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Afterwards a floor grid is opened, and the departing pilgrims are released down the impressive staircase thus revealed into the centre of Le Puy. With astonishing speed we all shot out of town. At least everybody but me did. There's a stiffish little uphill pull for a couple of kilometres as one departs, and I was following my usual energy-saving routine of dialling the pace right back until reaching the summit. By that point I was, I think, dead last of those who departed with me. But this is a game in which endurance matters more than pace. By the end of the day, nearly all of the people I recognised from the Cathedral were behind me once again.
Chuckling, because I encountered the same phenomenon towards the end of my Podiensis: a French woman sternly informing me she would NOT open the window, so deal with it. By 2am I was dying from the stale, stuffy air.With the windows tightly closed in that typical French manner against the dread possibility of any night air entering and poisoning us all,
I stayed here and remember the flies well. Despite the fly situation, the dinner was delicious. Myself and another pilgrim questioned why they didn't cover the baked goods sitting in the doorway. Decent place to stay, though.Le Repos du Pélerin, for a quick coffee. I was as quickly driven out again. A certain amount of fly-life is inevitable in bars and restaurants in rural districts, though some places are more successful than others in keeping it under control. The Repos, by contrast, seemed to have extended an open invitation.
We stayed there in 2018, too, and the flies were everywhere. The issue is that just across the road there are rubbish containers, attracting them and providing a breeding ground.I stayed here and remember the flies well. Despite the fly situation, the dinner was delicious. Myself and another pilgrim questioned why they didn't cover the baked goods sitting in the doorway. Decent place to stay, though.
Stay safe...I hear heavy rains swept across south Germany, flooding many areas.
oh that's right! Forgot about those containers...We stayed there in 2018, too, and the flies were everywhere. The issue is that just across the road there are rubbish containers, attracting them and providing a breeding ground.
Despite this, we also remember a delicious dinner with great company.
The Domaine looks like an excellent establishment—I'd tried to book a night's stay there, but they were complet—and a couple of cups of their first-brewed put a definite spring in my step.
I warmly recommend pilgrims not to do as I did, that is, tackling this section after a long day and in failing light.
This obviously applies to ticks too.on s'engage et puis on voit
This obviously applies to ticks too.
Yes, I remember seeing a Great War monument dedicated to lost sons in most every town I walked through.As is true of nearly all of rural France, the population density of the Lot valley went over a cliff as a result of the Great War, which had a murderous impact upon the peasantry in particular.
The gîte in Grealou (L'Atelier des Volets Bleaus) was one of my favorite places; adorable and cozy with the most charming kitchen and the best bed I found on the Podiensis.Although there's a gîte at Gréalou, not much else is to be seen with the exception of a small grocery shop which is, mercifully, open all day except Thursdays. A tap, fifty metres or so away from the church, provides the eau potable of which pilgrims are advised to take full advantage.
Absolutely. I got a crash course in French on this Camino. I quickly realized I needed to be comfortable being the quiet listener at the dinner table while everyone else chattered in French.This is one of those chemins where it really helps to be able to speak French. I don't know what it's like in a typical year, but on this occasion, with very rare exceptions, all those I met were Francophone monoglots. People are friendly, and I believe that at the night-stops they'd make a real effort to include in the conversation even those who can't speak the language.
I took French in high school, however, it is very poor, so poor that when I am in France and attempt it French speakers will actually ask me to speak English-lol...but I do try!!!Absolutely. I got a crash course in French on this Camino. I quickly realized I needed to be comfortable being the quiet listener at the dinner table while everyone else chattered in French.
Thank you so much for your updates. Your clear and poetic writing and way with words took me right back to the trail.
Until next time...
I must chim in to also complement you on your writing @Aurigny ! This is the first time that I'm perusing the Le Puy Forum and it looks like I hit the jackpot! After 11 years walking Spanish Caminos (my last in June on the Salvador and Primitivo) I'm thinking about walking a couple of weeks from Le Puy. From your account, it looks like I'll be roughly walking the same stages as day 10 also gets me to Cajarc.Many thanks for the kind comments, all. Herewith a wrap-up of this initial stage of the Podiensis.
* The first thing to mention about this route is that to an even greater degree than its predecessor, the Gebennensis, it comes in just two flavours: up and down. Other than the occasional stretch of a couple of kilometres along the top of a ridge or the bottom of a valley, there wasn't a moment when I wasn't either climbing or descending. The elevations aren't, to be sure, immense. The highest point along this stretch, I believe, was 1,370m (4,500'), just past the Domaine du Sauvage; the lowest at Cajarc, a mere 140m above sea-level. But those for whom constant ascents are purgatorial experiences may wish to reconsider their choice of this route.
* The other side of that particular coin is that the scenery is never less than attractive, and sometimes spectacular. As a general rule, plains and other expanses of land where it's easy to walk are rarely pleasing to the eye, whereas landscapes incorporating lots of elevation-changes are much more likely to provide dramatic and visually arresting scenes. Many of the villages and towns along the way, moreover, are of picture-postcard quality, with St.-Chély-d'Aubrac and Estaing being particular standouts. And four and a half thousand feet is quite high enough to obtain marvellous views of an enormous expanse of surrounding countryside, provided the weather co-operates.
