Day 10 - my aim was Castres, an ambitious goal

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! 

Day 9 - to Angles

I woke to blue sky and high fluffy cloud - and quite cool.  It was a wonderful sleep, with the window open and no heating!  I look out on a very narrow and quiet lane.  The church bell may have struck all through the night, but I didn't hear it from 9:00 to %:00 - courtesy of Dozy!  I got up at 7:30, quickly packed and then wandered down to the boulangerie.  I almost felt French as I came back past the church with my baguette.  It felt a luxurious breakfast - yoghurt and banana followed by fresh bread and jam.

Jacques was up by the time I left a little before 9:00 but it sounded like he is to meet someone at Angles and is not planning to stay at the Gite Municipale.  There was some confusion getting out of town as I had not reconnoitred the night before.  I went back down to the main road [and the laverie and fountain - where there was a local with a pack of carafes to fill]. 
 

 I had figured that I had to go to the bridge at the end of town and fortunately there found balises - just past it - which took me off to the right - as per the MMD map.  I followed the D14E1 for an hour or so, past this old bridge [Pont de la Lune], 
 
 until the markers finally took me off to the left on a much more 'minor' road.  This gradually became more and more 'minor' until it became more like a timber getters' track.  There were elm, oak, spruce and pine, with a few cleared coupes and the sound of chain saws still in action. Then the path started to look like a quite ancient way, with low moss covered dry-stone walls beside it




i stopped around here for egg sandwiches about 11:00 and realized that I had enjoyed my bread and jam breakfast too much!  I should have kept more.  

The weather had looked like improving and I had thought briefly about walking in shorts, but a cool wind had blown up and I found myself putting the rain jacket back on.   The country stayed much the same, and I passed several more stores of sawn logs.  The path stayed very quiet but got quite rough in places and I almost twisted my ankle; not the place to do it.

About 1:00 I walked through Crouzettes and very shortly after stopped for lunch.  There was plenty of camembert but very little bread - still with plenty of cheese and a big mandarin, it felt like a feast, especially as I was now sitting in a little sun.  But not too long after lunch it started to rain.

I walked through the 'suburbs' of Angles by 2:20 and to the centre where I found the mairie and got a key to the gite.  I must have looked as if I was struggling with the directions in French, so madame kindly produced a sheet in English.  I confess I still found them confusing and almost by chance finally fell on the door - it was BEHIND the post office, rather than BESIDE it as per those directions.

It is a lovely little gite, with two dormitories beyond a tiny kitchen and off that a tiny bathroom..  Maybe the best part was the very hot water.  I had a shower and did some washing by 3:30 so I could have a wander around the village.  This quickly established that there was not a lot to see; a lovely little bar on the main square, but the two epiceries did not have much in the way of provisions, and there didn't seem to be other places to eat.  There is an 'ancienne porte' and a temple [which I think means 'protestant'].  The church has a list of priests but the names ran out at 1507, and a gap between 1570 and 1660 - I guess because of the 'Wars of Religion' when the church was destroyed.

I had a beer at the cafe-tabac and watched four road bike riders strut about on their beer break [no sign of coffee here]!  There was also a couple on a huge motor bike.  They made a grand exit - and then returned for the jar of jam left behind.  I did notice people around an 'alimentation' sign and tried it for food.  It was the most amazing place.  The door was difficult to open, and it was finally opened by an old joker who might have been a customer.  The place was run by a really ancient couple and had this jumble of 'stuff' that I was dubious about.  I did buy a little fruit to make some contribution.  The old lady carefully gave me my 1c change.

On the way back I found Jacques at the cafe and he said Marie was at my gite.  I had a bit of a chat with her and she explained why she was not walking with him now; all he wants for dinner is pork/charcuterie and beans!  She is going to Castries tomorrow, a big day, but then doing a short one.  It sounded a good idea.  The good news she had was that a lady around the corner was offering a tagine dinner for 10Euro at 7:30.  I signed up immediately.

I did find the way out of town this time and bought wine for dinner and supplies for the morrow.  About 7:00 another two people bustled into the gite.  I had last seen them at St Roche in Montpellier.  He looks like a wizened outdoors man and she is much younger with plenty of blond hair and legs made for walking.  I had thought they were father and daughter.  Marie later told their story over dinner.  They were most definitely not father and daughter, but had met on Camino a few years before; he is from Normandy and she from Marseilles and now walk together.  Not just that, but they 'bivouac' which means here that their shelter is generally just a sheet of waterproof.  Last night had been very cold so they were using the gite as a treat.  They seemed to be drinking some sort of nettle soup - which fitted with his look, but not her's.  He seemed to have quite a big pack but her's was very small - and the shorts she was wearing at Montpellier and here would not take much space - nor the gear drying on the rack outside,

Dinner was wonderful- a spicey soup, then the chicken and potato tagine and a puree dessert.

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.
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