It was raining again but we were anxious to go. After all, we were supposed to be walking every day and not just swanning around in beautiful cities enjoying ourselves. Actually, I keep our friend Anne-Marie’s thoughts in my mind, which are that the chemin is about the journey, not about the number of kilometres that you tick off, and if part of that journey for us is taking time to learn things, then so be it. That has not stopped Keith doing an average of our progress in kilometres, and it is so small that it would make any pilgrim feel ashamed.
We crossed the river on a footbridge and climbed up into the mountains. At the top, above the town, there was a monument to the Resistance members, and an enormous cross that we might have been able to see from the town if we had been aware of it.
We plodded on, with the rain never ceasing and the swish swish of our plastic wrapped bodies being accompanied by the steady crunches of our batons which kept us from slipping. Actually, let me say a word in praise of walking batons. Previously thought by us to be the domain of the old, infirm or fanatical, we have learnt to value them. They assist with the load of a back pack, relieve a sore shoulder if used on that side, keep you sure and steady on moving or uneven surfaces, hold back blackberries and give you a sense of confidence when a strange dog approaches with a wagging tail but also a growl. It is true to say that two would be better than one, but we have both found our batons to be something we would not be without. Of course, it could be said that we are old, infirm and, given that we plan to walk 21 kilometres in the rain, fanatical, so perhaps we were right all along.We were forever walking past ruins - romantic ruins that we might buy and restore and live in.
There were many round stone buildings, often without windows and with domed or conical roofs also made of stone. Some were set into banks. Later our landlady told us that they were shepherd’s huts, and I recalled being told that if we ran out of money, they could be an option. We had a look in one and it was truly basic, as in walls and a roof, and others had doors that were locked. We walked on and on and on.
Eventually we came to a town that was said to have a shop. We had to hurry since it was five to twelve and there was every chance that the shop would shut, and then we would had no lunch, no dinner and no breakfast the next morning. The shop was tiny and part of a restaurant and accommodation place. Unfortunately the shop had the barrier in front of it, but luckily the lady came out to serve another woman sitting under the shelter, and she opened up for us. As the last of the big shoppers, I bought bread, biscuits and cheese. All the perspiring under my poncho had unstuck the dressings the clinic had plastered all over me, and they were hanging off like dead skin, exposing all my disgusting looking wounds. I asked if she happened to sell dressings, and told her the spider story which she clearly had trouble believing. Some nasty contagious skin disease was what it really looked like. Nevertheless, she bravely fetched her own first aid items and covered me up again, and I was ready to sit down with our fellow traveler who had been talking to Keith and watching us with fascination.Edith was a pilgrim, the only one we had met since our first day out from Conques. She had left her job, sold her home and set out on a journey of reflection and freedom in late June, and here she was on her return journey from Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain, the ultimate goal of all pilgrims. She gave us a piece of chocolate, and we gave a brand new biscuit, and we talked of her experiences and feelings, as well as of how we were going. It was wonderful to be talking to a fellow pilgrim, and we could only imagine how this warm feeling would be experienced often if we were walking at a more popular time. Edith told us that your body never gets used to the chemin, and that a body is fickle and unpredictable. After no sleep and in the rain it can trudge on for hours and on other occasions it can complain for no reason at all. We drank all-milk hot chocolates to thaw us out before we left, and then we were off and out of each other’s lives again. But not really, we will always remember friendly Edith who after all that walking was still fresh and interested to talk with others.
It seemed to be a bit of a long trudge from here on in, although there were beautiful views and the changing colours of autumn to keep us interested all along the way. We took a four kilometre unnecessary detour, and Keith thought later that the dog we thought was running out to attack us was probably woofing, “Wrong way, go back!” Eventually, we met a man who told us that there were two more kilometres of uphill and then five kilometres downhill between where we were and our destination, Grealou. That gave us the strength to put on some speed, and it was a bit of a pity that he had simplified the topography, because every new hill we met felt like a hill we shouldn’t have had to climb. Overall though, we walked really well today, the rain didn’t bother us since it was light and it wasn’t windy, and our old aches and pains had disappeared.
It was earlier than we had expected when we arrived at our gite, after a 25 kilometre walk with only an hour or two without rain. We were very proud of ourselves. There was no heating at the gite, which we had noted from the book, and which Edith had confirmed, having stayed there the night before. A very friendly couple welcomed us and Madame showed us in. Once again the gite was like a little home away from home, and the kitchen would have allowed you to cook a five course cordon bleu meal if you had had the energy or the ingredients.I changed into dry clothes while Keith had a shower, and snuggled into my sleeping bag while I read the newspaper that Madam had thoughtfully given us to scrunch up and push into our shoes to dry them. It didn’t matter that it was from April 2007, it was a local paper and the articles would have been perennials – the schools have a festival, the mayor explains, people were born or died, and a new restaurant opens up. I was still reading when Keith brought my dinner in on a silver tray, such is the priority that is given to any lazy thing that can be passed off as language study. I needed a shower to thaw out, and then began the half hour of re-dressing all the wounds. At last I was warm enough to do a little typing and then we settled down for a very comfortable night.
This object, just out of Figeac, looks like a monument but we couldn't find any writing anywhere on it to tell us what it was for.
This is what Christine looked like after the doctor and then the nurse had finished treating her (suspectd) spider bites. Making the bandages stick in wet weather was a challenge.
Not all the scenery was beautiful, but most of it was.
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