I did not make good notes for this day. The only thing I have found is a reference to the 'couple' in the gite, and how their breakfast was milk coffee and chocoate croissants. Given they are the ones doing it tough, I figured that my diet was all wrong!! Also, although he seemed to be the very 'primitave', he had a large screen phone with his maps!!
I found the boulangerie and stocked up on baguette and cheese.
Marie got away before me and for a while I followed her but then she swept away. This is a great shame since I then missed key markers and was soon well off the path. In my defence, the path according to MMD did change directions multiple times, and mainly along roads. But the bottom line is that i soon enough knew that I was in strife!
After a while I came upon a private 'chateau' but there were no signs as to where it was. Shortly after this i came to a road junction and a road rider came up and offered advice. There was a sign to Le Rialet, on the path, and he gestured that I needed to go in that direction. It seemed to take a while but I finally reached that hamlet and took a break. There was a sign and from the MMD map figured I had to take the D61 towards La Peyraque and Castres, and that if I took the next turn to the right I should then come on the right path.
About when I expected to have to turn right, I came upon balises and guessed that the path could have been changed and that I should now follow the markers. This turned out to be a wrong guess, but I did not work this out until quite some time later - when I had turned off the road and headed in what I just knew to be the wrong direction. My best guess is that i had come upon the markers for a different GR. I was now well and truly screwed!
The only option seemed to be to go back to the road [the balises had taken me off in that wrong direction[ and hope for the best. This was all walking through dense forest so not at all unpleasant. What I did find very interesting was a number of markers memorializing OSS casualties from World War II.
I also started to rationalise to myself; I had come to France to walk, there was no clear end point [since there was never a chance of getting to Santiago] so it did not matter where I walked. Somehow this made me feel a little better.
About the time I was due to stop for lunch I came upon more signposts by a lake and fortunately there was yet another of those tourist road maps that helped me to work out a plan.
One road led to Mazemet, and the map showed that there was then a main road going to Castres. It was 'only' 12kms, so that seemed to be the obvious way to go; and I decided that i would hitchhike to try to shorten the day. This decision made my lunch seem much better, even though my feet were starting to give me merry hell.
That 12kms seemed very long! Quite a number of cars overtook me and I had my thumb out for each and every one of them, but not one stopped. I was not happy! My feet were on fire and it was quite warm, and 12kms starts to feel like a long way after two hours solid walking. It was good to see a settlement ahead but that was Pont de l'Arn and Mazamet still a long way to go. The walk through the suburbs seemed to last forever, but finally I got to the N112.
I walked on to find a place where it would be easier for a car to pull over and finally stopped by a wide apron and put out my thumb. There was a great deal of traffic, a lot of it heavy trucks, but within a short time a car pulled over.
It was not the flashiest car on the road. There was a fair bit of dust and stuff spread around, with a little dog in the passenger seat. He was consigned to the back, where there was also a big flat pack box. By the time I got my pack in, that poor dog had very little room. It did not seem to bother the driver, and for a long time I heard the dog scratching around to get comfortable.
My new friend had no English and my French evaporated under the stress of that long hot walk and all the concern about just where I was and how I was to get to Castres. I did try my French and explained that I was walking the Camino. I definitely mentioned Castres. He then made some comment about Toulouse and I agreed that the Camino did go through Toulouse also.
After a while, probably after I saw a sign pointing off this road to Castres, I guessed that I was not actually on my way there! I sat thinking and went back to what I had reasoned a few hours before. I had come to France to walk and it did not really matter where I walked. I was now sitting down and comfortable, and if I ended up getting a longer ride than intended, well maybe that was just intended to happen. I settled down for the ride!
My driver had delusions that he was Fangio and he really gunned his little car whenever he had the opportunity. There was a bit of ridiculous overtaking, and impatience with slower drivers, so it was an exciting drive. And the 90 odd kilometres went by quite quickly.
I did start to wonder just where in Toulouse I might end up, but fortunately my benefactor stopped quite close to a bus stop, and he advised me that the bus would take me into the centre of the city. Luckily a bus came along quite quickly and I asked about the Basilica St Cernan, and the driver said he would tell me when to get off. And so he did.
