Voie d’Arles Day 7 “Easy” not so Easy

Voie D’Arles day 7, Friday, April 27, 2018:  La Barraque at Saint-Christaud to Marciac.  Our 7th wedding anniversary. (11 miles, 24,306 steps on phone), 14-16 km

“Easy Day” not so Easy

We didn’t try to get off early because we knew we had such a short day, just 14-16 km to go.  We had coffee, bread and jam, and visited with Joanna and a farmer neighbor who was transporting her over-one year-old calf for slaughter.

As we walked up the hill back to the Chemin, we had our first view of the snowy Pyrenees.  I took pictures,but they were too hazy to show clearly.  The sun was shining and there was a brisk wind.  A hawk fluttered in place.  ÎIt was cool and perfect for walking.  We rounded the Fortress-like Eglise St. Christoffe,and descended on steep wet paths to fields below, which we wound along forever—often turning to see St. Christoffe still looming fortress-like behind us.  The grass was often tall and wet.  An abundance of Timothy hay made my eyes itch. In the distance a gothic spire loomed ahead, and something that looked like a very tall thin chimney.  On a high hill we threw down my rain poncho and drank water, shared an apple and finished the potato chips.  Tractors plowed the fields.  We crossed the straight, busy highway that ran directly into Marciac, but our path climbed steeply upwards perpendicular to the road.  The church we’d seen from afar was not open.  I walked all the way around it before we started the long descent toward the church steeples of Marciac, which never seemed to get closer. We were soon walking in tall grass again, struggling with uneven footing.  When the path turned to go uphill once more, we decided to walk the short distance to the busy highway straight into town instead.  That was probably not the wisest choice, as the highway edge was narrow, and it still seemed to take forever.

We stopped briefly at a SuperU at the edge of town, where I sat on a curb in the parking lot feeling like a homeless bag lady, while Kent went into the store that advertised no midday closing.  From there we walked on footpaths, and on the edge of the old town, we came to a restaurant with dinners eating beautiful-looking salads and drinking carafes of wine.  

“It’s very good!” A woman gestured to us and called out in Engllsh.  So we enjoyed a delicious anniversary dejeuner.  We found our hotel on the main “place” just minutes after leaving the restaurant and thus arrived refreshed rather than in our usual exhausted state.  It was just before the 3 pm check-in time.  We showered and enjoyed having real towels with which to dry off, and took an hour’s nap.

At 19 hours we met Emanuel and two other pilgrims, Frank from Toulouse and Querina (who had already been traveling 60 days from Holland and who slept in a tent) for a pizza dinner, a real camino gathering of fellow pilgrims, although we were probably three times the age of the others.

It was a good day after all, but we learned it is better to anticipate “hard” than to expect “easy” and then be disappointed.  Our first week of walking had been completed, as had seven years of our official life together.  What adventures we have had, and joy after the sorrow of loss.

Voie d’Arles Day 6: L’Isle de Noe to Saint Christaud

Voie d’Arles Day 6

L’Isle De Noe to La Barraque Saint-Christaud

15.4 miles. 21 km

34, 063 steps

We had an absolutely beautiful day of walking, beginning with an English breakfast (!) from our hostess Edna Moody, an English transplant to the beautiful little village of L’Isle-de-Noe, who took very good care of us indeed, and bid us farewell from the door.

We crossed a bridge, encountered some white horses grazing in a field, and soon turned off onto a woodland path that climbed steadily upward.

In a little over 2 hours we reached the lovely village of Montesquiou, where I snapped pictures of the buildings and flowers as we descended to the town center.  We had two petit cafes at the bar, then headed down to an epicerie, where we had a cheese and butter sandwich made, picked up a bottle of water, two apples, a large bar of dark chocolate, some potato chips and one pain au chocolate.  We stowed away everything but the juice and croissant, which we took to a picnic table in a pretty park. 

We also figured out that my phone miles were adding about 20% to the actual distance, at least based on the distance to Montisquiou this morning.

