Day 6: The Heat Wave Begins

August 17: I woke early—5:30 early—ate breakfast and was ready to hit the trail by 6:00. I wanted to get an early start to the day because the dreaded heat wave officially starts today. The last few days on the trail, a lot of hikers had been talking about the “heat wave.” I looked up the weather forecast the last time I was online, and Friday, August 17th, was the first day that was expected to break 90 degrees. Tomorrow, Saturday, it was expected to hit 103 degrees. The weather forecast, annoying, said that due to humidity or something, it would “feel like” 108 degrees. Yeah, rub that in our faces—as of 103 degrees wasn’t hot enough. It wouldn’t get back below 90 degrees again for nearly a week.

So I decided to be proactive—hike early in the morning, take a very, very long lunch break, then hike in the late afternoon and into the evening. It worked out well when I did that on the PCT, and I had no reason to think it wouldn’t work out well here. But still, it would be hot. There’s no avoiding that.

And that’s the reason for my particularly early morning wake-up call. Except by the time I was ready at 6:00, it was still pretty darned dark. I wanted to take photos along the way, but that’s hard to do when it’s still dark out. So I waited around an extra half hour and finally hit the trail at 6:30—which was still my earliest start time yet and still before sunrise.

It only took a little over an hour to reach the bustling town of Espalion, where some sort of farmer’s market was being set up. I don’t know that it actually was a farmer’s market—just that the stalls being set up had that sort of feel to it. I didn’t stop to browse, though—I had miles to hike, and it was still early in the morning. Darned warm for this early in the morning, but it was the coolest weather of the day. I was going to spend it hiking, not shopping.

I passed through town at an unfortunate time, however. It was 8:00, and it seemed the town was being emptied of hikers who had stayed the night. I saw dozens of pilgrims leaving town, and one small group of six or so people started singing quite loudly and I badly wanted to get well ahead of them or well behind them. Hikers, hikers, everywhere…

They all seemed to walk at a plodding pace, so I decided I could outrun them—not literally, but just walk faster than them and leave them in the proverbial dust. Annoyingly, as soon as I passed one group of hikers, I’d catch up with another group. ARGH! Would the plague never end?

Yes, it did finally end. Oh, there were always people around, but I lost the large crowds and wound up the rest of the day with never more than one or two other people around which was a comfortable level for me. =)

Late in the morning, I saw a marker that suggested a left turn, but up that road was clearly another marker with an X—don’t go that way. The left turn marker wasn’t well-placed. I think it was meant to suggest to follow the turn in the road we were following, but it looked like it was telling us to get off the road completely and follow another road to the left. If it wasn’t for that X on the other road, I’d have taken it without thinking twice.

Which is when I noticed a hiker coming from that direction. And it was a hiker I recognized—the French girl who I ran around in circles with, lost in Aubrac.

“Bonjour!” I told her. “Did you take a wrong turn?”

Yes, indeed, she followed the left turn marker up the wrong road having missed the X marker.

“Why is it that every time we bump into each other, you’re lost?” I joked. This was the second time I bumped into her, and both times, she had gotten lost. At least I was only lost the first time she bumped into me. =)

So we fell into a walk together chatting and learning more about each other. I can’t say her name to save my life—she repeated it several times and I never made it past the first syllable. But I did learn that she had a 4-year-old son and apparently works in an automobile factory installing the plastic paneling inside of cars. At least that’s what I understood through her think accent and limited English.

We walked the rest of the way into the town of Estaing together where we parted ways. I stopped in town long enough to buy some food for lunch—it was still much too early in the day for me to stop, though—and she wanted to visit the church in town.

Not even ten minutes out of town, I bumped into another girl hiking alone and, as it turned out, spoke some English as well. Her name was Marielys (she even spelled it correctly for me, but I’m not 100% certain I remembered it correctly when I finally wrote it in my journal), but said I could call her Mary. Which was fine by me since I could say Mary without any trouble at all. Absolutely none. =) She learned English while living in Ireland for three months but still spoke with a heavy accent that required my complete attention to understand. But still, it was probably more difficult for her to speak English than it was for me to understand her English, so I’m not complaining!

