As I mentiond yesterday they were having a fete in town so I had to check out how the French liked to party. I walked the short distance into town and parked myself at the only opened bar. Across the road they had a band set up but no band. There were guitars, drums, electric piano but nobody around to play them. Some guy, who spoke pretty good English told me that the band would play later, after the bingo was over. Indeed, over half the town was under a tent playing bingo. Okay, I thought, I can wait for that. Well, at about 2200 (10 pm),I had had enough. That bingo must have been a real hoot as everyone was still there. The scene reminded me of Premery on my third day of walking. Readers of this blog will remember:
” Oui monsieur, we have a bus. We have a bus stop, we have a bus schedule but we do not have any buses.” Reminded me of the department of silly walks.
” Oui monsieur, we have guitars, we have drums, we have pianos but we do not have anyone to play them….Sacre Blue” A virtual band.
The main drag at the height of the party.
I was staying in a pretty nice gite (jeet) run by a another English couple from England. The man had his own business installing septic systems and other human waste management technologies. We shot the shit (meerde) for about an hour. He then told me that the hike to my next destinatlion will be a difficult one. I didn,t k now whether to believe him after Duncan in La Souterraine. For all I know, given his occupation, he could have been full of shit. As it turned out he was right. The hike was a dichotomy of sorts. A very beautiful scenic hike that was uphill all the way. Clean crisp morning air, about 17 C, a light wind and scenery that was breathtaking. I find it difficult to find the words to describe the scene. Rolling hills, a tapestry of green. Fields of golden virgin hay, like a patch quilt separated by the lushest canopy of forest you will ever see. Deciduous trees. I can just imagine how beautiful that fall colour must be. And alas, you can already detect a hint of colour in the distant forests:
Mystery of life! Have you ever noticed how much cows look alike. I mean, look at this picture
:
They all have big ears, sad eyes and big snouts. So how does a mother cow know how to distinguish her baby cows? Huh? Huh? These are the sort of thoughts one has when going on a 900 kilometer walk. Crazy! You bet. Just another mystery of life brought to you by moi.
I covered off my 20 kilometers in about 4.5 hours. I found a cafe open where I parked myslf and ran into Yannick, a young Danish man from Denmark. Had a beer with him. I ran into him and Sara a few days ago. Another young man who told me he is doing the camino because he had a breakdown, or a crisis of being as I like to call it. Yannick is the second young man I have come across in the last few days who have had this condition. Michel from Belgium has also suffered this malady. Sooo sad. Young men in the prime of their lives having a personal breakdon of confidence. What on earth is going on in this world? Hug your kids, no matter how old and tell them you love them each and every day. I tried to reassure Yannick and Michel when I walked with them, but alas, they will have to find their own path on their own time.
Then, out of the bleu Samuel appears. He is the guy at a hostel a few days ago who wanted to sleep by the heads as he is a averse to snoring. After a few hellos, how are you we decided to stay at the local git and cook dinner together. Yannick left. No Samuel is a colourful charactet. Tall, husky, about 275, tatoos all over his arms, neck etc. Bald, someone you would be intimidatd by. But after getting to know him you find out he is highly educated, great sense of humour and one who speaks very good English. He is from Paris and has completed 3 caminos. The Camino virus as people relate to this. Yeah,Samuel seems to be s great guy. It just shows you that you cannot judge a person by his or her appearance. Samual is a sensitive man trapped in a Hell,s Angel,s body.
This song is for Yannick and Michel. I hope they find their way:
Had a wonerful day in La Souterraine. Lots of cafes and shops were open…yay! My Dutch colleague and I had a few pils before heading to our pelerin hostel at 1630 (430 pm). The lady at the hostel would not let us in early. Na pas problem.
Great evening sitting outside with another French family having dinner. This was fantastic as dinner and breakfast were included in our 35 euro tariff. But it did take a long time to be served. The place was run by an English couple from England! Duncan was the husband and he talked a great deal to us. Given the hard slog we had I asked him how tough the terrain was between La Souterraine and Benevant Abbaye. He said that it would be a breeze, flat all the way…..na pas problem!
Good dinner and good wine. My friend Berry was leaving for home in the morning. I would now be by myself for the first time in about 5 days. Na pas problem. That is Duncan the owner standing.
I left at 730 am the next morning. Today, the 17 th of aout. I said farewell to Berry and was off. Bon chance.
It was a gloomy overcast day that threatened rain. About 21 C but the humidity was through the roof. It was not long before I was soaked from sweat. It did drizzle a little bit but not much. The moisture in the air was reflected into the landscape which was lush. It almost seemed as if I was walking in a rain forest and not central France. It was another brutal climb. It became so bad that I had a fantasy to return to La Souterraine and strangle Duncan. But I didn,t want to walk back 20 kilometers. “Duncan, you are a lucky man today” I thought to myself.