We had to detour leaving town because a stone arch was being repaired—so after climbing up to the church, very large with an impressive baroque interior, we backtracked to the little park, briefly meeting Alain, who was just arriving.  As we climbed the hills out of town the church bells rang.  It was noon.

More wooded paths led us to Poulybon, which offered lodging at a campground just before town.  We had quite a long open flat area to cross.  Kent figured out how to attach my poles to the back of my pack when I didn’t need them, and I put on my bluetooth neck loop which streamed music from my phone to my hearing aids.  I then walked along to Handel’s Watermusic, Beethoven’s Appassionata, Blue Moon of Kentucky and more.  No more bird songs for awhile.  We continued to the village center, which boasted some office buildings and a large church with an impressive arch.  We saw no one other than the young mailwoman who we’d encountered twice before as we had been in her way as she was reversing her yellow van at the ends of cul de sacs that us into woods paths.

We ate our sandwich, potato chips, and some chocolate at a picnic table near the Mairie, enjoying the weight off our feet for awhile.  

Upon leaving Poulybon we had a very steep descent through woods.  I was glad to use my poles again.  A few signs were a bit confusing, so after yesterday’s mishap, we kept checked the map carefully.

For once, we came upon the sign for tonight’s lodging in a 14th century farmhouse, owned by Joanna, originally Swiss, who has a garden and small farm, and has lived here for 30 years.  

Joanna gave us a warm welcome, and we learned much about her very much back-to-to-the-earth way of life.  We ate a delicious flower- filled salad from her garden and a delicious omelet filled with green asparagus and green onions and garden herbs.  We drank delicious water from her spring.  She had electricity from solar panels, and a composting toilet, yet we had plenty of hot water for showers.  We were the only pilgrims there in spacious rooms with old beams in the ceilings and cool tile floors underfoot.  We ate in a sun-warmed little glass veranda off her kitchen.

She had to go away that evening, and her WiFi was turned off, and I could get no cell service through the stone walls, so I sat in the sun porch long after the sun went down to access email and book a room for the next night in Marciac.  We thought we’d treat ourselves to a hotel to celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary tomorrow.  Only 11 km to Marciac.  We won’t leave ad early. It should be an easy day!

Voie d’Arles Day 5 Wednesday April 25, Auch to L’Isle de Noe

Voie d’Arles Day 5: Auch to L’Isle Noe

22-24 km, (phone miles 19.2 and 41,193 steps).  April 25, 2018.

Oops! A Mistake that Cost Us

Today was supposed to be a good day, but ended up a mixed one.  Low-lying clouds hovered over Auch at dawn, threatening rain.  However, the temperature had dropped, which boded well for walking.  When we exited the ancient presbytere we were happy to find nearby an open patisserie with coffee and pastries, although we would have preferred to walk awhile before dropping the packs we’d just put on.  It was good we stopped, however, as that was the last open shop we would see all day. It was 7:30, and the cathedral bells were ringing as we headed out of town.  We spent quite a bit of time perusing the map and street signs at each intersection, but by 7:45 we were in the country, heading for L’Isle de Noe, which was 22-24 km away.  The walking turned out to be quite hilly and almost all on tarmac, which was hard on the feet.  

At some point, at the top of a very long hill, shortly after a lovely short downhill dirt path through a pine forest, we misread signs and headed off on a very long, somewhat muddy track along an open ridge.  It seemed to be taking a very long time to travel the 4.2 km from the last junction to La Barran.  At last we came out onto the road where it should have been only A kilometer and a half to the village.  Kent wanted to head right, the way the map showed, but the village to the right did not look like La Barran, which was famous for its old gate and twisted church tower.  I could see a steeple like that in the distance, far below us, at least 2 or 3 miles away and off to our left, not to our right.  Was that La Barran? 

We headed toward the distant village, and after 50 minutes or an hour, read with relief the sign at the entrance to the village.  We  had arrived at La Barran, and we were on the right route at last.

We passed the grocery store, closed until after 3—it was now well after 1 pm.  The church was not open, either.  There was a faded sign for a bar that appeared to have been closed for years.  An occasional car passed, but there were no other sign of life. One other shop was closed until 3, and the gite was locked up tight.  We could have called its phone number, but we knew it was already fully booked, and we had reservations in L’Isle de Noe, another one to two hour’s walk away.  We sat on the low wall of the deserted covered market place and divided a granola bar.