* It's also a remarkably varied landscape for such a relatively short distance. Geologically recent volcanic fields give way to expanses of moorland, which in turn are followed by what look like the foothills of the Alps; bocage country similar to what one sees in Normandy; verdant river valleys; and finally endless rolling wooded hills. Likewise, the climate changes with remarkable abruptness from the eternal clouds and rain of the Massif Central to the warmth of the Mediterranean, complete with flora, fauna and aromas to match. You get a lot of visual bang for your buck for a journey not quite three hundred kilometres in length.
* Logistically, it's highly developed. While those splendid yellow-and-black finger-posts peter out after Chazeaux on the third day, the waymarking along the entire length is everything for which one could reasonably ask. The white-and-red horizontal bars of the GR 65 are everywhere. I carried no map, and never felt the need of one. Writing down the names of the villages through which I was to pass on my day's journey was all the navigational knowledge I required. I wandered off track only twice, for very brief periods. Both times were the result of my own wool-gathering and inattention (as I was able to confirm with fellow pilgrims at the night-stops), rather than any deficiency or ambiguity in the indications provided. Very occasionally, it was necessary to infer one's course by noting that all the possible alternatives had been marked with red-and-white X slashes, indicating that these were not the correct routes. The comprehensiveness of the job done by the FFRP, the French hikers' organisation, however, is so commendable that if one doesn't come across a white-and-red blaze after travelling, say, 400m, it's almost a certainty that one is heading in the wrong direction. (Yellow blazes, on the other hand, often co-located with the GR 65 markings, should be completely ignored.)
* Similarly, even in this exceptional summer when it seemed that all of urban France had descended en masse upon the countryside, accommodation turned out not to be the insuperable obstacle that everyone told me it was certain to be. The advice I was given at the outset to book ahead for the entire trip or risk being stranded on a park bench was not quite correct. It's undoubtedly true that all those places that could be reserved online were quickly snapped up, for days or weeks into the future. But that's only a very small proportion of the total accommodation available. Indeed, I'm not sure that there's much point in even e-mailing the others in advance. Both on this trip and on previous ones, I've found that French gîte, auberge and chambre d'hôte owners are pretty uniformly terrible at answering e-mail. Only two such inquiries that I sent yielded a positive result, and one of those was received too late to do me any good. I found that by far my most effective tactic was simply to arrive at my night-stop (provided that it was at a decent hour, i.e., ideally before 19:00) and begin knocking on the doors of the accommodation-providers whose premises I passed along the way. This never failed to produce a bed in short order. In fact, with the single exception of the Peyrade at Cajarc, my very last stop, everywhere I stayed had quite a few unoccupied berths left when we weary pilgrims at last blew out the candles and composed ourselves for sleep.
* Prices were fairly high, as is typical of French hiking trails even in a normal year, but manageable nonetheless. The least I paid for a bunk, breakfast not included, was EUR 12 at the Abbey in Conques; the most EUR 22 in the towns at either end -- Le Puy and Cajarc -- with EUR 16-18 being typical en route. It seems, though, that gîte-owners nowadays make their money less by providing sleeping accommodation than by selling the group dinner that usually goes along with it. At EUR 20 or thereabouts for soup, lettuce, a little bit of protein, plenty of vegetables, and rough red wine, this represents poor value by French gastronomic standards. But such is the microscopic size of many night-stop villages along the Podiensis that one's choice is to pay for it or to do without food at all until the following morning. Groceries and supermarkets are astonishingly few along this trail, and often closed. The Mediterranean lunch-hour (12:00 to 15:00 or 12:30 to 15:30) is much in evidence on the Podiensis.
* This is one of those chemins where it really helps to be able to speak French. I don't know what it's like in a typical year, but on this occasion, with very rare exceptions, all those I met were Francophone monoglots. People are friendly, and I believe that at the night-stops they'd make a real effort to include in the conversation even those who can't speak the language. This is not, though, a part of the world where the locals will quickly default to English if somebody is having difficulty making him- or herself understood. In fact, given the strength of the regional accent (it sounds vaguely Québecois at times) and the inclusion of quite a few dialect-words derived from Occitan, even Franciliens will find themselves saying Comment? more often than usual.
* The character of one's companions changes drastically after Conques. A great many of the pèlerins and randonneurs one will meet to that point are first-timers, for whom this is, in effect, an adventure holiday with little spiritual significance. Many of them, indeed, will drop out even before then. But without exception, those still out on the trail afterwards are hard-core hiker-pilgrims, possessing lots of previous experience and marked by much seriousness of purpose. They set a blazing pace, and I don't recommend trying to keep up with them. You can catch up at the night-stops, as you trail in an hour or two later in their wake.
As was the case with the Gebennensis, I'm an enthusiast of the Podiensis. The time of year at which I walked is very nearly the worst imaginable: early September would be best, when the temperatures are moderate but before the autumn rains—which will make some of the descents not just difficult but dangerous—arrive in earnest. Similarly, a ten-day outing involves the maximum amount of profitless suffering: it takes that long for one's body to start adjusting to the rigours of the trail, and just at the moment when one can begin to take advantage of that enhanced level of fitness, it all stops. Given the strenuousness of this particular route, the Podiensis mightn't be ideal as a first Camino. For the seasoned traveller who is willing to take the rough with the smooth, though, it is full of charm and offers all the variety for which anyone could wish.
