Category: A Very Short Story

From the Short Story Vault

Day 8: Le Veaurdre to Ainay le Casteau

Woke up with a full stomach, a good night,s sleep and clean underwear. Life was good

Did 34 kilometers today but it did not start out very well. Got up and left at 0545, first light. Beside my campsite was a main road to my first goal of the day. But it didn,t follow the Compestello guide. So I walked into town, quiet, everyone was still asleep-smart people, and picked up the route. All was good and well directed until I was about at the edge of town.  The Compestello signs all but disappeared. I kept going into the dark and unknown landscape.  I went on for over 6 km and still no signs. Finally, caught among the killer cows and deserted farmhouses I came to a dead end. What to do? You can imagine my concern having walked over 6 km with nothing to show for it.  As much as I hated doing it I decided to return to Le Veaurdre, 6 km back. I was lost and really ticked that I did about 12 km with nothing to show for it. It is an awful feeling.

When I got back I made a command decision. I returned to the main road,  stuck out my thumb and the third car that came my way picked me up and drove me to my first destination – Lurcy Levis-10 km away. So I figured that St James still owed me 2 km. All was well again.

The walk today was grand. The landscape has flattened out somewhat from the Morvan. The hills are less pronounced or steep-thank gawd for that. The temp was about 27C- thank gawd for that. Imagine? About 17 degrees cooler than last Friday,s 44C and still 27 degrees.

Lots of cows out to keep me company. I always lash out with my best cow call but they are not fooled. They just ignore me while munching on their cud, while waiting for the udder hand to drop.  Often I can sense their presence while walking between the hedgerows that separate the fields. They are dairy I believe but I have never seen this shade before-a pale white colour. Sickly! I refer to them as my killer cows. Zombie cows.

I love going past the sheep. They always gather in a gaggle so when I pass them I,ll give them one of my best bahhhhhhhhs. It always works. Startled, they,ll come running over to me out of curiousity only to be let down by this ugly human sheeple. Funny.

Fields look fresh in the early morning light. Most have been plowed. They emit a pale dusty brown colour. Most of the hay fields have been harvested. The odd field of sunflowers appear as do the occasional field of corn. Amazing. Fresh, even in this heat. The trees and the small forests are beginning to show their seasonal colours. I can always tell when the end of summer is near because the leaves begin to show a slight silvery sheen when blowing in the wind.

Thought of Marijke and Ruby all day. Marijke passed 8 months ago today and of course Ruby, our first grandchild, was born on Easter Sunday, 01 April 2018. Ruby will have fun with that birthday all of her life. Lots of jokes.

That,s all she wrote.

Oh yeah, met a German  Pilgrim today from Dusseldorf. We had a coupleof frosty beers together then bade adieu. He was younger than me (64) so I could not keep up. Also, he was doing about 40 klicks today. Good luck Gunther.

 

Day 7: Mangy Cours to Le Veaurdre

Got up and started at 0545 am. No choice. Either that or melt. Arrived at Le Veaurdre at 1300. Temp 37 C. Had a difficult time trying to pronounce that when asking for directions in my shattered French. Also stopped a few times for my new found favourite drink – Orangina. I think I had about 3 of them.  Also stopped and had lunch in an ancient graveyard. It was the coolest place in town. While munching away on my pate and brown bread I thought I heard some laughter. Were these ancient pilgrims laughing at me? I thought. I gave my head a shake. Then again, I really thought I heard someone say in my unconcious mind:

”Come to France” they said,

”Go for a walk” they said,

”You,ll love it” they said. “Just like us” they said. “ And we,re dead”they said.

Thinking about these ancient pilgrims got me to thinking about the French Revolution and how it started. I have a theory about that. Back in 1788, the church authourities urged all of the pilgrims of the day to walk to Santiago in Spain – all 1700 km. So off they went and when they got there after much personal sacrifice and hardship they found this:

They were not amused. They headed back to Paris and the rest as they say is history.

Arrived at the Allier River in Le Veaurdre and could not resist. I went down and jumped in. The water was warm but refreshing, waist deep with a bit of a current. I sat there for about an hour in that stream and could feel the hot embers that made up my blood suddenly cool. I was content and refreshed. Found my campsite – it was closed – and proceeded to fall asleep under an ancient oak tree. Wonderful. Right now I am sitting having a meal in the only place in town that is open.