The. road distance to l’Isle de Noe was somewhat shorter than the Grande Randonee route, but the road, on which we walked for perhaps half a km, was narrow and very busy, and we’d had enough of road-walking.  

So we headed up into high hills through grassy fields with views that went on forever.  We still could not see the Pyrenees, and clouds hovered over the horizons.  We felt a few raindrops, as we had earlier in the day.  “We’re up in the clouds,” Kent had said.  It was so beautiful, I didn’t care if the path was longer.  At last we wound down through woods and beside more fields and back to the road into pretty L’Isle de Noe.  after rounding a bend and crossing a bridge, nearly at the end of the main street Rue General DeGaulle, we found the Gite, where we were warmly welcomed by Edna Moody, a transplanted English woman.  She was expecting one more pilgrim that evening, and after a bit of beer and conversation, she led us upstairs to a small room containing a double bed pushed against one wall, a sink, a shower, a single dresser, and a bar stool.  There were towels, sheets on the bed, and an enormous comforter. Getting into the shower was a tight squeeze, but the water was hot.  We both showered and crawled under the covers, the bed so soft we rolled together into the center.  I was laughing at the craziness of it all.  Just getting in and out of that bed was major exercise.  We had been chilled after sitting downstairs in our damp clothes and getting out of the shower in the cold room, but warmed up under the covers and fell asleep despite talking about going out to the shop and exploring the town.  We woke just at dinner time and hurried downstairs to meet Alain, the other pilgrim, who was walking for a week from his home in Toulouse, where he works with handicapped students ages 16 to 18.  We had a nice conversation, with the help of some translation from Edna, who served a delicious dinner with salad, shepherd’s pie and carrots.  There was also a dessert of peaches with cream, a bottle of local red wine, and Camembert and Roquefort.  Shortly after dinner we returned to bed and despite a few odd dreams slept soundly until my phone alarm, plugged into the room’s only outlet on the floor behind the door, woke us at 7.  Total cost for the two of us for lodging, dinner and breakfast 60 Euros.

Day 4: la Mothe to Auch

Voie d’Arles Day 4: La Mothe in Isle-Arne to Auch

37,840 steps or 17.2miles (actually probably about 22-24 km)

We got away earlier this morning, reaching the Chemin at about 8 am.  The first hour of walking in the cool through Isle-Arne to Lussan, tiny villages with no shops, was lovely. We took a shortcut on a small road to Lussan, saving some time and wet feet from the heavy morning dew, then took break on a bench in front of the Lussan Church.  Only a few cars passed.  We headed across country past a couple of chateaus, a reflecting farm pond, and fields of yellow rape.  We climbed up and down some long hills, mostly on grassy paths.  We kept looking for the Pyrenees, but there were too many clouds in the distance.  It has continued to be quite humid.  We crossed a stream on sticks and stepping stones — I was glad my taped up pole was holding—and stopped in the shade of a shrub along side a path that followed a green verge between two recently plowed fields. We sat in somewhat damp grass and ate the delicious apples and sandwiches we brought for lunch.  The grass made my arms itch and we were stiff when we got to our feet and hoisted our packs again, but It was all quite lovely walking on small tracks and paths that changed before they became too predictable.  Who knew what we’d find around the next corner or over the hill?  As we neared Montegut the terrain rose to a limestone plateau, drier underfoot, with scrubby trees.  It was some of the best walking of the trip, and both Kent and I drifted off into our own caminos of the mind.  I don’t know what Kent was thinking, but I was writing poems in my head, remembering Ed’s last moments and thinking of a pilgrim friend’s current vigil with her husband, moments of transition that change everything forever when loved ones leave on caminos we can’t yet follow.  