We walked for a couple of hours, chatting away about the trail, and a little about America where she had never been. She doesn’t want to see the big cities like New York—no interest in them at all—but she liked the Camino and was section hiking a little bit of it each year with friends. Section hiking the Camino is quite the norm—at least on this part of the trail. Almost everyone who is hiking is only out for a week or two on “holiday” before they have to go back to work.

By around 1:00, it get getting seriously hot out. Certainly well into the 90s and perhaps already passed 100 degrees, and it was definitely time for the long lunch, but I enjoyed chatting with Mary and pushed on a little longer than I otherwise would have. Near the top of a ridge, we reached a spigot with potable water and I filled up my water bottle. And since it was so hot, I soaked my hat and handkerchief under it. Then I took off my long-sleeved shirt (even though it was so hot, I still wore a lightweight long-sleeved shirt for sun protection) and soaked that with cold water as well. I knew it would dry within a half hour of when I put it back on, but for that half hour… oh, it would feel wonderful!

Several minutes later, Mary’s phone rang—which surprised me a little. I know most people on this trail have phones, and I know there’s cell service over seemingly the entire trail. We go through half a dozen or more small towns every single day. But it was the first time I’d seen anyone actually answer their cell phone since I started my hike, so it took me by surprise.

It was one of the friends she was hiking with (which amused me, because if she was hiking “with” her, why did she have to call?) Mary started looking at my maps trying to figure out exactly where we were in relation to her friends and came to the conclusion that we were a kilometer or two ahead but her friends were ready to stop for lunch.

So Mary and I hiked on, now looking for a place to stop and her friends could catch up. I spotted a shady little patch, just a few trees on the side of the road in the town of Montegot, casting shade into a field of grass and suggested we stop there. It wasn’t much, but it was something. On the barren ridge we walked, that might be all there was.

We made ourselves comfortable, finding clear spots between old cow patties. I ate the lunch I bought in town and Mary snacked while we waited for her friends to catch up. I didn’t realize it when I suggested we stop here, but it turned out to be a great place to stop. On the ridge, we got a nice breeze going and despite the high temperatures, once we sat in the shade with a breeze, the temperature felt quite comfortable. The breeze made a big difference, though.

Her friends caught up about 10 minutes later, two more very cute girls. Wow, how lucky was I! =) They joined us and pulled out their own snacks, offering me tempting treats of cheese, salami, apricots, and candy. The two new girls didn’t speak much English so I didn’t really talk to them very much, and Mary had to translate when we did talk. Eventually, I just laid down and tried to nap. The three girls chatted in French for the next two hours—almost none of it understandable.

There was one point, a good hour into their little chat, I heard something like, “Blah blah blah blah sexy blah blah!” and the three girls laughed. Hmmm….. I said to Mary, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I know girl talk when I hear it!” Which made them all laugh more, but I’m not even sure if Mary’s friends actually understood what I said.

After two or three hours, we finally started to get up to go. As I was putting my shoes back on, the two girls riding horses rode by. For some reason, I rather liked bumping into the horses on a near daily basis now. It wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t bump into them at least once each day.

I decided to part with the girls—they were certainly cute enough to look at, but I didn’t really know enough French to keep up with them. Mary alone was fine for walking with, but I felt more in the way when she wanted to talk with her friends, so I left them as they were still getting ready and headed off on my own.

At the end road intersection, I could see the horse girls going straight, and when I got to the intersection, I saw that the markers indicted we should go straight. No surprise there, but I was a little surprised when I saw the horse girls coming back my way. What? Was that no the correct direction?

A few seconds later, though, from around a bend in the road, I saw a herd of cattle coming down the road and laughed. Herds of cattle always get the right-of-way! Even when you’re riding a horse. =) The horse girls stood to the side of the intersection, as well as me and a couple of other hikers who got caught up with the herd, waiting for the animals to pass before resuming our journey again.

I stopped in the town of Golinhac for food and drink, and my guidebook said that there was water to be had in town, but I couldn’t find it and wound up going into some trailside lodging for water.

