As much as I enjoyed looking after the guys, it was impossible for me to get my own preparation done. Somehow nearly two months passed and all I had done was cook, bake scones, wash dishes and order some things on the Internet.

Nicolas & Carlos busy in the background

Carlos has been doing a lot of Bricolage on the place, his latest masterpiece the stairs are a great improvement on the previous owners solution. I started serving coffee for the guys around 17:30 which was a good way for them to finish their day, but it was two hours out of my day that I didn’t have and have to give up on it, though it was great for a couple of weeks. I started with scones, then experimented with a few fancy pastry creations, rice pudding and short bread etc. It stuck me  one day while asking Carlos if he wanted another Coffee that I should call it “Café Carlos”.

Café Carlos culminated in a visit from Nicolas boss (es). Heike whom I already knew, an Architectural Archaeologist  has worked on StGilles Abbey for ten years or more now. Andreas her bidey-in is something else. In addition to being the foremost authority in the region on old stones & structures, in his free time built his own Harpsichord. He also loves Scotland, speaks Gaelic significantly better than I do, not to mention his English in which he can adopt various accents and he plays the bagpipes.

Heike & Andreas had missed the Haggis, Neeps & Taties from the week before, so I made some scones and Café Carlos rocked out to traditional Scottish tunes.  Quite an aficionado Andreas prefers Ceòl Mór “Great Music”, plays extremely well and has a bagpipe collection that is about as staggering as his knowledge of the history of the instrument.

Sadly I do not have a picture of Heike,  she & Patrick are hiding on the right. of this picture. This is Nicolas and a “friend” – not to be confused with his friend from Arles and definitely not to be confused with the one from Le Mans. As you can see, she was somewhat uncertain how she should respond to a German bloke strolling around the kitchen playing the bagpipes.

Eventually though I headed off to Marseilles where I have been the last week or so. After two days of very little, I have been working very hard on logistics, information gathering and planning.

Fat Bloke, bike & favourite shirt

I will be here until the beginning of next week when I will leave, following Via Domitia to the Italian Border, this will be a tough start, cold and into the still snowy Alps, but I need the exercise.

From there to Torino and then following Via Francigena to Rome. Where I will head through the center of the country towards Palermo or Brindisi where I will take a ferry to Tunis or Albania. I am working on an alternate route via Albania, Macedonia & Greece but prefer to stick with Tunisia -> Container Ship -> Egypt -> Jordan.

Before things got bad in Libya I  sent an email to George Galloway looking for some help with getting a longer transit Visa for Libya, but he didn’t deem me important enough to warrant a reply. Im certain had I been a  handsome red headed woman of Polish extraction I would have more chance, but I would be the last to fault him for that, Meow.

The cycle to Marseilles was interesting, I was sad to be leaving the Camargue and it was the first test of my click-stand, an alternative to a kick-stand which did not go  as well as I expected, – the bike fell over! and there was the wind.

The online maps of the area are not so accurate, this is a small section of my Michelin with my route marked.

The cycle down to St Maries-del-al-mer went well, especially as it was my first day and so badly packed, it took me about 2hrs but I was content. However, I was supposed to be in Port St Louis du-rhone at 16:00 and did not have time to hang about, so after a very quick sandwich I headed east.

The southerly wind from Etang de Vaccares was tough, there had been moments on the road here, but heading East in the open was hard going.

I posted a video on YouTube to give you an idea “Its not windy Nicole”.

What the maps or pictures do not show is how bleak it is after Phare de la Gacholle.

It would be an ideal location to film vintage Tom Baker Dr Who, bleak, grey brown, utterly devoid of any sign of life. I kept expecting the route I was following to disappear as the path was repeatedly blocked by huge boulders, the red lines on the map. That or some Aliens in dodgy latex suits to emerge from the grey salty earth, grab me and transport me to their Spaceship. If there is ever a French version of “Mad Max” it will be set here.

Im sorry now that I took no pictures, at the time I was trying very hard to be in St Louis de Rhone for 16:00  and the wind was Triumphant & Victorious  in my defeat.

I took a gamble and followed the shortest route that was at times barley there. Once I had crossed the five barriers in the narrow strip of sand, I joined a network of  rough roads amongst what looked like salt pans., where I had my first interesting encounters.

The first was a large black Range Rover travelling at significant speed with a rather  serious looking guy at the wheel. I fully expect there was at least once corpse in the boot and he was either on his way to dispose of it or pick-up a boat load of Libyan refugees or drugs.

Not long before I reach the tertiary road, a bloke in a Porsche Boxster,  his passenger a strikingly beautiful black woman wearing a collection bright gossamer scarves, alive in the wind around her head, as though a collection of coloured snakes were writhing around her.

He was looking for something, probably some romantic viewpoint  to watch the other guy tipping dead bodies into the sunset and most certainly leverage to add his own  viper to the mix, but I was at that point approaching two hours late, utterly frozen, so a little selfishly acted the dumb tourist and said I didn’t know.