Suddenly, the trees opened to reveal A fairy-tale scene below — the church and turreted chateau of Montegut.  A white-flowering tree I’ve never seen before appeared, and an old stone watchtower loomed even higher above the white limestone trail that reminded me of limestone outcrops in my childhood home in Michigan.  It felt right and happy to be walking in this lovely place.  We descended into the hamlet — again no shops—and took a break in the cool shelter of the church, which besides its statues of Saint Germaine and Jeanne d’Arc had a poster detailing the history of the town.

From there we descended sharply, then climbed again up a long paved hill, as we once again left the Grande Randonee with its lengthy by-pass of the freeway on which we’d sped in a bus to Toulouse just days ago, to take a more direct route into Auch.  Kent was great at finding our way with the map in our book, while I worried Anita about taking wrong turns.

We came out on a busy highway where we walked on a very narrow, unpleasant and somewhat dangerous edge as cars and trucks whizzed by.  That section lasted only about 500 meters, and along that way we stopped at a veterinary clinic to ask for a refill of a water bottle.  We had to wait a bit, and I got to pet a fuzzy and curious little puppy.  Eventually we came to sidewalks along the still busy and very noisy road.  What awful things cars are for walkers!

The towers of the medieval cathedral in the old town of Auch loomed on the hill across the river as we walked the long way down into the center of town.  I thought how medieval Pilgrims must have thrilled to see that sight, as we did, too. But they would have walked in green silence, hearing only the birds and sounds of animals.

We looked longingly at the cafes in the center of town, but stopped only briefly at the bridge that separated the new and old towns.  We could see in the distance the famous grand steps that led to the old town.  I pulled out my phone and put in the address of the ancient presbytere where we would be staying.  Nine minutes walking!  Yeah!  We trudged up the last hill of the day.  It was just after 3 pm that we were welcomed by friendly volunteers and shown into this amazing place.  

There are 3 rooms of beds, including one with a double bed, which we claimed, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and laundry soap for hand -washing clothes, with drying racks on a balcony overlooking the cathedral and the town and the hills through which we’d walked.

Later, Emmanuel showed up.  We’d exchanged phone numbers.  He asked for a recommendation for dinner, and we ended up having a lovely dinner and conversation in a cafe a bit out of the historic tourist area that was good and reasonably priced:  Cafe Le Parking

 Before this we got to the cathedral at 5:40, but were chased out five minutes later for the 6 o’clock closing.

We looked down the famous staircase with its statue of the Three Musketeers’ D’Artagnon, but instead of another climb up and down, headed back through the square, which was totally under construction, to have a cold drink at last at a sidewalk cafe.

Tomorrow on to L’Isle Noe.  It appears there are only 4 beds at La Barran, and 3 have been booked by Emmanuel and two pilgrims he met along the way today.

Voie d’Arles Day 3 Le Grange to LaMothe

Arles Route Day 3.  Le Grange to La Mothe, Monday April 23.  distance in guidebook, 14 km. Distance on phone 13.9 miles, 30,363 steps.  Kent says I take tiny steps, and compared to his long-legged stride I guess I do.

Equipment Failure and the Breath of God

Today is a bit of a blur, as we walked up and down many hills, on bits of paved road and some lovely woodland paths, encountering a few muddy spots.  The air continued heavy and hazy.  We made a wide circle around the largest town, Gimont, which would have been interesting to visit, but the route did not enter it, so we only looked at the church spires from a distance.  

We also navigated around a highway construction site, and at one point ended up in what appeared to be a cul de sac in a recent housing development.  I was about to despair, when, there, hidden around a corner in overgrown bushes, Kent stood smiling beside the familiar red and white Grande Randonee mark and a path that took off into the greenery.

We finally arrived at am impressive church with benches dotting the surrounding grounds. Nearby was a roundabout containing a few shops, including a closed restaurant, a small convenience store, and a gourmet epicerie with regional delicacies. After a look at the wines and pates we ended up at the convenience store with two cans of juice and a bag of potato chips, which we took to a shady churchyard bench as the bells struck 12.

After that, we walked in countryside until we finally reached tonight’s lodging At La Mothe, 400 meters off the trail, shortly after we had passed the skull and crossbones of an iron-gated overgrown cemetery and a ruined chateau with extensive buildings including a church and a metal water tank.  Our host tonight informed us that the current owner had won the place in a card game.