The woman inside said something in French, which I understood not a word.

“Do you speak English?” I asked. (I actually asked this in French—I learned enough French to ask if they speak English in French.)

“No,” she replied. “Dutch?”

I laughed. “No. Espanol?” I asked.

She laughed and shook her head no. It’s like we were bargaining for a common language, and out of the four languages we tried (French, English, Dutch, and Spanish), we couldn’t find a common meeting ground.

It finally came down to sign language. She tilted her head sideways on her hands—an international sign for “Are you looking for sleep?”

“No,” I told her. “Just water.”

Which was good, because she managed to explain in broken English that she had no more beds to offer anyhow. She filled up my water bottles and I asked for a “tampon” which she happily provided. =)

Then I pushed on, eventually stopping a short ways out of town in a patch of trees. It was a little close to the road, but it wasn’t a particularly busy road and my maps suggested that this might be the best place to stealth camp for several kilometers, so I grabbed it.

Too… many… hikers…

 

 

I took this inside the Church of Saint-Pierre-de-Bessejouls.

 

The staircase in the church was quite narrow!

 

 

 

 

 

A photo of me in the town of Estaing

 

Pilgrim art?

 

Mary (in the foreground) and one of her friends (laying down behind her).

 

The horse girls, waiting for the stampede to go by.

 

Wildlife on the trail!

Day 5: A Tampon By Any Other Name

August 16: I woke up early, got on the Internet briefly, then headed down for breakfast which was included with my stay. It wasn’t a particularly appetizing breakfast, however. It consisted of bread with butter and jam—you did get a choice between strawberry or apricot jam, though. As a side note, let me say now that I’ve seen more apricot products here in France than I’ve ever seen in my life. Doesn’t matter what it is—granola bars, jams, cookies, and more—if there’s a way to incorporate apricots into it, the French have done it. This doesn’t bother me, however, since I rather like the apricots. =)

We did have the choice of tea or coffee in the morning, neither of which I’m a fan of, so I had water instead. Bread and water. You’d think I was in prison with food like that.

But I needed my energy so I slathered on the jam and ate lots of bread—I had to slather in the jam to get myself to eat enough bread to feel somewhat full.

It rained for most of the night, but by morning, the clouds had cleared and it turned into a beautiful day, and I was on the trail hiking by 9:00 in the morning. A late start for me since I usually woke up with the sun, but still relatively early in the day.

I stopped at a small store in Saint-Chely-d’Hubrac where I bought, among other items, some Babybel cheese. I do like my Babybel cheese, although I typically only buy it when I’m hiking. In this case, I could tell there was a “prize” of some sort in it—in a plastic, round container. Probably some sort of cheap kid’s toy, I thought. That’s fine, though, I can just throw it away. But I was curious about what it was, so before I left town, I popped it open.

Inside was another (smaller) plastic, round container. Kind of like those Russian dolls, except containers. Okay, now you guys are just messing with me, I thought. How many more containers until I get to the prize?

There was, however, a clue. Along with the second container was a piece of paper, and the most prominent word on it was “Tampon.” And I started to get a bad feeling about this “prize.”

What kind of sick joke is this? I thought. Who the heck thought it would be a good idea to include a tampon with Babybel cheese? The one thing giving me some hope was that I couldn’t possibly imagine how a tampon could fit in such a tiny little container. At this point, I started taking photos. I didn’t know what would happen when I opened the next container, but I knew I wanted photos regardless of the results. =)

So I took a couple of photos, set my camera aside, then nervously opened the second container which contained…. a stamp! A rubber stamp! Yes, that’s right, a tampon, in French, is a rubber stamp. Oh, priceless. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. =)

The stamp looked like a flea wearing glasses and carrying a piece of bread. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be, but that’s what it looked like to me, and it has the words “Des Vacances de Malade’Mental” written around it, which—as best as I can figure—roughly means “vacation of a mentally sick person”? That makes no sense… Perhaps “vacances” has something to do with “vaccination”—which could be to encourage kids to get vaccinated? I don’t know. I really don’t. The stamp is as mysterious to me as why they would call it a tampon.

