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.
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.
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