Bach has one of the best restaurants in the region - Auberge Lou Bourdie. It appears in one of Jamie Oliver's books, as Monique, the original owner, taught him to make several deserts. We stumbled on the place by chance when on the Podiensis. We were in need of a mid-morning coffee, and saw the restaurant sign. It looked closed, but Monique let us in, she was starting the lunch preparation. With the coffee she gave us a few small things to try, they were so delicious we stayed for lunch. It was unbelievably good. We finished up lingering the whole afternoon, abandoned walking for the day, and found accommodation nearby (all arranged by Monique). I believe the restaurant is now run by Monique's niece, Julie, and is still excellent.Instead I pointed myself in the direction of the only habitation large enough to merit a placard and a speed-limit sign along the entire route, a place called Bach (pronounced "Bash," rather than in the German style), nearly six kilometres down the road. I found that there's another nice-looking gîte there, La Grange Saint-Jacques, and that one might be worth trying if there's no room at the Escoutilles.
But that gîte, and a couple of smaller ones in the locality, seemed to represent the sum total of Bach's commercial sector. As it happens, if I'd been willing to hang around until this evening, I could have gorged myself. Today and tomorrow have been reserved for Bach's annual fête votive, with a pageant of bands, a service at the church, and a banquet with melon and ham, escalope of veal with truffles, and tarte aux fruits available to all attendees at the bargain price of EUR 17. Had I the time, I'd have enthusiastically participated in all three, but duty, and the trail, were calling.
Wonderful, to stumble across this unexpected news of your recommencement!Through a complicated set of circumstances that are too involved to go into detail about here, I find myself back out on the trail once again. The condensed version is that another block of about ten days' free time that I never expected to have fell into my lap at short notice.
trashing Cahors seems to have been how Europeans kept themselves amused until football was invented.
A bit late @Aurigny but many thanks for your response, also that of @shefollowsshells . I forgot to "watch" the thread so only read your responses today.I don't think that'll be any kind of problem, LT. They're likely to suggest a demi-pension arrangement, even to the extent of taking it for granted ("you'll be wanting dinner, of course"), but if you say that you're just looking for a bed—as I did on several occasions—I'm pretty sure that they'll accept it with a good grace.
At one of the places at which I stayed, a fellow pèlerine opted out of breakfast for the same reason as you: she'd brought her own vegan supplies. No objection was raised.
Blankets were available in about half the establishments, most of them looking as though they hadn't been washed since the days when Clemenceau was editing L'Aurore. Personally, I wouldn't take the risk of travelling in September without some kind of bed-covering of my own. I travel with an Aegismax Ultralight goosedown sleeping bag, which weighs 528g and can be compressed to the volume of a couple of soft-drink cans. It keeps me comfortable down to about 15C/59F, and if you're sleeping indoors, it's unlikely ever to be colder than that.
Shooting stars. The peak of the annual Perseid meteor shower is approaching, either tonight (Wednesday to Thursday) or tomorrow night. There's presumably not much light pollution where you are and this year is a good year for observation because the moonlight is absent. I wish I were there ...the sky above me illuminated either by shooting stars or, more probably and prosaically, orbiting space junk burning up in the atmosphere
Three of us spent the night on their verandah as everywhere was full. We’d stopped for lunch and kind of got settled in for the day, as one sometimes does if not in any hurry . . . . We bought bottles of wine and take-away pizzas from them before they locked up for the night. They left the outside toilet unlocked, and later that evening a local resident came over with hot tea and coffee . . .Only one catering option was open en route today, the combination bar-and-grocery at Labastide-Marnhac
It's long past time for me to join the chorus of those stating how much we enjoy your wonderful descriptions and following your journey. It's often difficult to follow a thread on a trail I haven't walked, but in your case I feel I'm right there with you, fleeing mosquitos fast as I can (they love me...), hoping the shooting stars are just that and nothing more. Rest well, and may tomorrow night find you in a comfy bed wherever your day may take you.
Oh my, that sounds like me! I was particularly interested in reading today's account as I am planning to walk the same stage to Moissac. I guess I'll hear about the final km later today. Hope you got a good night's sleep.Had I been sensible, I'd have called it a day; headed back to Lauzerte; and looked for somewhere to hole up until the morning. Never being renowned for that particular quality, I pressed on, as did a large number of my fellow lunatics.
Finally catching up with your earlier posts. This is also where we've booked 2 nights to de-compress from flights and start our travels 0n 9/3. Seems convenient being right on the GR65, and only 5 minutes to the cathedral. I read one review that commented on train traffic noise from the bridge right next to the hotel, but you seemed more with snoring so I guess not to much an issue. Really enjoying your current writing too as you've passed through Condom.Last October I commenced my first really long route to SdC, starting more or less from outside the front door of the flat in Geneva from whose upstair windows I used wistfully to observe pilgrims commencing their journey. Given work constraints, this will have to be a multi-year project. I was able to complete the Gebennensis section (about which I wrote here), arriving in Le Puy just before Emmanuel Macron imposed the first nationwide curfew and shut the whole thing down. Now, fully vaccinated and with a modest amount of free time available, I'm picking up where I left off and starting out on the Podiensis.