Even more amusingly, now I walk into tourist offices asking for tampons. “Please!” I beg them, “Give me your tampon! Tampon! Tampon!” Words I never thought I’d utter in my entire life, and now I’m saying it on a near daily basis. (As an aside, I’ve been told that the proper pronunciation for “tampon” does not include the “n”—it sounds more like “tahm-poh.”)

With all that settled, I went back to walking. Late in the morning, I stopped to get water at a shelter in L’Estrade, which used to be a communal oven. I unclipped my Waldies to get at a water bottle and forgot to reclip them when I started hiking again.

I hiked further, passing the two girls riding horses who had stopped to rest. I gave them a hearty “Bonjour!” but didn’t stop to chat—they knew no English so it hardly seemed worth the effort. Two miles after I got water, I felt something hitting the back of my leg, and when I looked at my shadow on the ground, I saw a Waldie swinging wildly on the back of my pack, reminding me that I hadn’t reclipped the Waldies to my pack.

I dropped my pack, but one of my Waldies was missing. It was somewhere behind me, lost on the trail somewhere in the past two miles. Two miles. These were my camp shoes. I bought them while hiking the Appalachian Trail. They came with me on the Florida Trail and the Pacific Crest Trail. They were with me when I darned near drowned on the West Coast Trail. I’d carried these darned camp shoes for over 6,000 miles. I couldn’t lose one of them now.

What to do? What to do? Maybe if I waited long enough, the girls with the horses would come down the trail behind me with my shoe, recognizing it as something I lost? But what if I lost it even before I passed them? I really didn’t want to backtrack two miles then have to get back here for a total of four miles out of my way. But I really, really wanted my camp shoe back as well. At least I knew it was somewhere on the trail, not hidden off on the side of the trail. It had been almost all downhill since I stocked up with water, though. I’d have a lot climb to get back to the lost shoe, then a long drop again. Ugh… Decisions, decisions…

I finally decided to leave my pack, hidden off on the side of the trail, then hike back and look for my Waldie. If I were really lucky, maybe it only fell off recently and I wouldn’t have to backtrack the full two miles.

Unencumbered without my pack, I charged up the trail quickly. The trail was wide enough for off-road vehicles to travel, so I had to keep reminding myself to scan the entire width of the trail for the lost Waldie. I’d hate to walk passed it just because I didn’t see it on the other side of the trail from where I was walking, and it’s easy to lose yourself in the hike and just watch your feet and where your next foot would land. If I ran into any hikers heading downhill, I could ask them if they saw the Waldie and how far away it was.

I didn’t see any hikers, nor even the girls with the horses, but about ten minutes into my backtracking—maybe a half mile from where I discovered it was missing—I saw the Waldie, sitting just left of the center of the trail. YES! I did the happy dance of joy, took photos of the newly found Waldie (I figure it would be useful in “missing” posters if I ever lost it again), then picked it up and tore back down the trail to my pack.

The pack was right where I left it, but I was now running far behind the schedule I had set for myself. Not that I had to be anywhere by a certain time, but it threw my mental accounting off.

Near the end of the day, the trail went over a bridge that crossed the River Lot and several dozens of people were swimming, laying out getting tans, and generally frolicking in the sun, and I was a little disappointed to note that none of the girls were topless. What’s up with that? I was in France for crying out loud. Since when did France become the center of all things conservative?

I stopped a bit earlier than I originally planned, not the least because of my unexpected Waldie detour, but also because I found a nice camp spot at the top of a hill with trees to provide shade until sunset (it was hot out!), on a thick layer of soft grass. I did have to get through a barbwire fence and didn’t have a full allotment of water, but I could deal with that. And, more importantly, looking at the map ahead, options for stealth camping would likely be much worse ahead.