To put things into perspective for my Victorian friends, the brutality of the hills yesterday can be described like this. Put yourself on Dallas Road and then walk all the way to the ferry terminal at Swartz Bay and do that walk going uphill all the way. That is what we are dealing with here.
As I was walking beside a field of cows I started humming out loud the theme from the Great Escape movie. It was loud. Well, all of those cows came running in my direction and then followed me to the end of the field. That was cool and funny. I seem to have a way with cows. Don,t know for sure though!
I am now sitting in the gite etage in Benevant Abbaye refreshed, writing this blog. There is a ”fete” going on here this weekend so I am going to go and check it out. For the uninitiated a ”fete” is a fair.
Oh and I met three more pilgrims today. Michel from Belgium, Sara and Sophile from Paris. They are finishing in Limoges.
Love this photo . It says it all to my non French friends:
As I got up and got out of bed I banged my head against the shelf above. Some books came crashing down on me. It was 0530 in the morning. Damn I thought I screamed. Over on the other side of the dorm I thought I heard someone say “ Mon Dieu.”
“Darn”, as pilgrims are not supposed to swear. So I go up. It was pitch darkness and I did not want to wake anyone. As I was walking, no tip toeing towárd the heads (toilet), I banged my big toe against the leg of the bed. “Damn, merde, shit” I screamed again to myself. Owee, that hurts. I then thought I heard my dear wife whisper in my ear: “ John, not only are you a slob you are also a big klutz.” Yes dear. I thought to myself.
I made it to the head only to see or feel that some guy, er pilgrim, was sleeping on the floor by the heads. Oh yeah, I remember. This guy was sensitive to snoring so he moved his mattress by the heads. Snoring or smell? Take your pick. Anyway, I tried to be a quiet as a mouse as I opened one of the doors to the stalls: caaaw-reeek, the door needed oil. ” Mon Dieu” I heard from th other side of the dorm. I went into a stall and closed the door only to see no toilet seat. No matter. I am a male after all and this is the call of nature for numero uno. Then I tripped on something and fell down and low and behold the toilet was not secured to the floor. With a bang it fell sideways. “ Holy shit.” I said. “Mon Dieu.”I heard again and the guy on the floor beside the toilet just grunted and turned over. Finally, I got out of there, brushed myself off and tip toed back to my bed. Then again my big toe banged again on the corner leg of the bed and I tripped and fell into the bed beside me. That guy was not amused. “ Mon Dieu” I heard again. I apologized to the man in the bed, got my things together, strapped on my rucksack and made my way to the door. I then hit a table as I was opening the door. “Mon Dieu, mon dieu, mon dieu monsieur.” I heard over again and with that I started my day. As I opened the door to leave I yelled back into the darkness of the room: “ Mon Dieu to you too, adieu.” And with that I was on my way.
They are not kind to pilgims. Crozant was at the top of a big hill by the Creuse River. A beautiful site but not to a pilgrim at the end of the day. We made it to the top, found our accommodations, unpacked, then proceeded to the cafe. I could not believe it. We had chickenm wings and beer. And they were some of the best wings I have even had. Great. Had some red vino as well and pickd up another bottle for later in the evening. Gawd, how I love this pilgrim life. “ Mon Dieu.”
This is Netherlander Berry. Good company. Pascal from Strasbourg, also joined us. Great evening.
In the morning when I left, the trail had us go all the way back down to the river bed to start our hike. We basically covered off over 100 meters of elevation in less that 500 meters. That was brutal. We followed the river bed into a magical land of streams, woodland and moss. It was cool and very pleasant. The water cascaded over the rocks and weirs and gave it that fresh relaxing aura. It made it even more enjoyable to the senses:
It was a hard slog again today. 24.5 km in 31 degree heat. And it was all uphill. Obviously our elevation was increasing as we headed south. Coming out of the beautiful Creuse River Valley was akin to a death march, or as I like to refer it to as the Compestello Sweat. We did come into a few villages but I am not going to bore you with that “F” word anymore but it was Thursday after all and everything was………….
But there were also some lighthearted moments:
“You talking to me? Are you talkimg to me? Yeah you, you. Are you talking to me, huh?, Huh? Well are you? Okay, then how about you guys?”
Pascal from Strasbourg. He is 64.
Another great tune to listen to as you are doing the Camino Sweat March!
Gargle more or Gargle less. It,s entirely up to you.
Well after my meal last night with 2 bottles of vin rouge I really needed to gargle this morning. And what a fine dinner me and my colleague had. Barry from the Netherlands, who was also with the Von Trappe family. Just he and I now as the family ended their hike in Gargle more or less. I know…..groan.