Our host this evening spoke to us in a mix of French and Spanish—Kent did better at communicating with him than I did.  We had no food with us to cook, so he provided dinner — a delicious salad and an indifferent “ratatouille” of mainly potato, onion and potato in broth with duck legs.

Emanuel arrived not long after we did, and we exchanged phone numbers in case we need to communicate on the route.  We plan to stay in a donation presbytery in Auch tomorrow night.

Again, we are the only people here.  Kent and I declined a two-bedded room at extra charge, so we are upstairs in a dormitory, which we have all to ourselves, and Emanuel is downstairs.  There is one bathroom with two showers and one toilet, so it would get rather crowded with many guests, but for 3 of us it is plenty.

This is interesting place in an old building, rather funkily decorated, but not as nice as last night’s accommodation.

The equipment failure:  my Black Diamond hiking poles:  one came apart as I was swinging it through the grass along the road.  With the help of our host, we’ve taped the pieces together, with packing tape, not duct tape.  I hope it will hold as walking with just one pole felt like walking with one arm.

The “breath of God”was what I experienced when a cooling breeze lifted my spirits at the summits of hills.

I started to sing that old hymn, “Breathe on me, Breath of God, Gill me with life anew....”. I certainly felt I needed new life and energy at many points along today’s walk.

It was not quite as warm today as yesterday, but the air was humid and heavy, the intense green of fields and woods almost oppressive.  We have still not seen the Pyrenees, which other walkers have reported seeing in the distance by now.

Tomorrow’s walk to the historic city of Auch will be much longer.  My phone continues to give much longer distances than the guide book, which measures the distance from Le Grange to La Motthe as just 14 Km.

It seemed longer than that to me, as we walked from just before 9 am to 20 after 3, with a few breaks of perhaps 15 minutes each at most.

Ultreia!

Voie d’Arles Day 2, Sunday 22 April, 2018,

 Voie d’Arles Day 2: 22 April L’Isle Jordain to Giscaro.  On my phone: 10.6 miles, 23, 363 steps,  estimated distance about 15 km.

After wearing ourselves out yesterday, we decided to make today shorter.  Solitary Walker had written an enthusiastic account of his stay at Gite d’Etape Le Grange a few years ago, so we emailed ahead to say we’d be coming.

At first I thought we might decide to walk farther, but after about the first hour of walking, the heat and humidity began to take its toll.  Much of our walking was along pleasant dirt tracks. We arrived at the village of Monferran-Savès shortly after 11 am, after about 2 hours of walking and one brief rest.  As we entered the village two men directed us to a shop where we could “even get whiskey,” and we soon arrived at a Vival-Casino that was doing a brisk business before its noon-time closing.  Water, orange soda, some potato chips to help replenish our depleted salt, our leftover bread and butter from breakfast, a new bottle of water, and some dark chocolate provided refreshment enough as we sat at the plastic table and chairs in front of the shop.  A man wearing hiking boots and zip-legged pants hopped out of his car, and asked if we were going to Santiago.  When we said yes, he said, “Can get there faster in my car — two days”.  I’m sorry we didn’t take time to wander into the church courtyard, but we were eager to continue on our way.  

The only other people on the trail this morning were a couple of joggers and a small group on horseback.

The trail meandered up and down along fields and wooded lanes.  Many birds sang.  We stopped a few more times, not wanting to arrive too early.

At the top of a high hill we found, to our delight, a stone bench adorned with a scallop shell and with a sign urging Jacquairs to profit from it.  We sat there a long time, cooling in the shade and breeze, thinking we had only an hour or so yet to go, and we did, arriving at the Gite Le Grange some time after 2 pm., hot and sweating once more after climbing more hills.

Showers, clothes washed in a washing machine for 3 Euros, a couple of beers and then a long nap before a delicious dinner of zucchini soup, served in a lovely old tureen, tender duck, and oven-roasted potatoes, all prepared by Eric, who was covering for the Flemings.  

I was so energized by the nap and dinner, legs and feet no longer aching, so we took a walk before dark.