I threw out my groundsheet, sat down, took off my shoes, then took off my socks and examined my feet. They were sore, but that’s to be expected when one hikes 153 kilometers in just five days. I was more surprised that they otherwise looked pretty darned normal. No blisters, no hot spots, no nothing. If anyone looked at my feet, they’d probably think I sat on a couch for the last five days. I was a little disappointed, actually. I already had a naming scheme decided for my blisters. I would give them French names when I was in France, and Spanish names when I was in Spain. Blisters on one foot would be named after men, and blisters on the other foot would be named after women. And the very first blister I planned to named Saint Jacques. I was starting to worry that there never would be a Saint Jacques…

 

 

Don’t worry—it’s NOT WHAT YOU THINK!!!! =)

 

A cemetery along the route.

 

This little hiker oasis used to be a communal oven.

 

 

The lost Waldie… has been found!

 

Apparently I wasn’t the only hiker who lost
something on the trail… but I bet this has
a better story with it!

 

Some accessories on a trailside cross.

 

 

The church in Saint-Come d’Olt is well-known for its
twisted spire. I think a contractor made a mistake
but didn’t want to fess up. =)

 

The trail often runs through small alleys in towns.

 

And not a topless girl in the bunch!

 

I decide to set up camp… on the other side of the
barbwire fence. You know, where the grass is greener. =)

 

I took this photo while eating dinner. =)