Everything was going quite well, although by now it was around 5:30 and there was bound to be a limit on how long the 'pelerin accueil' at the basilica would be open. I did not go the most direct way, but I had picked out the towers of the basilica so I did get there in about 15 minutes, and followed the signs to the reception point.
The only person there was an elderly woman volunteer who immediately started to help me. This became a circus; I was trying to get her focussed on options like youth hotels, but all she looked at were hotels. Perhaps she saw me as needing that sort of accommodation? I gave up. After a few calls she found me a hotel that she said was not far away, but I thought directions would be good, and to have an address that I could find on the tourist map. Madam started to work on that, but did not seem to know how to use such a map. Rather than looking up the street name and getting the coordinates, she poured over the map using her knowledge of the city to find the street!! Given all the names were printed very small, this was an extended process.
Finally I had a map with the address marked and the street number - but by now it was about 6:15 and when I went out of the room we'd been working in, to the nearest door, I found it locked. The next was also barred. For a moment I thought I might be entirely on my own, but then found madam and trued to explain the situation, but it was only when I presented her with the locked door that she twigged. Clearly the place was sealed pretty well on the dot of 6:00! We went down different aisles calling out, and fortunately she got the attention of the concierge, and we were 'freed'. A near run thing
This may have been an advantage as we then walked in the general direction of the hotel and she put me on the right path. I should have said earlier that I think I was well past any thinking at this stage; I felt well and truly exhausted. But this was not the end of things. I went to three different hotels all with the same sort of name before I found mine. The street was more like a square and there were no signs of street numbers. As soon as I walked into the first two I knew I was in the wrong place - these were clearly the up-market offerings of this hotel chain. I felt very pleased when I finally registered, even if the cost was the equivalent of about the previous 5 nights. I had a shower and soon felt much better.
Still, I was so tired that I was beyond hunger and just wandered down the street to find something quick and ended up at a Macdonalds, something I would probably never do at home. So this is another great city that I will not be making the best of - but I simply did not care.
All I knew was that I had well exceeded my goal of getting to Castres, if not in the way intended. What a day!
I found the boulangerie and stocked up on baguette and cheese.
Marie got away before me and for a while I followed her but then she swept away. This is a great shame since I then missed key markers and was soon well off the path. In my defence, the path according to MMD did change directions multiple times, and mainly along roads. But the bottom line is that i soon enough knew that I was in strife!
After a while I came upon a private 'chateau' but there were no signs as to where it was. Shortly after this i came to a road junction and a road rider came up and offered advice. There was a sign to Le Rialet, on the path, and he gestured that I needed to go in that direction. It seemed to take a while but I finally reached that hamlet and took a break. There was a sign and from the MMD map figured I had to take the D61 towards La Peyraque and Castres, and that if I took the next turn to the right I should then come on the right path.
About when I expected to have to turn right, I came upon balises and guessed that the path could have been changed and that I should now follow the markers. This turned out to be a wrong guess, but I did not work this out until quite some time later - when I had turned off the road and headed in what I just knew to be the wrong direction. My best guess is that i had come upon the markers for a different GR. I was now well and truly screwed!The only option seemed to be to go back to the road [the balises had taken me off in that wrong direction[ and hope for the best. This was all walking through dense forest so not at all unpleasant. What I did find very interesting was a number of markers memorializing OSS casualties from World War II.
I also started to rationalise to myself; I had come to France to walk, there was no clear end point [since there was never a chance of getting to Santiago] so it did not matter where I walked. Somehow this made me feel a little better.About the time I was due to stop for lunch I came upon more signposts by a lake and fortunately there was yet another of those tourist road maps that helped me to work out a plan.
One road led to Mazemet, and the map showed that there was then a main road going to Castres. It was 'only' 12kms, so that seemed to be the obvious way to go; and I decided that i would hitchhike to try to shorten the day. This decision made my lunch seem much better, even though my feet were starting to give me merry hell.