We are sleeping in a lovely attic dorm, just two of us in this room, snuggled under comfy duvets, cool night breezes coming in through a door and skylight.

Fellow pilgrim Emmanuel from Caen, who cooked his own dinner, is in the other room. He had walked from L’Isle Jordain much later than we.

Today, except for the heat, was pilgrim life at its best.

There are even lamps and small tables beside the beds, and extension cords to plug in phones.  This is the perfect gite. 

Voie d’Arles: Day 1 Pibrac to L’Isle Jordain

Voie D’Arles

Day 1 Pibrac to L’Isle Jordain

41,268 steps or 19.2 miles (according to my iPhone, probably exaggerated somewhat).

First days of walking are usually difficult and contain some surprises.  This one was no exception.  We left our hotel in Toulouse, with what I thought was time to spare to grab coffee and croissants and perhaps even a sandwich for the road at the train station.  On the way, I looked at our tickets and realized I’d mixed up our departure and arrival times. We had just over 20 minutes rather than 40 to catch the train.  We sprinted as much as two overweight persons in their mid seventies can sprint wearing nearly 15-pound backpacks.  We managed to find the gate for the train, and entered empty cars. Eventually a handful of others arrived, some carrying their coffee.  We were on the right train, not some fantasy train to another world.

When my boot had unlaced itself during our race to the station, and I’d bent to fix it, my hydration pack spewed water all over me.  I knew it tended to be leaky, but it now it was really unusable.  I held the the hose above the pack for the duration of the ride.  We exited at the deserted Pribac station.  By looking at a map posted at the station and consulting the pages torn from our Miam-Miam Dodo, we figured the town center was uphill and to the right.  We found a bar, the only open business in the town, where were able to get croissants, coffee, and orange juice, for 5 E each.  While we waited for breakfast I pulled out my hydration pack, emptied it on  flower  box outside the door and put the whole contraption in a dumpster across the street.

Following detailed directions on a handout from the pilgrim office in Toulouse, we found our first camino and Grand Randonee  653 signs in front of the closed Basilica of Saint Germaine, who had lived her short life in Pibrac.  Minutes later we met Yvonne, who paused her car to wait for us to cross a small street, and asked us to pray for her in Compostelle.  She explained in gestures and in what I’m sure was perfect French her ailment,   I took her hand and I promised to pray for her as I walked.  

At the bottom of a hill, we crossed the tracks again, where signs in 2 directions pointed to Compostelle.  We could see from our map that one took a longer route through the Forest of Bauconne, and the other a somewhat shorter route to the village of Leguivin.  We chose the shorter route along paths frequented by joggers and dog-walkers, several of whom helped us find the way at confusing intersections.

The day grew increasingly warm

There was little shade and no clouds as we left the jogging paths and walked through suburban neighborhoods.

In Leguivin we found a small market where we bought a litre of water, a can of juice and a small bag of potato chips which we ate on a bench in the village square.  We got directions for continuing from two people, and followed more suburban streets until we were in the country, and finally arriving at a dirt trail leading into the forest, where we paused to drink water.  We were grateful to be off paved roads at last.  There were a few more problematic intersections on the forest trail, which we could tell had been muddy a short time before, but had now dried in the shapes left by tractor tires, a bit hard and rough underfoot, but surely better than mud.

After an hour or two in the forest, some of which had been logged, so there were no trees and no shade, we came out to a paved road at the top of a very long, very steep hilll.  The views of the surrounding farm fields, patchworks of green, brown, and brilliant yellow were spectacular.  At last as the road began to climb again, the markers pointed to a path through fields where we continued to climb.  There were now views of houses and small ponds, but L’Isle Jordain lay beyond more hills. 

An occasional breeze cooled us a bit, but we were dripping with sweat.  Kent dug my bandana from the top of my pack, and I mopped the sweat from my eyes and tied it around my neck.  