Day 4: Dartmoor Dreams

August 15: I titled this blog post Dartmoor Dreams because much of the terrain today reminded me a lot of Dartmoor. For those of you reading this that are letterboxers, you probably know a little about Dartmoor. The rest of you, well, probably don’t. =) It didn’t start with a lot of promise—I slept next to a busy highway and a specially constructed tunnel for Camino hikers was built to go under it. Which is probably a huge improvement in playing a real-life game of Frogger, but the tunnel was an ugly hole that had been graffitied to death. Once I got through that, however, and away from the highway, the trail followed old dirt roads and small trails through rolling hills, few trees, over tors, and farmland as far as the eye can see. Beautiful terrain!
Early in the morning, I caught up with a cute German girl hiking alone. Being German, of course, she knew English. Invariably, anyone I met who spoke English were either German or Belgium, and she was no exception. I’m not sure how to spell her name, but it sounded something like Eedit, so that’s what I’m going to call her here. She was an English and French teacher back in Germany, on holiday for a couple of weeks (Europeans go on “holiday,” they don’t go on “vacation”) trying out the Camino to see if she liked it. So far, she reported, she likes it great, and perhaps she’ll do the rest of it next year.
What I found immediately interesting about her, however, were her feet. She was hiking in sandals. I’ve seen this before, but it’s still pretty rare for me to see people hiking any long distance in sandals. I think it’s a little bit crazy, but if it works, I say let them go for it. People think I’m a little bit crazy just for doing my walks and I’m okay with that. I think they might even be right. =)
But the thing I absolutely loved about her feet—even more than the fact that she was clearly eclectic because she wore sandals, was that she had painted her toenails in the not-to-distant past, and a few of the toes were wrapped up in tape from blisters or hot spots. They looked very amusing to me. Carefully applied red nail polish—a girl’s gotta look her best! And by golly, if you’re hiking in sandals without socks, people are going to see your toenails! But the dirt and grime and tape around some of the toes kind of takes away from the pretty nail polish. The contrast really amused me. =)
We talked and walked for a little while, and at one point she stops me and tells me that I’ll never make it to Santiago with my pack set up like it was.
“And how’s that?” I asked, out of curiosity.
“The heavy stuff,” she told me, “should be at the bottom of the pack.” She went on a little more, but I finally cut her off. I’m not sure how she could even identify how I had packed my backpack—it’s not like it was made of see-through material or anything. And while I do have a few heavier items near the top of my pack, they were items like my snack bag with apples that I would be eating throughout the day. My heaviest items that I didn’t need throughout the day were closer to the bottom of my pack, and my laptop (which doesn’t really fit in my horizontally in the first place) I had vertically as close to my back as I can. I do kind of know what I’m doing, and although my pack looks bright and usual, I was a little surprised it also made me look like such a novice hiker. I wasn’t wearing two packs, after all. And my hiking shoes were obviously more sturdy than her sandals!
“Before you go any further,” I told her, “I should tell you—this isn’t my first long-distance hike.”
I told her about the Pacific Crest Trail, running from Mexico to Canada and ran for something like over 4,000 kilometers. I didn’t mention the distance in miles—she’s from Germany and probably couldn’t relate well to miles, so off the cuff I figured it must be something a little over 4,000 kilometers from near sea level to snow-covered peaks.
“And I managed to get by fine,” I concluded. “I think I’ll be okay here.” =)
I neglected to mention the laptop I was carrying. Honestly, I’m a little embarrassed to admit I’m carrying an actual, honest-to-goodness laptop on a backpacking trip. At least it was hidden in my pack and when people seem surprised at the size or weight of my pack, I tell them I’m camping out most of the time so I need a tent (nobody who learns English as a second language seems to have a good concept of the difference between a tarp and a tent, so I just tell them I have a tent), a stove to cook with, a cooking pot, etc. “It adds a lot,” I’d tell them. So does the laptop, but I don’t tell them that part. =)
But still, regardless of the unnecessary weight in my pack, I knew I’d get by fine, and I tried to assure her of that, and she seemed convinced and let it drop. I was still a little amused that she assumed I was some newbie hiker who’d never done any serious hiking before, though. I did tell her it was my first time hiking in Europe, though, and perhaps she assumed I meant it was the first time I did any long-distance hike not realizing that there are long-distance hikes in America as well.
Eventually we walked apart, going at our own paces, and I tightened the strap on my hat. It was a beautiful day out, but it was a heck of a windy one as well.
In the town of Nasbinals, I lost the trail markers, but I started noticing white arrows painted onto the street at the last couple I had seen and thought maybe through town, I was supposed to follow the white arrows instead. I followed them a little ways until I started leaving town on a road, but the normal markers I followed didn’t return and I started to get a little suspicious that it was the wrong direction. It didn’t feel right to me.
I sat down and pulled out my guidebook, which has nothing for maps of towns, but it does have a written description of the trail through town and reading the description, I knew exactly where I turned wrong. Stupid white arrows. I have no idea who put them there or what purpose they served, but they definitely had nothing to do with the Camino. The couple of places where it matched up with the Camino must have been a coincidence.
