Days 12, 13 and 14

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.

 

 

 

 

Days 10 and 11: Chatelet / Chateaumaillant

No wifi yesterday. Storm knocked out electricals in many places. Or that was their story and I believed them.

Day 10: St Armand to Chatelet.

I bid adieu to the Von Trappe family and headed to my campsite. Big mistake. It was about 2 km off my route and the site was crap. I say this literally as there was only one male “shitter” for the whole place. And, and this is the real stinker, no papier de toilet and they removed the toilet seat. And no amenities. All for 11 euros. Crap. I decided that I would no longer camp as they were getting worse as I headed south. In the morning everything was damp. And, and the gate was locked so I had to climb over the fence to get out at 6 am. Sacre Blue, mon dieu. It must have a site seeing an old fart like me climbing over a fence at 6 am.

I got going well enough but got into a bit of trouble again. As I was singing a few of my favourite Eagles tunes I missed a marker and ended up walking about 6 km more that I had to. I was very upset with my own stupidity. Finally walking through a small village and by a garden that had the biggest and reddest and juiciest tomatoes you will ever see. I felt like grabbing one but then thought of those dogs from the day before and thought better of it.

Finally made it to my first stop: Loye-Sur-Arnon. As I walked into town I thought I was seeing a vision, an oasis,for there, right in front of me was a cafe, open, with a terrace.Seated outside were 3 pilgrims like me. How can you tell? Other than the backpack being a dead giveaway,the sort of unwashed look about them was also a clue. Frederic,his partner Daughine and Bruno, from Paris. Younger than me but great people. Had lunch together in the French way. Long, tasty and rich. Fun. They could speak a little English and with my shattered French we got along just fine: the 3 Musqueteers, er 4 counting myself.

Frederic, the top pic turned out to be a real character. You know, the world needs more characters. And you find characters in every country, no matter what, and they are always people you are drawn to. Natural leaders.  Frederic was fun loving,great sense of humour and very positive outlook on life. Wonderful.

We all met later at Chatelet and they shared dinner with me. And that is something because of the lack of services on this route one has to carry their food. We all sat outside at Chatelet and had a wonderful time till very late. Daughine is Frederic,s partner and Bruno is their friend. Bruno  recently lost his parents so he is doing this walk to re-think his own sense of being and belonging. Good luck to him.

And just to prove to you that I am really here:

All she wrote:

Thought of this tune all day today while walking:

Day 11: Chatellet to Chateaumaillant – famous for wine.

The 4 Musqueteers are all staying at the same place. An over priced gite. I pronounced this git but it is pronounced jeet. No wonder I was getting these crazy looks. I said goodbye to my French friends as they were going to Chartre, some 30 km away. I decided to only do 10 km as I needed a break but rather take a whole day off I decided to only do 10.  But some how these short days end up being the longest. Today was no exception. I arrived at Chateaumaillant early but all of the hotels,gites, and hostels were full so I had to camp again,and the campsite was about a km off my track – bummer. Oh well, finally here and settled.

The short walk was fine.  Countryside was gorgeous. Hilly, meadows skirted by shallow but lush forest canopies. One village in particular was very quaint. They were having an outdoor flea market. They call it something else here but one thing is certain: junk is junk no matter where it comes from. The other thing I noticed was this unique early morning bird call. Goes something like this: oooooooo-whooooooo, oooooooo,whooooo. Don,t know what kind of bird it is but it is always singing that tune each and every morning.

Being a short day I thought I would spend some time on some stats:

Completed 11 days,

Completed 245 km

Drank the equivalent of A Great Lake in water

Highest temp: 44 Celcius in Premerly. 8 days of over 34 degrees

Spent about 30 euros per day on average

Hate my Ipad

Walk an average of 25 km per day

Have met many people

Physically demanding in hills

Most villages deserted and very few services

French beer is surprisingly good

I hate my Ipad

Better than  I expected. Way better.

I should be thin but I am not

French distance markers are wrong. In fact the French kilometer is longer than anywhere else in the world. I,ll give you an example. On day two I was nearing my campsite at Guipy when I came up to a roadsign that indicated Guipy-3.5km. After about 30 minutes I came up to another roadsign that indicated Guipy-3.5 km. F@#k I sceamed. How can that be I screamed again  as I was tired and anxious. After another 30 minutes walk I came up to another road sign that indicated Guipy-3.5 km. Being a good catholic I yelled to my lord: Holy F@#k. I was freaking out.True story,and

I really hate my Ipad as it takes twice as long to correct  mistakes as in making them.

 French Cowboy

Change in music. Some marching tunes:

 

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