Eventually we came to another road, walked past more houses and crossed a busy highway and a railroad track.  We sat in the grass under some trees for a bit, and figured we had another hour to go.  The route via the road would have been shorter, but we opted for the Grand Randonee path.  We’d had enough of road-walking.  I had only a small amount of water in my half-litre bottle, and the other bottle we’d bought was empty.  Kent had water in his hydration pack that we shared, but how much was left?  We had no way of knowing.

At the very last house on the track, a young girl was mounting a horse, her mother opening the gate for her. 

“Bonjour,” I said, “Un peu d’eau, si’l vous plait?” and gestured to Kent to pull out my bottle.  The mother graciously took our two bottles and disappeared into the house as the daughter headed down the track we would follow.  Grateful for the kindness of strangers, we drank half of our new water within minutes as we followed the horse down the track.

All went well until we reached a river and misread signs, which led us in the wrong direction.  I turned to Google maps to corroborate, and got that familiar voice in English saying , “Go Southwest.”  We turned around.

We crossed an ancient brick bridge and were soon in a park along a lake, surrounded by people.  We stopped at the tourist office, a modern building by the lake, and took a look at the very nice-looking attached gite.  If we hadn’t already reserved at the hotel,  this would have been just fine.  “One pilgrim tonight,” we were told.

We strolled along the lakeshore — maybe staggered is a better word for it, among families, old folks with dogs, young couples holding hands, and young men sitting at picnic tables with packs of beer.

Finally —the hotel, the Hostellerie du Lac, an old-fashioned summer hotel.  After 7.5 hours of walking, we were hot, exhausted, and dripping sweat.  “I’d like a beer, “ said Kent as he was handed the key to room 04.  “Right now?” she asked. Yes, right now!  “Make that two!” I said, taking the key and heading up the stairs.  i had just opened the door of the dark room, when the woman from the desk whipped past me, carrying two Heineken bottles and two glasses on a tray.  She threw open the shutters, flooding the room with light, and set the tray down on the balcony that over-looked the lake.  We had arrived!

Dropping our packs, we eased ourselves into the chairs.   We’d made through our first day!

There were baths in the old-fashioned tub, a bit of hand-washing, and finally a sumptuous dinner on the terrace. We were not always sure what we were eating: slices of heart in a salad, perhaps, and a foie gras, with scallops and tiny shrimp in another salad.

Too tired to write more than a bit, I fell asleep.  Tomorrow we’d have a shorter day.

April 20 Toulouse

20 April. Toulouse

We had a lovely relaxing day once we got our train tickets to take us out of the industrial suburbs of Toulouse tomorrow morning.  Because of the SNCF strike, there was quite a backlog.  We walked along the Canal du Midi from the train station.  It was pretty at first, then became lined with concrete as highways had been laid beside it.  We also passed two small homeless encampments under bridges. We came to a canal sightseeing boat that was about to leave, and decided to take the trip back the way we had come, through 3 locks.  That was enough for us.  We then walked along the Brienne Canal to the Garonne, buying sandwiches, drinks, and chocolate at a little epicerie, and picnicking on a bench beside the canal.

It was still lunchtime when we reached the Garonne, and people were out everywhere, on steps leading down to the water, in grassy parks, and in sidewalk cafes.

Old bridges, spectacular old buildings on both sides of the river, and a church with a revered Black Madonna were all part of the mix.  We finished our sightseeing with a lengthier visit to the Couvent Jacobin, and a farewell to Thomas Aquinas.  

We rested in our hotel room for a short while before exploring a nearby neighborhood  and enjoying pizza for dinner.

Our packs are packed again and tomorrow will be a test of endurance as we walk over 20 km from Pibrac to L’Isle Jordan, where have wimped out and reserved a hotel room rather than searching for the municipal gite.  

Now our real pilgrim journey begins!