I've no idea how far I'll get. There's not the slightest chance of doing the whole thing, or anything remotely resembling it, before I have to resume normal duties. If everything goes flawlessly, which it never does, Moissac would be a possibility; more realistically, I'd estimate at the moment that I'll run out of time midway between Conques and there. But of all the years, this is not the one to stress about such things. For all I know, the plug may be pulled on all of us before we get out of the starting gate. Indeed, a few people were speculating yesterday that the President might do just that. (In a televised address last night, he stopped short of that drastic step. Instead he announced that from August, those who can't document their immunity status will be denied access to shops and restaurants. The all too predictable consequence, for those of us who know and love France, was an immediate crash of the vaccination-booking website as thousands of viewers tried to log on all at once.)
My sojourn on the Gebennensis was enlivened, and physically lengthened, by the challenge of obtaining somewhere to stay each night. Early indications are that this task may be even more difficult on the Podiensis at present. Having been cooped up for so long, large numbers of randonneurs(-euses) have descended on the town, this being an important way-station on the GR 65 hiking that overlies the Chemin de Compostelle. As a fail-safe, I've brought a lightweight sleeping bag and an air mattress with me so that, should there be no room at the inn, I can doss down for a few hours in an unused bus shelter or the equivalent.
I've also thought it prudent to book ahead for the first few days. Last night, that meant the Gîte d'Etape des Capucins, from the kitchen of which this is being composed. From all appearances, the coronavirus is having very little impact on its operations. Each of its four dortoirs is as crowded with bunk beds as ever, and each bunk is currently occupied by a soundly—and, in most cases, resonantly—sleeping inhabitant. At EUR 22, petit déj not included, it's not a particularly cheap option, but French routes operate according to their own economic rules.
I'm going to try to snatch another couple of hours' sleep myself, if the snorers will permit, and then catch 07:00 Mass at the cathedral, no more than five minutes' walk away. After that, the open road beckons. It doesn't appear that I'm going to want for company along the way.
Thank you for your updates.Up well before dawn for this final day on the trail, I looked skywards and, by the dim illumination of the street-lights, was well-satisfied with what I saw. Low scudding clouds, light drizzle, ragged wisps of mist to the north-west. Excellent.
Nogaro is in fact quite a well-stocked little place. On the side-road that leads to the car-racing track and the municipal airport, there's both a sizeable Carrefour supermarket and an Aldi just beside it. A well-provisioned Spar is to be found on the main street, rue Nationale. None of them, unfortunately, was any good to me, having been closed for the Assumption yesterday and not opening until well after my departure today. I was, however, fortunate to find that even at 0630, not one but two tabacs (not sure how they both stay in business; they're less than a hundred metres apart) and the bakery were all open for custom. An Orangina for the road, a baguette traditionelle, and a full bottle of water would ensure that I would not go short of the necessities of life, whatever else I might encounter.
Nogaro likes to keep its pilgrims' minds as well as their bodies active. On the descent to town last night I passed an open-air exhibition, posted alongside the trail, of thirty black-and-white photographs taken by a local artist of the faces of people passing through this part of the chemin. (My takeaway, from examining these, is that as a group we seem to have pretty rough complexions.) Now, on the way out, a set of placards offered month-by-month instructions on how to cultivate and care for vines. If the information it provided is to be believed, this won't be a distinguished year for Gascon wines. The grapes, even on south-facing slopes, are uniformly small and sour-looking; quite a large proportion, in fact, are withered and have clearly stopped growing. This was not at all what the placard for August gave me to understand ought to be the case. My guess, then, is that the vendange this year is likely to be postponed to the last possible moment the cultivators believe they can get away with.
Soon afterwards the trail curled around into the woods, where, despite the still-early hour, people from the Office National des Fôrets were hard at work. As a result, I'm able to provide a partial answer to the philosophical conundrum posed by Americans: if a tree falls in the forest and somebody is there to hear it, it does indeed make a sound—in fact, a hell of a racket, sounding like a combination of a pistol-shot and a small earthquake. Some distance further on, I found the trail completely blocked by an eighteen-wheel lorry onto whose trailer the driver was loading enormous logs—the trunks of the recently felled trees—using one of those hydraulic mechanical grabbing tools. It was a fascinating process, and given that there was no possibility of making my way past until all the logs had been picked up, I got to see all of it.
Today's 27-km stage to Aire-sur-l'Adour is slightly better provided for than many of the étapes of recent days. Just outside the village of Lanne-Soubiran, which is more a cartographer's concept than an actual habitation, the people who run the recently opened gîte, which now bears the punning name of "L'Âne Soubiran," have most commendably turned one of their barns into a donativo pilgrim halting-site. People can obtain a cold drink from the 'fridge and pay whatever they consider appropriate. I quickly disposed of one of their cans of fizz and put in the box what I'd have paid if I'd been at a bar. Had I known how pleasant this place was, I would undoubtedly have made it my night-stop last night instead of Nogaro.