We celebrated the milestone of completing the Nevers southern variant in fine fashion:
Fine French food.
Gargleless is a bohemian village set low in a lush valley among low lying hills and valleys. A old rustic, ancient church and castle anchors a town of local and regional artists. Pottery, sculpting, painting – well just about any type of art you can think of. Steep hilly streets with quaint houses and shops give the place a homely but affluent feel. Warm and inviting restaurants, bars and terraces complete the scene. Marvellous.
Hey, maybe I should keep my shirt on. 20 years old I am not.
Today,s hike was brutal. The worse day yet. Hill after hill after hill. Entered and came out of the Cruise River valley with a hill of about 2.2 km in length with 4 switchbacks. Massive. That was followed by another, then another. We crossed valleys. We did,nt follow them. We crossed them. Whenever we descended we cringed for we knew we had to go up again. What goes down, comes up. There were a few times where I wanted to puke…out of exhaustion. It was tough. I am so glad I trained for this. The hike was 22.2 km. Temperatures were mid 20,s. Okay. Only saving grace to all of this misery was the fantastic scenery and landscape.
A have had a few queries wondering if I was enjoying this. Perhaps my posts have sent the wrong message. Yes, there have been frustrations but I am only reporting on things I observe. Rest assured I am loving this. It has been great. I may sound upset at times but I like to see things in a humourous light. Imagine! I haven,t read the news in over a month, no tv, no anything. Only the present – no past,no future. Just today. Wonderful.
Thanks for reading and following this blog. Love to receive more comments. Hey Georgina?
Ran into 4 more pilgrims today. Gave the secret codeword. Cannot tell you what it is as it is a secret. I think there is a secret handshake as well but I am not sure.
No wifi for 3 days, one of which cost me euros and the loss of my cell phone. You can still contact me via the morrisonjohn@shaw.ca or enter a comment on this blog. Indeed I would welcome comments here as long as they are relevant to this trip or short and sweet.
I am tired of jeets or pilgrim hostels advertising wifi only to discover they don,t have it. I had to top up my cell plan 13 Aug via the internet so I purposely picked accommodation that said they had it. When we arrived tired a nd hungry, registered and payed only to find out they did,n have it. As a result I lost my top up and automatically lost all my services, which will end up costing me 50 euros. When I complained to the madam at the jeet all she would do or say was “Pardon monsieur, cest la vie, cest voici, cest voila. “ Cest it aint so said I”
By the way. If I am not up on this it means that I have no access to wifi. I will catch, unless of course I trash this IPad tablet.
Day 12: Chateaumaillant to Le Chatre
Got out of the campsite early. Gate was locked but this time I cut through a hedge that turned out to be nettles with thorns. In the early morning darkeness I got caught up in the brambles. It was dawn,s early light so I let out a muffled scream, drew blood and almost woke up the entire campsite. That would not have been pretty.
DISASTER! I left my “doby” kit in the salle de bain in Chatelet. Damn. For the unitiated doby is military jargon for bathroom stuff. This was definitely the bane of my existence. A real disaster. Pouquoi? Well over here you just cannot go down to the local store and get new stuff. Why? Because there is no local store. And if there was it would be closed. Indeed, last night I decided to go into town being Saturday night and all. It was about 1930 (0730 pm). The area was known for its wine. Well, imagine that. It was a ghost town. Nothing open except some pizza burger joint. Finally I did find a cafe open.I walked over. Great I thought. They have a menu board up. Looking I could make out lasagna provincale. Oh I knew that. When the garcon came over I said in my best French: I,ll have some of that provincial lasagna, and a beer. “Sorry Monsieur” he said. “La cuisine est ferme!!!!!. “ I lost it. Have you noticed a recurring theme throughhout these posts, as in “FERME.” So here I am in the midst of some of the finest wine country ever only to find out I have to settle for cheeseburger, fries and a Cabernet “ fanta” to wash it all down with. And to make matters worse I spilled some ketchup down my newly washed white t-ee shit. I could just hear my wife Marijke yelling in my ear: “ you really are a slob John”
Back to camp. I was mad at myself. How could you be soo stupid. You are always forgetting stuff. You know, I could write a book on this as in:
How Not To Camp in France…by John Morrison or
Camping in France – The Hard Way…by John Morrison or
Lost in France…by John Morrison
Anyway, I got on my way. A beautiful day. It was going to be a hot one. Skies were clear, air was crisp and pungently fresh and the winds were still. Landscape was flattening out from previous hikes. I walked up and over hill and dale, past deserted farmhouses and barns that were architecturally works of art unto themselves. Through small quaint villages, frozen in time it would seem, all asleep until awakened by a roosters call. Sometimes I would walk past some old dilapidated farm being used as a dog kennel. Of course they could smell me coming from a mile a way. And who couldn,t. Even I couldn,t stand myself. I loved this for all of a sudden, all hell would break loose. A cacaphony of hoots, barks and yelps that covered across the entire sound spectrum. I laughed because I felt karma. If you are going to raise or keep dogs in filth then I am going to make you pay the price by awakening every one of those dogs at 0600am. The owners were pissed. Too frigin bad…oops, pilgrims are not supposed to swear. Hell fire and damnation!