April 19 Bordeaux to Toulouse

19 April 2018 Bordeaux to Toulouse

We had a wonderful day in Bordeaux yesterday, getting a European SIM card from an outfit called “Free,” picking up an adaptor for French electrical outlets — I was surprised to discover my Spanish one didn’t work—and touring pilgrim sites around this lovely city.   The weather was sunny, and a bit warm, and we logged 8.2 miles. Then, after dinner, we walked along the Garonne, adding perhaps another mile or two.  Hundreds of people of all ages, although mostly young ones, were picnicking in the parkland along the river.  We also purchased bus tickets to Toulouse, and this morning walked across the Garonne on the Pierre Bridge to catch the Ouibus to Toulouse, an uneventful 3-hour journey along a large highway.  Although I kept watching, and saw signs to Lectoure and Condom, places I walked through on the route from Le Puy in 2010, I couldn’t recognize where the Chemin crossed the highway.

We are settled into the Hotel Royal Wilson in the old center of Toulouse for the next two nights.  It sounds elegant, but is an older two-star hotel.

It will do.

We visited the tourist office, the pilgrims welcome office, where got information on the trail ahead, and two churches — the Basilica of St. Sernin, which had a beautiful series of posters with wonderful quotations about many aspects of pilgrimage, and the Convent Church of the Jacobins which holds the grave of St Thomas  Acquinas, which I vividly remembered visiting in 1998 or 1999, although I’d forgotten which church it was in.

Arrived in Bordeaux

April 17

We arrived in France, making our way to the RER at CDG with only a little confusion.  We surfaced into the sunshine, blossoming trees and flowers of springtime Paris at Denfert-Rochereau.  In a jet-lagged daze we circled the area, getting our bearings, then walked through a bit of the Montparnasse Cemetery, before reaching the Gare Montparnasse with over 2 hours before our train.  Our tickets, purchased long ago, could not be changed, so we dined on salad and quiche at the Cafe du Maine before boarding the sleep-inducing high speed train to Bordeaux, where with a bit of help we found our way to the lovely and friendly Maison Bastide.

It is warm, so I shed my fleece, wool pullover and boots. Tomorrow we’ll explore Bordeaux and figure out how we’ll get to Toulouse on Thursday when the trains will be on strike.

My To-do List is Empty

My to-do list is now empty. I found a shirt to wear on the plane tomorrow, and the silk scarf that will accompany me on my pilgrimage.  My pack seems too heavy at almost 15 pounds, but the clothes I’ll be wearing are in it, except for the fleece I’ll put on in the morning, along with my boots, jeans, shirt and the scarf.  The jeans will stay behind as we head off on our pilgrimage, stripped down to the bare essentials.  I’ll have my phone this time, unlike on my first time, when I had nothing electronic but my camera, a slightly newer version of which I’ll take tomorrow.

How I hate these final hours before departure!  For 2 days, and especially today, I have been scrambling and scurrying from one thing to another.

Thankfully, Kent has done much in terms of emptying the refrigerator and taking care of things out doors.

 It is nearly 11, and the Lyft driver should appear by 5:45 or 6:00.

We’ll have 5 days at the Pilgrim Gathering in Menlo Park and with the family in San Francisco before we fly to Paris on Monday.

What have I forgotten?  From the New Zealand Book of Common Prayer, a favorite:

Lord,

it is night.

The night is for stillness.

Let us be still in the presence of God.

It is night after a long day.

What has been done has been done;

what has not been done has not been done;

let it be.

The night is dark.

Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives

rest in you.

The night is quiet.

Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,

all dear to us,

and all who have no peace.

The night heralds the dawn.

Let us look expectantly to a new day,

new joys,

new possibilities.

In your name we pray.

Amen.

Morning: waiting to board our flight to Oakland, CA

Chemin d'Arles April-May 2018

One week from today Kent and I will be departing for the American Pilgrims on the Camino Gathering in Menlo Park, California, and less that a week after that, on April 17, will arrive in Paris. From there we'll take the train to Bordeaux and then to Toulouse, where on Saturday, April 21, we hope to begin the 449 km (about 280 mile) walk to Puente la Reina in Spain along the Chemin d'Arles (Tolosana) and Camino Aragones.

We have been walking along the irrigation ditch banks in our new boots nearly every morning for the past three weeks, hoping to be somewhat ready.  Now we are trying out our packs: what to take and what to leave?  Less is more.

"Nothing is more exhilarating than pursuing an improbable goal without regard to consequences." Edie Littlefield Sundby.   The Mission Walker