Days 8 and 9 Voie d’Arles

Day 8 Marciac to Mauberguet. Very interesting day, with frustration followed by success  (15.2 miles, 33,655) steps).  Saturday, April 28.

We left our hotel room on the fine main place in Marciac in search of coffee and breakfast pastries.  Nine Euros 50 each was a bit much to pay for a French breakfast.  We found two bakeries open, but no coffee, so returned to the hotel with our pastries where we were able to get coffee in the breakfast area.  We did not see another person at the hotel, just the same desk clerk in both afternoon and morning.

Climbing the steep hill out of town, we could see ahead of us three walkers:  Emmanuel, Querina, and Franck.  We kept them in sight off and on over the next hour.

We met two women walking dogs, and to our surprise two other French pilgrims, an older couple Michel and Daniele, experienced pilgrims carrying what looked to be heavy packs.  They were taking shortcuts via road.  We did not see them again.

The route on this Sunday angled mostly between fields on flat land, heading always toward a hill with a very tall church steeple.  Eventually we climbed that hill, to the lovely hamlet of Auriebat, which had public toilets and drinking water and a bench on which to sit, but no shops.  Nor was the church open.  We descended the hill, then walked a couple more more hours, turning back now and then to look at the Church always visible behind us.

It seemed a long walk into Maubourguet, from the outskirts where we walked on a busy road.  We perhaps took a wrong turn, and should have  followed a path along the river Adour, fast-flowing and beautiful.  As we entered the old part of town, we met Franck and Querina heading back without their packs to an open grocery store, as the one in town was closed. 

We were hoping to stay at the municipal gite accessed through the tourist office, but the tourist office, when we finally found it, was closed. And no one was answering the phone, either. 

We encountered Emmanuel on a bench with the others’ packs. We had also been directed by an excited woman in a tabac shop — the only place open on Saturday afternoon besides a handful of bars— to some other gite— we were not sure which. Her directions were so detailed, the place sounded like it must be kilometers away.

Kent was getting even more tired than I, so we sat on the porch of one of the bars with a couple of beers, and studied our options. I got hold of one place by phone, but couldn’t understand their answers to my questions, so said we would come there—but where?

The bartender didn’t seem to know.

Google maps repeatedly said no place found when I tried typing in the address given.  It was one of those crazy situations I’ve been in before in France, trying to find a place we know exists but seems invisible.

Emmanuel and the others went on their way, another 5 Km to the campground. They offered to share their food with us, but Kent really did not want to walk 5 more km that afternoon, and I wasn’t enthusiastic about heading to the country, either.

We found one gite, closed for the weekend.  Call Clotilde, the sign said.  It was Clotilde we were trying to find! We headed back to a main street, hoping to find the place to which the tabac shop woman had directed us.  And suddenly, just 4 doors down from the coiffure shop, which the detailed directions had sounded like might have been kilometers away, we found the Gite of Clotilde et Henri.

(One problem had been that the Street was known by an abbreviated name “Mal Joffre” and I had been painstakingly typing in over and over The full name Marechal Joffre.)

We rang the bell, and were warmly welcome by Clotilde, who had been expecting us after receiving our phone call.  Conversing in person was much easier.

The place was spacious and clean, upstairs from their living space.  We chose the dormitory, as there was no one there but us.  The shower was better than the one we’d had in the hotel, and there was a place to wash clothes and a drying rack on a covered balcony.

Later, as we were waiting for the hotel to open for dinner, and after we had explored the town and historic church, we heard voices, and to our surprise, after 7 pm, a new pilgrim appeared:  Alfredo from Brazil, who had just arrived from Auch by train. 

We had dinner at the Hotel de France.  We should probably not have chosen the pilgrim menu (dry duck leg with pommes frites), and paid a bit more for the regular one.  Alfredo soon came along.  There had been just 3 other diners.  I could see the chef playing with a rabbit in the grassy courtyard in back.  Saturday night is not too busy in Maubourguet.

Rain has started.

We stocked up on a few items from the Casino supermarket that opened late in the afternoon, so we are ready to head for the wilds tomorrow.

Day 9 Sunday April 29

Maubourguet to Anoye 22 km

( 16.4 or 36,118 steps) long day: 8:30 to 4:30.  Good time on roads, but slow in steep mud.

Rain, wind , cold in 59s and low 60s. Much mud and up and down.  I slipped in mud and got very dirty. 

Some gentle rain, sometimes none, and sometimes driving cold onslaught.  Great Pyrenees dogs in yards.  Beautiful!  We took some road shortcuts.  Momy lovely town with restored church and old cars..  No shops.  Found shelter twice on side of a barn, and at a beautiful gite/ chambre where we asked permission to picnic at table on porch.  We also rested briefly on porch in town before Momy.  

As we neared the gite in Anoye we saw another pilgrim ahead.  When we opened the door, there were Franck and a Emmanuel, very muddy and tired, and just taking off their boots.

We had a pleasant evening sharing our food to make the evening meal.  After the local folks had come to collect our money, open the small store of supplies, and stamp out passports, and we starting putting dinner together over wine, who should show up but Alfredo!

Fortunately Kent and I were in a room with just two bunks, so Alfredo chose a lower bunk in the other room, and Kent and I had a room to our selves.