After Lanne, the route becomes a combination of road-walking, vine-walking, and forest. This part of France also seems to be a military training area for the Armée de l'air. As I walked, the sound of a couple of fast jets echoed from one hillside to another for nearly an hour. I couldn't see them for a long time, but later in the morning the sun started to tear large breaks in the cloud-cover, and a couple of miles to the northwest I was able to catch a glimpse of a pair of what looked like Rafales playing tag at about 5,000 feet. They seemed to be having a great deal of fun, twisting and dodging like minnows in a stream, the only disadvantage being that at ground level they were making a noise like the Second Coming. But fighter aircraft don't come with silencers, and in fairness, there weren't many people, or even farm animals, in this part of the world to be bothered by them.
My chief difficulty, in fact, was another kind of hazard coming from the air. A lot of the farmers out here use those irrigation-gun devices that blast water across a considerable distance, while an oscillating mechanism causes them swivel from side to side. In essence, they're an industrial-sized version of the familiar lawn-sprinkler. No fewer than five of these along the route today had been set up in such a way that they were including the trail in their designer deluge. Some swivelled more slowly than others; either way, the only expedient was to wait for the decisive moment and then take to one's heels to try to make it to safety before the thing reversed course.
The approach to Lelin-Lapujolle, a slightly more substantial village than its predecessor, was enlivened by what sounded like the howling of coyotes. As I came closer, it became possible to recognise the sound as the yelping and barking of at least a dozen dogs. I wondered whether somebody had established a dog-kennel service in this unlikely spot, but it was simply the case that at a particular farm, they had more dogs than they knew what to do with. Four or five of them came out to bark at me, but they were small and one could tell that their hearts weren't really in it. (Lelin, in fact, has a bit of a livestock problem. A note on the door of the church asks you to be careful to keep the door closed at all times, as swallows are in the habit of flying inside and conducting themselves irreverently while there.)
Otherwise, this is a good place for a mid-morning break. Outside the little mairie, a comfortable and shaded picnic area has been set up (don't mistake the solitary bench in the car park at the entrance to the village for this), with toilets and eau potable close by. At the bottom of the hill on the way out, there's also a snack-bar occupying the premises of the former primary school. The patronne is a quirky sort and the coffee is execrable (café au lait once again means supermarket-brand instant, to which a homeopathic dose of fat-free milk has been added, served in a paper cup). But beer, soft drinks, and sandwiches can also be had; the bar includes a tampon, a relative rarity on the Podiensis; and most important of all, it exists. As they say in France, les touristes exigent; les pèlerins rendent grâce.
After Lelin, there isn't a great deal that's noteworthy. From this point on the trail runs beside a disused railway line, almost certainly the same one that leads into Éauze, with the busy D 931 road parallel to the right. I was intrigued to see, in a small wood whose local supporters became justifiably frustrated with the volume of white Kleenex deposited among the trees by hikers and pilgrims, that a toilette sèche had been constructed to try to get to grips with the problem. Unlike the high-tech devices being installed closer to Le Puy, this one was nothing more nor less than an old-fashioned earth privy, familiar to many of our grandparents. A wooden hut contains a horizontal bench wherein a hole has been cut. One makes use of the facility in the normal way, then grabs the large soup ladle resting in a bucket of dry earth and sends a couple of ladlefuls down the orifice to control odours and leave it ready for the next user. As low-tech as can be imagined, but remarkably effective all the same. From time to time the accumulated deposits are collected and, in the past, were used as agricultural fertiliser. If you've ever read Dickens or the works of Victorian social investigators and seen references to "nightsoil men," this is what that means. In any event, the facility appears to be fully effective in eliminating the nuisance it was meant to address, and is an object-lesson in seeking workable solutions rather than just complaining about a problem, however much at fault those causing it may be.
Aire-sur-l'Adour is an important local hub. Almost every business, it seems, also has a punning name, "L'Aire du Temps"; "L'Aire d'Italie," etc. But it's nicely laid out, and has an picturesque waterfront. At the entrance to the town I was able to stop at the Carrefour and use its car-park launderette for the last time. In fact, I managed to combine laundry with lunch. This particular supermarket has a fine hot-food section, and while my shirts and underwear were chasing each other around the drum, I was enjoying substantial portions of potato wedges, breaded chicken breast, a fizzy drink, and a bottle of chilled spring water (all right, Cristaline, but regardless…), for all of which I received change from a five-euro note. When a French supermarket is on its game, as this one is, it can be hard to beat.
My last stop was at the cathedral, to light my final candles and to give thanks to the Almighty. From the outside the building doesn't seem too impressive, but the original wood-panelled interior rewards scrutiny. There's also an accueil pèlerin at the side that, among other things, stamps credentials between 1600 and 1800, and a daily pilgrim mass at the latter hour. Here's another praiseworthy example of the French entering fully into the spirit of this exercise in a way that is almost completely absent in Iberia.