The other thing I noticed was how patiotic the French were. Every town, village and hamlet had a mounment for fallen soldiers.
Beautiful churches and Abbeys
Wonderful People
And the countryside. Magnificent.
I
Met up with the Von Trappe family again. Great people. We walked all the way into Chatre, an old medieval city situated at the top of a large hill. Of course it was. We ended up in a old pelerin hostel, code for dump. Run by some obscure religious order, one paid by donation as long as it was what they expected. Another thing I hate about this pilgrimage. I do not like being told what I have to donate. No wifi, no services whatsoever. Turns out the house we were in used to be owned by the founder of the French newspaper Le Figuro. This guy died in 1853 and I don,t think they have changed the decor since. Le Chatre was also the playing ground for the famous French female author, George Sands.
We ended the day on a terrace with a nice dinner in a great setting in a square that dates back to the 1400s. Life of a pilgrim is grand.
Day 13: Le Chatre to Neuvy Saint Sepulchre
Left early, 6 am. It was a dark and stormy looking day. Cool with a slight drizzle brewing. Headed out with the family. Walked hard. Not much to tell today because it was gloomy weather. Passed an impressive looking castle.
I told these two women that I would give them this castle as a Queen and Princess.. I lied! Oh and I found out what that bird call was from…a pigeon. Nothing at all exotic. Just a lowly pigeon. As it turned out this day was a physical slog. Only 18km but it was hill after hill. We were climbing almost the entire way. We were all exhausted as we entered Neuvy Saint Sepluchre. And again, nothing open. What really ticked me off was that our place advertised wifi and they didn,t have it, as I mentioned above. I lost all my coverage. I said that didn,t I? Pissed? You bet but pilgrims are not supposed to swear. Sorry.
We had a great evening dining out in the garden. And it was here that we were introduced to Olion, a young French dude with not a dime to his name. Slovenly and dirty but he was a nice young fellow nevertheless.
Now Olion had a stoned expression about him. Dazed and confused. I introduced myself and went to sake his hand but he just waved me off and speard out his arms as if he could capture the moment with his arms.
”I am not of here “ he said. “ I am of the universe. One to grace the earth with all its blessings” he continued. I know this tune. This is code for begging and as he said that he pulled out his pack of smokes. Oh but you can afford to smoke I thought to myself.
“ Mother earth is in my bosum,my heart, my mind and in my soul dude. Capture the spirit of Gaia and you will be free.”
“Whoa” is all I could say Dude. I think I will hold on to my stuff a little bit closer I reminded myself.
I opened a beer and offered him a glass. He looked at me in one of those hippy days daze and smiled and said: “no, I don,t want to poison my body, “ as he took a long drag and toke on his cigarette.
”Whoa” is all I could think of. And with we all sat down for dinner, including Olion, dazed and confused.
We all had a great time. Even Olion.
Day 14: Neuvy St Sepulchre to Gargilese.
Anyone who would name their town after a mouthwash is alright in my books.
Again an overcast day, cool, about 20 degrees Great for walking, or hiking, or slogging it out or whatever. After awhile one becomes comfortably numb doing this as if off in another world, in a never, never, never again land. One dreams many dreams, has thoughts of many thoughts, tales of many tales.But not too dreamlike as the terrain can be brutally unforgiving at times. A sprain would end it for me so I háve to be careful.
After a 90 minute walk we arrived at Cluis. Cluis is a famous place as it was the site of a major Roman/Gaul battle, of which Julius Ceasar kicked butt. It was also the hub of a string of fortresses during the 100 years war (who fights for 100 years – that is a major grudge). The 100 years war culminated was under the leadership of Joan of Arc who finally kicked the brits out of France for good. For that she was burned at the stake. I wonder what they would have done to her if she lost!
After Cluis we walked straight to Gargilese, a beautiful village set in the hills and valley. Unbelievable, gorgeous
Milestone today: completed the Nevers southern variant. 300 km done. It,s all downhill from here. Limoges is my next milestone. All roads lead to St Jean Pied de Port. Can,t wait. Barry and I celebrated with a great dinner and a fine bottle of grape.
I