So I hiked about five minute back into town, turned right, and headed out of town on the correct road which was confirmed when I saw a real trail marker a few minutes later. At least I didn’t go more than five minutes in the wrong direction! I might have taken a wrong turn, but I didn’t take it for very long!
Once I left town, I was back in the Dartmoor-like scenery, miles and miles of endless farms through rolling hills. I really liked this hiking.
Late in the afternoon, as I started approaching the town of Aubrac, ugly clouds started coming in and I decided to look for lodging. I didn’t know if rain was in the forecast or not, but it certainly looked like storm clouds blowing in and anyhow, I needed a shower after camping out the last three days. On the AT or PCT, not showering for three night is normal. On the Camino, where most people find hostels each night, it is unusual, and I really didn’t want to out-smell everyone else on the trail.
My book of lodging options described a place: Chambre et table d’hotes La Colonie-Espicerie Bio for 36 euros. The thing that really stood out for me, though: It had wi-fi. It took me a little while to figure this out. It was the first time I looked at this book (being the first time I wanted lodging since I bought the book in Le Puy), and it was all in French. It had little icons by each place giving the gist of the amenities. Some were pretty obvious, like a horseshoe (which, presumably, meant they could handle horses for those who rode them). One of the icons was the @ symbol, and another one looked like a wand, and either one of them, I thought, could have been a signal for wi-fi being available. In fact, both icons represented Internet access, although the @ symbol meant that there was an Internet access point (basically, they have a computer you can get on to get into the Internet) while the wand meant wi-fi was available (but you needed a device to connect to it). I wanted the wand—a French computer with a French keyboard wouldn’t get me very far!
So I sat the edge of Aubrac, flipping through my French-English dictionary, watching the storm clouds rolling in with some concern, trying to figure out what all of these icons meant and which of the lodging options I should try first, finally settling on this Chambre et table d’hotes La Colonie-Espicerie Bio place.
Aubrac isn’t a very big town, so it was with some frustration that I walked completely in circles around the town—TWICE—in about ten minutes and couldn’t find this place. What the heck?
I pulled out the guide again, thinking maybe I should just try to nab anything I could find, when I looked at the listing again and noticed something written in French in blue, italic type at the very end of the listing. Hmmmm… I wonder that could mean?
I pulled out the French-English dictionary and looked up one of the words, which meant “shutters.” Shutters? What the heck could that mean? I looked up another word which meant “yellow.” Ah-ha! Yellow shutters! The establishment has yellow shutters! I looked up another unfamiliar word which meant “in the heart of” and pieced together the sentence meaning “in the heart of Aubrac, look for the building with the yellow shutters.” Well, NOW I should be able to find this place!
I took another loop through the heart of the town looking for buildings with yellow shutters. Nothing.
ARGH!
Okay, then, screw it! I saw a sign for a gite on one of my loops. I’d just go there. According to my book, it was a measly 8.50 euros. No wi-fi, but at least I’d finally be indoors. I walked to the sign I saw, which had an arrow pointing down an alley, and I followed the alley down and around until it came back out at the center of town—but never saw the gite.
What the heck is wrong with me? Can I not find any lodging at all in this town?! The storm clouds continued getting darker and angrier with each passing minute. I noticed a cute girl coming up from behind me with a large pack on and trekking poles—obviously another hiker—and she started asking me something in French which I couldn’t understand.
“Do you know English?” I asked.
“A zittle beet,” she told me, in heavily accented English. I had to concentrate hard to understand the words through her accent, but at least I could understand her words. In French, I didn’t understand one word. =)
She asked if I knew were the gite was—she followed a sign out and wound up in the same place I was. “Well, that’s kind of the same way I got here,” I admitted.
We went back to the sign and tried again. I was happy to follow her around—at least she knew French and could ask for directions from the locals. And honestly, I could think of worst things in life than following around cute girls all afternoon. =)
We went back to the gite sign and followed the arrow around, keeping a sharp lookout for the gite, but once again wound up where we started again.
“I’m glad you’re having trouble with this too,” I told the girl. “I thought it was just my lack of French-ness that was causing me problems. It’s a little comforting to know that even a French person can’t find this place too.” =)
The girl asked a couple of people for directions, and once again we faced the sign with the arrow pointing down an alley to the supposed gite. This time, we figured out where we went wrong—we missed a small sign posted to the door of a tall tower which was the gite. The sign was in French—I couldn’t understand anything it said—but the girl translated for me that we had to find a restaurant where they would check us in. So once again, we were out wandering the town, now looking for a restaurant.
The girl asked another local guy standing on the street, and he pointed us in a direction, and we went that way, but didn’t find the restaurant. We made yet another loop through town, but still couldn’t find the darned restaurant. I swear, for a town that was all of about four square blocks, I’ve never felt so lost in my life.