All of these closures reminds me of when my wife and I did the Route 66 road trip. The ghost town trip from Santa Monica to Chicago. Everything was boarded up. Earie. If this part of France isn,t careful the same outcome could occur here.

This song was a favourite of my wife and I. We stood on that corner in Winslow Arizona.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 6: Nevers to Mangy Coors

Today,s walk  is dedicated to Ruth, a good friend, who has been battling cancer with the support of her husband longer than anybody should have to.

Left Nevers at 0545am. Have to as the heat envelops you by 10am. Then it is impossible to go on. The walk was pleasant enough, with a cool early morning beeze and an eerily dull light that is prevalant in that transition between the darkness of night and the light of a new day, new beginnings. Unfortunately most of the walk was on pavement. Hard on the feet. Before I go on I must relate a few crazy things.

Crazy mistake: in Premerly I went to the Carrefour and bought a few items. I decided some cheese and a sausage was in order. At 9am all was good but by 1500 ( 3 pm ) in 42 C I had a cheese fondue brewing in my backpack with a swarm of flies buzzing around my head, like phirranas in heat. Trashed that quickly. Fool John!

 

Crazy man: in that same Carrefore, in their baggage, er baguette department, I met a crazy Dutchman (sorry Marijke ). He was old – like me, taller though and fit enough in a lanky, thin frame. He saw me sitting there drinking my litre of milk and approached me. In my face, his buldging eyes bore into my very being. I had to move back. His eyes reflected a madness that was only legitimized by his joker-like smile. And within 15 minutes I had his entire life story. His English was good so there was no mistake on my part. He had been a doctor and his most satisfying job had been as a cruise ship doctor. Amazing. So what on earth brings him to some small French village in the middle of no where France? I asked him. He looked at me, silence , as if confused then laughed and giggled with spittle spewing: “oh, oh, I must get back to my ship.” WHOAH!

I never really gave sunflowers much thought before. But during the early morning walk from Nevers, I came across fields and fields of them. These flowers are amazing. In the early morning light, before the sun begins to shine, these flowers, thousands of them, stand there upright, but with their heads bowed toward the east – every single one of them. Then, as the sun breaks though and rises above the easterm hills, magic occurs. Their heads come alive with joyous life. Their single rounded heads spring to life and rise to face the sun. You can actually witness natures sorcery. It was as if a thousand one eyed cyclops raised their yellow framed eye in unison and gave thanks to their sun god. I think I can understand Vincent Van Gogh,s fascination and inspiration with sunflowers. These flowers were probably the only living thing in his world that fulfilled him with the wonder of nature and thepresence of a higher power perhaps.

Passed a number of small villages – all at the top of a hill. I never seem to go down though, and arrived at Magny Cours, one of Frances F1 and motorcross circuits. Something was going as there was a great deal of noise in the air. But, like everything else in this beautiful land, everything was FERME! I guess the French of France really are keen on seeking a one and a half hour work week.

All for now.I apologize for the typos but that is what occurs when using an Ipad. Also, I tend to go back and forth in time. That is because so much info comes up later after my brain box cools down.

Singing this tune almost the whole way. Good thing nobody could hear me.o

Day 5: Nevers

Today,s adventure is dedicated to all of the men and women at th BC Cancer Clinic. May their journeys be good and safe and successful.

Well never on a Sunday, a Sunday, a Sunday, da da da day dah. And yet here I am in Nevers France on a Sunday. I am sitting at my campsite, beside the Loire River, with the churchbells of the city singing their songs of praise. And here lies entomnbed in a shrine, the mortal remains of St Bernadette, a pilgrimage in itself. St Bernadette of Lourdes fame, so the Catholic story goes, was visited by the Virgin Mary 18 times in 1858. A shrine and grotto was built to commemorate that vision. True? False? Well it is a matter of faith.

Got here late last night. Campsite is okay but hot, dusty and no shade. A tad dirty. First thing I did was quaff down 2 Orannginas – the sweet nectar of nature when you are dying of thirst. Orangina is very tasty. I have developed a taste for it. Tasty – oh I already said that. Me mind is playing tricks with my train of tasty thoughts.