The conclusion of every pilgrimage is an anti-climax, and the more so when one ends at an arbitrary point rather than in SdC. (On the other hand, Aire is right on the border between the Occitanie and the Haute-Aquitaine, so it might be considered less arbitrary than most.) But I cannot feel anything other than profound gratitude for this one. I never expected to be doing it, and can only commend the good sense of my wife in putting a burr under my saddle, without which I would never have considered returning to France. Granted that my professional work has been piling up to an impressive degree at home, it can and will be done. God alone knows, however, when or whether I'll have the chance to do more of this: the last ten days may have to tide me over for a long time. But if I should indeed get an opportunity to resume my journey in the normal course of events, i.e. this time next year, having just 150 km of the Podiensis to complete will set me up for that most admirably.
The customary résumé of lessons learned on this second section will follow in a couple of days.
Well said all around. After walking the CF, the Podiensis is now my favorite walk. Churches always open (I'm not religious but I love a good old church to rest my body and fill up my water bottle), excellent dinners at gîtes (some of the best food I've had) and gorgeous countryside. The Podiensis is really quite different than the CF. It took me about a week or two to acclimate, but once I reached SJPdP and started my second CF, I found that the Le Puy got under my skin more than I thought.Some thoughts about the second stage of the Podiensis, with particular reference to the era of coronavirus:-
* Geographically, its character changes quite significantly after Conques, or at any rate after Cahors at the latest. The spectacular views disappear—but so do the really arduous climbs and descents. From Cahors onward, with the rarest of exceptions, I thought of what I was doing more in terms of rambling across fairly gentle hills and dales, rather than going up and down mountain ridges. If the heat hadn't been such a factor, 40-km daily stages would not have been any kind of problem for the reasonably fit pilgrim.
* In terms of accommodation, one is competing these days much more with holidaymakers than with fellow pilgrims or hikers. A couple of sections of the trail after Nogaro revealed that not too many feet had been over it this year—or, in all likelihood, any year. Anybody that far along the Podiensis is committed to going to SJPP at the very least, and there aren't too many people who began at Le Puy who have both the determination and the time to do that. Again, though, the persistent knocker-on-doors at gîtes and chambres d'hôte is unlikely to be left stranded. I made a mess of my Moissac stage, which accounted for my being still up on a hillside as night fell. If I'd planned for a shorter leg, that wouldn't have happened. Every other night, I had little difficulty in finding somewhere that could take me.
* Demi-pension arrangements are still to be had, but they're less common than before Conques. I imagine that that's a function of the numbers remaining on the GR 65 at this point. If one is cooking for 15-20 people each night at EUR 20 a head, that's a gross income of EUR 300-400 for preparing a single meal, on which substantial economies of scale can be made. When the gross revenue is EUR 60-80 a night from three or four diners, it may no longer be worth the effort.
* Fortunately, however, the night-stop towns, if more sparsely distributed, are in general larger, making the obtaining either of restaurant meals or of ingredients for self-catering a more practical proposition. On the whole, I ate better on this second stage than on the first, and paid no more for it.
* Breakfast can nonetheless be a problem. Most gîtes offer it on a self-service basis; it's usually overpriced; and the timing can cause difficulties for those who need to leave very early to beat the heat. If you do miss it, you could be walking a long distance—15 km at least, sometimes twice that—before you'll have an opportunity to supply the deficiency. My habit is to drop into a grocery shop the previous evening and acquire a couple of bananes d'urgence to carry with me the next day. If breakfast is indeed forthcoming, these can make a mid-morning snack. If not, they'll provide sufficient calorific reinforcement to spare me the necessity of having to do a 30+ km stage on cold water alone.
* Timing of the entire pilgrimage is a consideration. If I had nobody to please but myself, I'd leave Le Puy on September 1 or, if that date wasn't possible for some reason, May 1. High summer would be among my least favourite proposed times, given the amount of climbing and descending that's required. This would, however, be a very difficult route to tackle in winter. Most of the gîtes close at the end of October, anyway.
* What one is trying to do is to strike a balance between the volume of surface rainwater on the trail, which makes parts of it uncomfortable or even, occasionally, dangerous, and the possibility of being hammered by the sun on the exposed slopes during the dry season. I don't think there's any perfect time that completely avoids both hazards, but very early autumn might be the best compromise solution. Given how muddy certain sections were even during a hot summer, those who favour light hiking boots might have the advantage over trail-runner wearers. I'm a member of the latter contingent, but no matter how slowly and deliberately I went, I found it impossible to avoid occasionally getting covered up to the ankles in slop. Cleaning up afterwards wasn't the easiest job, and usually meant going to the nearest water-source, filling up my bottle, and pouring it repeatedly over the mess in some spot where that operation wouldn't cause inconvenience to the neighbours.
* Acquiring daily stamps: French churches are in general hopeless. Tourist offices often have very pretty ones. Bars are hit-and-miss; gîtes likewise. If all else fails, your best option, funnily enough, is the local pharmacie. I've never come across one that didn't have a tampon—they need it to frank prescriptions, Covid test results, etc.—and they stay open later than most businesses. If your French is good enough (and it doesn't have to be that good) to explain what you want it for, you'll not be turned away. It'll never be an aesthetic adornment to your credencial: typically it'll just give the name, address, and telephone number of the establishment. But that's all you'll need to satisfy the Pilgrim Office's requirement.
