was a bit of a crowd in the kitchen-dining area as we each sought to cook up our respective dinners.  

The Korean woman was interesting; she has been in France for 11 years and speaks French very well (even the French acknowledged this), had developed her own jewellery business and then married a Korean student 3 years younger than her.  Now they were selling up the business and moving back to Korea to start all over.  She had a lot of go. 

Of the other French there, Anna a tall Frenchwoman had some English and we could chat, but Andre, an older bloke, had no English at all.  During our talk we found that we had missed a special service for pilgrims at the abbiatale - annoying - but there is another one first thing in the morning.  By the time we were ready for bed it was very cold, and the cold wind had just kept blowing.  The good thing was that my washing was almost dry.


 

An aspect in the old village


 
The cerntral square is very pleasant, although that cold wind made it a cold place to sit in the late afternoon.





The abbiatale
Some research from:   https://sacredsites.com/europe/france/saint_guilhem_le_desert.html
The abbey of Saint-Guilhem-le-Desert owes its name to Guilhem, a French knight of the medieval period. Born sometime in the late 8th century, Guilhem was the grandson of Charles Martel, the Duke of Aquitane, and one of the Emperor Charlemagne's chosen knights. He fought bravely against the Saracens (Muslims) of Spain and became famous as the hero of medieval ballads due to his knightly prowess and chivalrous character. A devout Christian who ended his days (died 812 AD) in the monastery at Gellone, he endowed the abbey with a relic of the True Cross, given to him by Charlemagne. Because of this relic, the monastery soon prospered and became an important place of pilgrimage in southern France.

Day 3, 7 April - to Montpellier

It was a clear sky from the time we got moving, but with a cold wind.  It was a quick breakfast but it was 8:30 before we got away, knowing that it was going to be a long day.

On the way out of town we passed a number of signs warning of some sort of running with the bulls, together with some massive barriers that were clearly designed to be bull proof.

 

Just out of Gallargues we passed by a ruined Roman bridge, but not much to see,  Since we were walking close to a river, the walking was fairly flat and easy.  Our first break was by this dry-stone 'hut'.  I think the story is that these were built originally by shepherds as refuges in case of bad weather.  A number have recently been restored by a service club (should have noted which one!)



The first part of the day was quite pleasant but after this break things deteriorated.  Marcel (back in St-Gilles) had given advice about what way to go to avoid disruptions around the new motorway.  In spite of, or because of this, we got off the correct way.

We ended up walking almost to Lunel-Viel, well away from the Way and then had to work out how to get back.  All of this involved walking along roads, and that was not much fun.  Finally, after another break for snacks, we found our way back to markers and walked parallel to the new motorway works.  Then it was under the motorway and beside it again on the other side.

Our aim had always been to get to Vendargues and get a bus into Montpellier, to avoid trudging through suburbs and industrial areas.  It was with some relief that we finally found our way into what we thought was Vendargues, with a small bus apparently just waiting for folk like us.

We turned out to be wrong on two counts.  This was not Vendargues, but Castries - and the bus was not on a regular service but a community bus that had been 'booked' by locals!  Fortunately by hanging around and looking glum, the driver took pity on us and she took us to the tram service into Montpellier - and both her portion of this journey and the tram ride (quite long) cost us the princely sum of 1.50Euros each!  We were extremely grateful. 

Much later I re-read a website summary of the three days we had just done - and agree with its sentiments.  It is particularly relevant to this day:
 This section is probably the less interesting part of the Arles route, except for the town of Arles, St-Gilles Basilica and the pleasant crossing of a few vineyards and beautiful villages. You may just consider it as a warming-up section that will enable you to progressively enter into the atmosphere and the pacing of your pilgrimage. Besides that, there are many kms to be made on roads, the proximity of highways, many crossings of large industrial and agricultural areas, of railway lines, etc.

Montpellier is familiar territory to Phil who has lived in the city, so it was relatively straight forward (needless to say it would have been dramatically different if I had been on my own!).  We left the tram at the Comedie stop and Phil easily (well, with one or two requests for directions on the finer details) to the St Roche district and the gite he had selected.  We needed to do this without stopping because of a concern that the gite might close to new guests after a deadline.

By this stage I was quite wasted.  We had not eaten enough for lunch and had not had decent rests - and a strong wind had blown all day [for some parts, this blew the noise of the motorway away from us, small compensation.  It was also a combination of factors specific to me - the remnants of jet-lag, a bit of a cold and sore feet.  My pedometer told me we'd walked 27kms and I could well believe it.

As a result I did not make good use of our time in Montpellier.  After freshening up, we walked back to the Comedie district and into a park, but it was too cold and I could not sustain it.  We ended up going out for dinner and then back to bed.

My feeling at this point was that I could not do many more combinations like the last two days!



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Day 2, 6 April - to Gallargues le-Montueaux

We had breakfast, baguette and home made jams, together in the little kitchen, us and Karen and the guardians Marcel and Therese (and I think Phil got another serve of Marcel's views on Algeria and Arabs).  Karen was only going to Vauvert, so we said our farewells.

 Walking out of St Gilles, we saw a number of signs for the local running of the bulls, and big 'bull proof' barriers., and the little bull ring.
 

For one reason or another I did not take many pictures this day.  This is a shame as the countryside is quite pretty - perhaps I was just worn out since the day was very hot, and turned out to be long (according to the book over 31kms and by my pedometer 28kms - and I've always thought it under-reports on flat terrain).  I can distinctly remember finding some shade in the little playground outside our gite in Gallargues, just to try to cool down.  

The day started overcast but then cleared and became hot.  Much of the morning was on very flat terrain by the canal, but by mid morning, once we turned towards Vauvert we entered hilly country with a mix of almond orchards, vineyards ans some cattle and sheep.  Delightful country.