A few sprinkles started coming down—the angry clouds were reaching a boiling point—and the girl headed under a giant umbrella on the patio of a restaurant. Not the restaurant we were looking for, but a different one, and the rain let loose in a torrential downpour. I was a little amazed—I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen such a pounding rainfall. Giant drops exploded on the ground, on the roofs, echoing throughout the streets. One building with a roof of those metal waffle sheets looked like a wall of water was pouring off of it within seconds.
“So how long do we stand here?” I asked the girl.
“Until the rain stops,” she answered.
Hmm….. I hoped that wouldn’t take too long, and within 10 or 15 minutes, the rain petered out.
“Wow,” I told her. “That was kind of amazing.”
We started walking down the street again, in search of the restaurant, when I noticed a sign for the original lodging I was looking for that seemed to indicate it was off to the left at the edge of town. Hmm… maybe the directions to look in the “heart” of town I took a little too literally. Perhaps I should have expanded my search? The girl started walking in that direction anyhow—the one street we hadn’t checked out since the locals she asked directions from never pointed us in that direction—when I spotted the restaurant we were looking for. It was much fancier than we expected for a gite. I think that threw us both off, and she started heading indoors.
I looked down the street, though, and thought I saw a building with yellow shutters in the distance. “I’m going to look over here first,” I told her, hoping to nab the lodging with wi-fi if I could. At least if they were full, I knew were to go to see about the gite.
I found the building with the yellow shutters, at the edge of town. Which, to be fair, was only a couple of blocks from the “heart” of the town, but still, I was a little miffed that the directions in my book threw me off by so much.
The proprietor of the establishment said there was one room left, a rather large one, but it was mine if I wanted it, and I took it. He had me take off my shoes and put my backpack in a plastic bag before I was allowed to up to to the room. Perhaps he thought I was muddy and wet from the downpour, but I was actually quite clean and dry since I waited out the downpour under the giant umbrella.
The room was enormous and the floor felt more like ropes decoratively laid out in patterns than an actual carpet. It even hurt to walk on a little, although my feet were already tender from all the walking I’d been doing. It seemed like an usual choice for flooring, and something that would be absolutely impossible to clean if anyone ever tracked mud onto it.
The first thing I did was take a shower and wash my clothes in the sink. The place did have wi-fi, but it was only available from the lobby, so I grabbed my laptop and headed downstairs to the lobby where I got online.
The man running the place asked if I’d like dinner, but I turned him down when he told me it would cost 16 euros. That seemed like a lot of money for just one meal.
“Is it just the cost?” he asked me.
“Yeah, well…..” I shrugged. “Yes.”
“You are my guest! You will eat with us!”
“Oh, no thanks… I’m okay,” I told him.
“No, you eat for free!”
“Really?” I asked. “You don’t have to do that!”
“I am your host, and you can eat for free.”
Well… okay, then… Seemed kind of rude to say no now.
At the appointed time, all of the guests went down to the dining room for dinner. I recognized the two girls who were riding horses along the trail, but those were the only two I recognized. As it turns out, a couple of Americans were also in the hotel and had stayed there the previous two nights as well. I can’t imagine how lost they must have gotten in town if they still hadn’t found their way out of it yet. =) They were also the first Americans I had met since I started my pilgrimage, but they were only doing a short section before jumping ahead and doing the Spanish section.
I sat with the other Americans—they were happy to actually have someone they could talk to since they didn’t know any French either. I wondered if perhaps part of the reason I was invited to dinner for free was so these Americans would have the company of another American. This would have been their third night at the dinner table and they probably didn’t get a lot to talk about until I came along.
My host, our server, poured everyone a glass of wine. Which I didn’t really want, but the guy had already invited me to eat for free and it seemed like it would be rude to say no, so I let him pour me a glass of red wine, then sipped it slowly trying not to make any faces that would suggest I didn’t like wine. =)
Once I finished the glass, I poured some water into it and kept water in it the rest of the evening.
The meal came out over several courses. I’m not sure how many courses there were—it just coming and coming for nearly two hours. It was fun to talk and all, but I was a little disappointed it took nearly two hours just to eat dinner. These French people—they do like to linger about their food, don’t they? Now I understood why the meal would normally cost 16 euros. There was a lot of effort put into this meal! (Still, I’d have been perfectly happy with a proverbial Happy Meal.)
It rained on and off for the rest of the evening and throughout the night—a perfect time to be indoors.

It looks a lot like Dartmoor….

I found this motorcycle seemingly abandoned in the
middle of nowhere on the trail. Did it break down?
Run out of gas? I have no idea!

The trail crosses this river over this old bridge.

Eedit’s hiking shoes….
This picture still makes me laugh. =)

Saw this little fellow outside of a store in
Nasbinals.

Another cross on side of the trail.

A statue of a Union soldier in France?
Wait a minute….

You can’t really see it well in this photo, but look at that building
on the left. Just behind it, mostly hidden, is a shorter building with
an aluminum corrugated roof. The rain is coming off that in sheets! 

My self-portrait for the day. See me in the reflection of the mirror? =)
The room was too big to use a flash to light up the whole room and
it was too dark to take a short exposure, so I rested the
camera on the back of a chair to steady it enough for this
shot of my room. It’s still a little blurry, though, but
a heck of a lot better than my hand-held attempts! =)