* From the spiritual and religious perspective, if I were to advise somebody in search of a route on which these elements were emphasised, I would recommend the Podiensis over the Francés or any other Iberian camino—a dozen times over, in fact. The difference is as profound as that between chalk and cheese. Since starting in Le Puy—indeed, since starting in Geneva—I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of village churches I passed that weren't open for prayer between the hours of 0800 and 1900 or thereabouts. Those that were not had a good reason for it: maintenance work, generally. From Le Puy onwards, evening Masses are frequent, sometimes daily, as are benedictions for pilgrims at those same Masses. The majority of churches contain some reminder of or reference to the chemin, at the very least a visitors' book in which prayers or petitions can be written. In short, the Catholicity of what is, and began as, a Catholic pilgrimage route is very much kept alive. I daresay that even the non-religious are glad of that, and those of us who are out on the trail for conventionally spiritual reasons, especially so. In this respect the Podiensis is exemplary.
* The pass sanitaire. I carried the paper version of mine, considering as I do that mobile telephones are inventions of the Devil. French scanners couldn't cope with its QR code, but that wasn't a problem. I was invariably waved through. After a slow start, cafés and restaurants asked to see it on about a fifty-fifty basis. No gîte, supermarket, or the airport hotel at which I stayed in Toulouse the night before my flight home ever did.
* Speaking of airports, at check-in I observed an American woman at TLS being turned away by Air France staff when she presented her CDC card. Fortunately there was a travel clinic in the arrivals area which was able to do a quick antigenic test for her, and she was back again, negative result in hand, before I'd received my own boarding pass. I had a chat with her in the departure lounge afterwards. She said that in a couple of weeks travelling around France, this was the first time such a thing had happened to her. Nobody to whom she'd shown the card, which doesn't bear a photograph, had ever even asked to see a picture ID or to check that the name on the card matched her identification. As soon as their eyes lit upon the magic word "Pfizer," she said, that was all they needed to know.
* In conclusion: For those just wanting to do two or three hundred kilometres, my recommendation would still be to begin at Le Puy and finish at Conques, Cajarc, or Cahors, the degree of physical exertion notwithstanding. I liked this second stretch, but part of that was the opportunity it provided to catch my breath after the previous section. I think it might be considered a bit flavourless if it were to be selected as a stand-alone chemin. But it fits in very nicely as a change of pace. And a day or two's additional journey from where I left off at Aire-sur-l'Adour will bring us to the foothills of the Pyrenees, where normal (vertical) service will be restored.
I too am thoroughly enjoying your daily reports! I'm hoping to walk this camino in April 2022 and your posts are a great help in sorting things out. I love your descriptive and sometime comical writing style!! Thanks.A French hypermarché is an impressive thing (for Americans, imagine a Wal-Mart if the stuff sold therein was actually nice), but it's undeniable that the existence of these outfits has had a most unfortunate effect upon the retail sector of the surrounding towns and villages. Aumont is a case in point, having a large Auchan just 3 km away on the side of the A 75 motorway but only a single, small, and expensive grocery within the town itself. If you want anything for the day's journey, though, this is the only place you'll get it.
I had a most enjoyable meal last night at the Linette restaurant, a little past the SNCF railway station, to which anyone will guide you. It's not the cheapest option in the world, but this is one place where you do get what you pay for. This morning my needs were more basic: some fresh bread (both of Aumont's bakeries are very good; locals say that the one opposite the War Memorial is a hair the better of the two); a lump of cheese on which to gnaw; and a couple of slices of cooked ham. I paid considerably more for these simple provisions than I would have liked, but as I say, it's either that or go without altogether.
My only other requirement was my daily tampon. The church has a sign inviting pilgrims to use their self-service stamp and pad; unfortunately, these were nowhere to be seen. I very much hope that some souvenir-hunter hasn't taken them home. The tourist office just round the corner, however, was happy to oblige. Thus equipped, I set off on what was going to be a fairly long étape of 41 km to St-Chély-d'Aubrac, the destination having been forced upon me to some degree by the non-availability of accommodation anywhere closer.
That problem is being exacerbated by the arrival of the weekend warriors. A large number of people had showed up in Aumont overnight, looking to get a couple of days' hiking in and considerably raising our average age. This is, of course, highly commendable, but it does leave the unfortunate pilgrim looking for the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table. Unlike Spanish albergues, the overwhelming majority of French gîtes d'étape offer no preference to those engaging in a pilgrimage; so far as they're concerned, it's first-come-first-served. Not, for the most part, having the luxury of being able to book ahead weeks or even months in advance, pilgrims are forced to rely on cancellations by citydwellers to meet their own needs.
In any case, the trail was inordinately crowded today. Fortunately, we were going through one of the sections that can best accommodate large numbers: the Aubrac Natural Park. It's an impressive piece of real estate, nearly the size of Luxembourg, and featuring extensive rocky uplands covered with a thin layer of grass. It greatly resembles Scottish moorlands—or, for that matter, the Hospitales route of the Primitivo, only on a much more massive scale. While some climbing over rocks is necessary, an asphalt-surfaced road runs through it, and this was what we all used to get from one side to the other. There was, in fact, a surprising amount of road-walking on today's étape until we reached the village of Montgros.