 Phillipe beside the canal du Bas- Rhone.

We had our lunch in Vauvert among the bustle of the folk packing up their market stalls.  Phil had a chat with one vendor who was boasting about how much more he made doing this than in his old salaried job.  He bought sausage in Spain, cheaply, and sold it at various of these markets in different towns..

It was decidedly warm in the afternoon.  We could see a distinctive jagged mountain off to our right and it became a sort of marker of our progress, and when to turn off.  We crossed a few busy roads and that canal near the edge of Cadognan.  We zigzaged over few kilometres before definitely heading towards a town on a hill that we guessed had to be Gallargues.  By chance we took a road that led to the end of Rue Marcel Dublet where we found our gite.
 

Gallargues le-Montueux - the little market.

The 'halle' is just around the corner from our gite - and much more attractive!  

The gite is in a former childcare centre or pre-school and quite basic.  The bathroom had minimal changes from its childcare days; the sinks were at pre-school level.  Still it had a decent kitchen and we prepared our dinner there.  There is an epicerie just around the corner and we got supplies for a vegetarian pasta.

A memorable feature of the gite was that there must be a music teacher sharing the same building.  From our arrival around 3pm until after 9:00 we could hear the incessant sound of drums.



 Gallargues:  this is the restored hospital of St Jacques, used by medieval pelerins.  It is just up a narrow street from the halles.

Gallargues is in the department of Gard and in the first foothills encountered after the flat country in and around the Camargue.

Health check
The day was hot and my feet were feeling it - a few sore spots and a little 'hot foot'.  My jet-lag was manageable.  Phil's feet seemed a bit worse, but he got various aid from the pharmacie including Compeed, and the problems seemed to settle.

Day 1, 5 April - to Saint-Gilles

I woke to the sound of rain, but it was fine by the time we walked towards the cathedral. Saint Trophime.  After getting our creanciales (the pilgrim passport, where we can collect 'stamps' as we progress on the route, generally from the gites we stay at), the volunteer who sold them took this picture to get us started:


 

 Within minutes the drizzle started, and when I stopped to buy bananas I took the opportunity to put on my pack cover and get out the little umbrella.  We left Arles with our umbrellas aloft and that is the way things stayed for most of the day.  While there were occasional lapses, it was a wet day.  This put a stop to taking any pictures but it was not at all unpleasant.

For much of the time we were walking on la digue, the levee bank beside the Petit Rhone.  After we had crossed the river an elderly lady (who had been a pilgrim some time back) offered a lift, but we persevered.   What with the rain and the wet track, there was no real opportunity to take a break and sit down.  This is not the best way to start a long walk!

The way is close to the edge of the Camargue, which was once a swamp so the terrain is quite flat - at least that is the way it was until we turned off that digue and walked an abandoned rail line.  So it was still flat, although the country was then more undulating.  Finally we left that rough old track and walked a couple of narrow roads to  was basically wet.  When it wasn't raining it was drizzly.   Our umbrellas were aloft almost all the way. It was flat, beside the Petit Rhone.  The ground was too wet to sit  and we passed through no villages.   It was not the most comfortable start.


Finally we recrossed the Petit Rhone and climbed up to St Gilles.  This is a lovely little town.  On a knoll it was a port in Roman times, exporting wine and olive oil.   It was a port of embarkation for several crusades.   Now it is a long way from the sea.  We found our way to the main square and our gite for the night - with the huge old abbatiale (church) on another side of the square.

The gite is in an old building.  The small dormitory must have been a kitchen in the deep past.  There is the huge old fireplace and a 'stove' - a big block of limestone with two holes carved in it - for charcoal from the fire, to cook casseroles, or whatever: 

 

For me a feature of our time here was the couple who were looking after the gite, volunteers.  Therese did not say a lot but Marcel had a great deal to say to Phil.  He is a 'pied noir' and 50 years after his family was 'dispossessed' by Algerian independence, he still seems to be bitter. Each time we met them, there seemed to be more on this subject (all of which was unintelligible to me, but I could feel the passion in his voice).

INTRODUCTION

My camino this year was to be very straight forward - in its first outline and then in the agreed plan.  I had been in email contact with Phillipe, the French friend met on the Le Puy route in 2013.  We had made plans to walk the Vezelay route in 2015 but my dislocated shoulder put paid to that plan, although Phil did do that route.  This was to be another attempt to walk a Camino route together.

 Initially it was to be the Camino Portuguese, but Phil wanted to stay in France, just in case he had a repeat of the foot problems of 2015 - in which case it would be easier to get treatment if he could easily communicate in French.  He suggested the Via Tolosana, or the Arles route, and I readily agreed; any walk in France would be fine with me.

Effectively I delegated the planning to Phil and he kept me updated on the 'steps' or stages that he proposed.  We would start in Arles.  Initially the aim was to reach the Col du Somport, on the France-Spain border, but that was always a big ask.  He had to be back in Chenaud by 4 May for a meeting of the NGO he had established, so this set an end date.  I was slow in finally deciding to go and we could not start until 5 April, giving us about a month.

So the plan was revised, and our final aim was to reach Pau.  This is a large city with good transport networks to enable us to return to the Dordogne, where I would spend a few days with him.

In the event, we did start in Arles and I did spend a few days with Phil in Chenaud, but almost everything else about this Camino changed.  

I started to call it 'the unexpected Camino'. and maybe that should be the working title.

My plan now is to post pictures from most days with a short commentary to give an overview of the walk.  This is being done over a month since I actually walked this Camino, so this will give me an opportunity to relive the experience.  I am hopeful that this will also enable me to recollect events and feelings experienced on This Way.