That 12kms seemed very long! Quite a number of cars overtook me and I had my thumb out for each and every one of them, but not one stopped. I was not happy! My feet were on fire and it was quite warm, and 12kms starts to feel like a long way after two hours solid walking. It was good to see a settlement ahead but that was Pont de l'Arn and Mazamet still a long way to go. The walk through the suburbs seemed to last forever, but finally I got to the N112.
I walked on to find a place where it would be easier for a car to pull over and finally stopped by a wide apron and put out my thumb. There was a great deal of traffic, a lot of it heavy trucks, but within a short time a car pulled over.
It was not the flashiest car on the road. There was a fair bit of dust and stuff spread around, with a little dog in the passenger seat. He was consigned to the back, where there was also a big flat pack box. By the time I got my pack in, that poor dog had very little room. It did not seem to bother the driver, and for a long time I heard the dog scratching around to get comfortable.
My new friend had no English and my French evaporated under the stress of that long hot walk and all the concern about just where I was and how I was to get to Castres. I did try my French and explained that I was walking the Camino. I definitely mentioned Castres. He then made some comment about Toulouse and I agreed that the Camino did go through Toulouse also.
After a while, probably after I saw a sign pointing off this road to Castres, I guessed that I was not actually on my way there! I sat thinking and went back to what I had reasoned a few hours before. I had come to France to walk and it did not really matter where I walked. I was now sitting down and comfortable, and if I ended up getting a longer ride than intended, well maybe that was just intended to happen. I settled down for the ride!
My driver had delusions that he was Fangio and he really gunned his little car whenever he had the opportunity. There was a bit of ridiculous overtaking, and impatience with slower drivers, so it was an exciting drive. And the 90 odd kilometres went by quite quickly.
I did start to wonder just where in Toulouse I might end up, but fortunately my benefactor stopped quite close to a bus stop, and he advised me that the bus would take me into the centre of the city. Luckily a bus came along quite quickly and I asked about the Basilica St Cernan, and the driver said he would tell me when to get off. And so he did.
Everything was going quite well, although by now it was around 5:30 and there was bound to be a limit on how long the 'pelerin accueil' at the basilica would be open. I did not go the most direct way, but I had picked out the towers of the basilica so I did get there in about 15 minutes, and followed the signs to the reception point.
The only person there was an elderly woman volunteer who immediately started to help me. This became a circus; I was trying to get her focussed on options like youth hotels, but all she looked at were hotels. Perhaps she saw me as needing that sort of accommodation? I gave up. After a few calls she found me a hotel that she said was not far away, but I thought directions would be good, and to have an address that I could find on the tourist map. Madam started to work on that, but did not seem to know how to use such a map. Rather than looking up the street name and getting the coordinates, she poured over the map using her knowledge of the city to find the street!! Given all the names were printed very small, this was an extended process.
Finally I had a map with the address marked and the street number - but by now it was about 6:15 and when I went out of the room we'd been working in, to the nearest door, I found it locked. The next was also barred. For a moment I thought I might be entirely on my own, but then found madam and trued to explain the situation, but it was only when I presented her with the locked door that she twigged. Clearly the place was sealed pretty well on the dot of 6:00! We went down different aisles calling out, and fortunately she got the attention of the concierge, and we were 'freed'. A near run thing
This may have been an advantage as we then walked in the general direction of the hotel and she put me on the right path. I should have said earlier that I think I was well past any thinking at this stage; I felt well and truly exhausted. But this was not the end of things. I went to three different hotels all with the same sort of name before I found mine. The street was more like a square and there were no signs of street numbers. As soon as I walked into the first two I knew I was in the wrong place - these were clearly the up-market offerings of this hotel chain. I felt very pleased when I finally registered, even if the cost was the equivalent of about the previous 5 nights. I had a shower and soon felt much better.
Still, I was so tired that I was beyond hunger and just wandered down the street to find something quick and ended up at a Macdonalds, something I would probably never do at home. So this is another great city that I will not be making the best of - but I simply did not care.
All I knew was that I had well exceeded my goal of getting to Castres, if not in the way intended. What a day!
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