From there it's a rapid descent into the medium-sized village of Nasbinals. Almost all of its commercial activity seems to be dedicated to pilgrims and randonneurs. Many of the crowd dropped out of the column to overnight here. I stayed only long enough to have a coffee at the Hôtel de France. I had an additional 16 km to cover to my destination and it was already mid-afternoon.
It was as well that I didn't dawdle, because the going became much slower at that point. A couple of kilometres outside Nasbinals, the wayfarer is offered two choices: to take the main paved route over the Pic d'Aubrac pass, suitable especially for cyclists and drivers of off-road vehicles, or to turn right and hike across a succession of large pastures, taking advantage of the permission offered by the local farmers to those proceeding on foot exclusively on condition that they not distress or bother the livestock. The distance of each route is identical, so that wasn't a factor. I was slightly torn: I like mountain passes, and have traversed many of them on foot in the Swiss Alps. But I also like cows. In the end I headed to the right.
And indeed I'm glad I did. What followed was 6 km of climbing through enormous fields, watched interestedly by many Aubrac (or Laguiole) cattle, most of whom were heavily in calf, though a few had already given birth. Aubracs are among my very favourite breeds, being good-looking (a nice fluffy dun coat and a well-proportioned body), laid-back in temperament to an extraordinary degree, and well adapted to thriving on the rough grass that these upland pastures provide. I'm always happy to see them, and in their sedate way, they are at least untroubled at seeing me.
It's necessary to pass through many gates in the course of this peregrination, and of course it's equally necessary—indeed, vital—to ensure that they're properly closed and bolted again. Giving them a tug from the other side to verify that they're secure is a very good habit, and is the chief way to maintain our positive standing with the landowners. Another way was revealed to me at the second gate. The Fédération Français de la Randonnée Pédestre, the national organisation that lobbies for hikers, had set up a donation-box with a sign suggesting that we make a modest contribution to the farmers' income. The notion of a voluntary toll appeared sensible to me, so I kicked in a couple of Euro in recognition of the access provided. I've little doubt that the proprietors are not getting rich by this means, but no doubt the money collected will pay for a pretty good party at year's end.
The FFRP also assume responsibility for waymarking this stretch. I was disturbed to see that some of the helpful signs they had put up had been vandalised: in two cases, the large poles on which these were mounted had been ripped out of the ground. However, in reality the navigation couldn't be easier. At the left-hand side of these fields, a series of furrows that almost certainly started life as tractor-tyre divots, but have since been deepened by water coursing down them, show the way. As long as the passer-by sticks to these trails, he or she can't go wrong. (Provided, that is, that the wayfarer also keeps a respectful distances from any calves that may be around and thereby avoids alarming the mothers.) The countryside was now visibly more lush than earlier in the day. In fact, the whole scene reminded me powerfully of the Mourne Mountains stage of St Patrick's Way in Northern Ireland, with the significant difference that even with the vandalism being taken into account, this section was much better waymarked than the SPW.
Descending from the fields into the small and picturesque village of Aubrac, among whose notable features is a war-memorial statue of a Great War poilu resplendent in his bleu horizon uniform, the trail soon heads downhill again. The next seven or eight kilometres are tricky, scrambling over exposed and/or wet rocks that descend at an alarming angle. I warmly recommend pilgrims not to do as I did, that is, tackling this section after a long day and in failing light.
Once again I was too late for food upon arrival at St-Chély, just as the last glow of sunlight faded from the western sky. That didn't bother me in the least; I was far too tired to want to eat anyway. And with a shorter leg to Espalion to look forward to tomorrow, there's no reason why I shouldn't get a reasonably long night's sleep.
Aurigny,In conclusion: For those just wanting to do two or three hundred kilometres, my recommendation would still be to begin at Le Puy and finish at Conques, Cajarc, or Cahors, the degree of physical exertion notwithstanding. I liked this second stretch, but part of that was the opportunity it provided to catch my breath after the previous section. I think it might be considered a bit flavourless if it were to be selected as a stand-alone chemin. But it fits in very nicely as a change of pace. And a day or two's additional journey from where I left off at Aire-sur-l'Adour will bring us to the foothills of the Pyrenees, where normal (vertical) service will be restored.
Thank you Pam for the shoutout!For those unaware of it, there is a great Facebook group for the Via Podiensis started several years ago by Robert Forrester. There are a number of people on the route right now and you can ask them questions about conditions, etc. https://www.facebook.com/groups/ViaPodiensis . Rob has also created a very handy list of pilgrim-friendly gîtes d'etape with contact information, prices, etc. in stage order, availability of ATMs, grocery stores, bakeries, pharmacies, veggie-friendly places, etc which can be found as the pinned post in the FB forum.
As we are to reading your account of said business. Bon chemin! May that forcast of crummy weather not materialize.At the moment, I'm enthusiastically looking forward to being back in France, and back in business.
At just about ten o'clock these started to produce sheets of rain, something that was to continue off-and-on until nightfall.
yellow mud that clung tenaciously to my shoes and the lower reaches of my trouser-legs
Well, that sounds like a somewhat miserable adventure, so thank goodness for the (fortunately) shy sanglier. I hope the gite had a hot shower after all that!the only way I was going to get through this section was by becoming soaked below the knees, and so in fact it turned out.
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