A note about Premery. I decided to take the bus in this heat. The nice lady at the tourist office gave me bad information. Sure there is a bus Monsieur.  Voici est le schedule. Deux euros. Sacre Blue,  I thought. That is cheap. So i go out to the bus arret, but voila – no bus. After 4 hours of waiting, no bus. It turns out there is no bus service in Premery. Schedules? Oui. Bus stops? Oui. But no busses. Non. Sacre Blue. Oh and mon Francais est meilleur chaque jour. Voilà. Reminded me of Monty Python,s sketch about the department of Silly Walks.

At the Premery camp site they had a game of boules, or bocci. My camping neighbour , a very old man, won the tournament they had and then gave me his medal. Nice. We talked in my shattered French and I showed him pics of my grandchild Ruby. He and his disabled wife smiled and patted me on the back. Belle, belle enfant. I looked at him, and his wife and coulfd see the real love betwwen them, holding hands and smiling at one another. Beautiful. I bade them goodbye and left in the 40 degree heat.

Got to the edge of town and stuck out my thumb. I decided not to walk the 10 miles to the next town. After about 2 hours, with my thumb getting tired, a nice young women stopped and gave me a lift. I was very tired. I thanked her and called her my angel. She then told me her name was Angelique. Beautiful. She was from Uzbekistan, living in France for 10 years,yet her French was no better than mine.

The short drive to Nevers was nice as the sun was setting in the west. Air was sweet and the sky a purplish, reddish shade of blue. Having the windows down with the warm yet refreshing wind blowing and swirling around me was heavenly. It reminded mre of my youth in the car with my dad, rolling down a country road, just the two of us with the windows rolled down, and my arm straight out into the warm summer,s evening breeze, trying to catch the wind, just the two of us, silent, peaceful in thought and mind. I lost my pop at a very young age.

La vie est bon, belle – no matter what.

 

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Day Two and a Bit

This day is dedicated to my brother Kevin, who is suffering from Cancer on his tongue. Just at the start of his journey.

By the way, this Ipad with its auto correct sucks. Hit a “t” and you get a “b.” Hit an “a” and you get a “r.”What should only take a few minutes takes an hour. SUCKS bigly.

Let me tell you about some of the people I have met already: there is Gil, the anorexic pilgrim, Hans, the arrogant Dutch pilgrim. I asked him how his walk was going only to hear him say: it,s in the heart man, the heart. It has nothing to do with “how it,s going” but everything to do with your state of mind man”.  Okay ass-hole I thought to myself. I have not heard that kind of talk since the 1960,s summer of love…..MAN. Then there is Robert and Pierre, there is always a Pierre isn,t there. In France I mean. Robert was a 

know it all but very helpful really. Two dutch girls from Maastricht entetained us with thier violin and guitar. We went through all of the koom-by-ah stuff. But cohen,s halleluah was a hit.

Even I sang-bass. A magical evening especially when sitting beside an Abby that is over 900 years old. Spine tingling .

Just before I arrived at my first rest area I had to climb up a steep hill that went up for about a kilometer at a 30 degree incline.  This after walking 24 kilometers. God treats pilgrims in mysterious ways I think.  I finally arrived at the hostel, and fell  on the cool tiled floor for about 30 minutes I think. All I wanted was a shower but the host dutch lady wouldnt let me have  one until I listened to her introdution – Dutch torture.

It,s amazing what goes through your mind when walking. You are only in the present-no past, no future, except for the next hill or valley. And in this heat? Hard. There was one moment when all I could think about was an ice cold pilsener. And what was really weird was I kept thinking I would come back in another life as a pint of ice cold pilsener. At the very least I thought I could give someone good company for a half hour so. Weird I know but that is what goes through your mind when your brains are being fried in 30 plus degrees heat.

Another magical evening. Pictures speak for themselves if I could only get this Ipad to work. It sucks. I am quitting for today. What should only take me 30 minutes to do takes almost 2 hours to do with this Ipad. I will correct later. Sorry for the typos:

 

 

 

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