When planning my route last year and deciding that I would arrive in Arles, I was very much looking forward to seeing the flamingos, bulls, horses and landscape. What I didnt count on was the salt and rice, both of which are excellent.

I didnt see or get any good pictures of the bulls that are bred for the Spanish market and at times let loose in the streets here. I consider it luck that I did not meet one while on the bike as they do roam free through various ranges that I have cycled and they are not always friendly.

Im not really that desperate to star in a humorous YouTube video featuring me, a heavily laden bike and an irritated bull bred for fighting.

I did see a few flamingos but I dont really have the correct lenses for wildlife photography and pictures of a small pink blur are just not worth the effort, the horses however are marvellous subjects.

These picture were taken in both summer and winter, the climate is particularly mild here and winter is never very cold, unless the wind blows and man, does the wind blow.

This is a ruined watch tower on the road out of StGilles, where there are a number of Vineyards. The local wine is both cheap and good, an unusual combination, to buy the equivalent to the cheapest 1 Euro/liter Merlot in the UK would cost about 8 quid a bottle.

I stopped to photograph these horses, not because I thought the pictures would be good, but because I was struggling against the wind and really needed a breather. I am happy with this shot, though sweating like a Navvy and breathing heavily are hardly good conditions for taking a steady shot.

One wheel in Spain, one in France, just entering the clouds and last place I took a shot today.

Being in Saint Jean Pied De Port had lulled me into a false sense of security as the weather there is particularly mild, this and not having been on the bike for two weeks, just getting over the Grippe and crossing the Pyrenees are a mixture of circumstances that bring me to my current grumpy state, actually not making my destination and spending 50e on a cold, noisy, crappy room was the final straw.

The weather was thankfully not as cold as it could have been, there were a couple of places where snow was lying and a short area of extremely bad ice that the Spanish should salt, it truly is a death trap. I suppose with the lack of Spanish drivers, it puts the road on equal footing with all the others in Spain.

As I was pushing, yes PUSHING my bike up a French section of these mountains I stopped and had a chat with this fellow. He was quite understanding, we got on well and he too was looking forward to May when the weather should improve.

I passed a youth hostel in Aldudes and really should have spent the night as I was already tiered, but was eager to make some progress and pushed a little too hard not realising just how much more there was to go.

I said I intended staying in Zubiri but it was dark by the time I reached Eugi so I thought Id have a look for a room here as I didn’t want to be on a Spanish road after dark. Actually, I hadn’t seen a single car until I arrived in Eugi which was more than lucky as I was all over the road avoiding snow, black ice and the visibility was atrocious as I was in a cloud for three hours and both my corrective lenses and glasses were both misted up/ dripping wet. Now as darkness fell there was a constant stream of lorries carrying logs down to a mill somewhere at the foot of the mountain and I had no desire to share the road with them especially in the dark. At some point later I will elaborate on Spanish driving lets suffice to say for now that I prefer the roads of southern India.

Getting the woman to actually do something about the heating was nearly too much effort and with my ingratiating smile on automatic I tried to remember that I’m in Spain now and repeating yourself is just part of the scene.

After my now familiar defrost/ wash I had some fish soup that was good this was followed by microwaved chicken breast in packet cheese sauce that wasn’t. With my remaining energy I looked everywhere for a vegetable, mineral or nutrient really I did, but they were missing.

Its very pretty here, had I not been cold and soaked through I would have been Oh-ing and Ah-ing about how pretty it is, but Spain in the winter is just cold, wet and miserable well it was the last time I crossed Castilla y Lyon and Extremadura in November. I don’t know about you, but have you spotted the recurrent theme here?

The heating finally came on and all my clothes were dry by the morning, just in time for another soaking as I left. Ive been looking for the “P” in insistent, when all the while persistent was the adjective I was looking for.

It was cold, it rained A LOT.

It snowed to the point that I was stuck with roads impassable and passes closed. I spent November in St Alban because I wanted to, this was perhaps unwise as when I wanted to leave I was alarmed to be stranded by the weather and at its beck and call.

Switzerland is fabulous and expensive, though typically the value for money is good, France is a great country to travel through especially by bike and even more so on the Camino. I still cant explain why the French cant flush a toilet or in my experience communal ones, cant turn left without first turning right or produce good pop music.

The plumbing has improved dramatically in the last 10years and I don’t mean squat toilets, they never bothered me. The food in general, wine, sausages and cheese are each enough of a reason to visit. The people particularly out of the cities are great having lost much of their aloof attitude. I was surprised at how close I came to holding conversations in French, this may perhaps be part of my improved take on the people. This time 90% of the locals I spoke or spent time with were great, just great. I cant say if this is due to luck, a change in my attitude or my improved ability to communicate in French, I suspect its a mixture of all three.

It took some time before I had a decent meal in France that I didn’t cook myself, but once I broke the pattern man was it good! The roast duck thighs in Lectoure were really special.

The French seemingly still cant roast a chicken, if you get a roast chicken thigh in your Menu, I can guarantee it will be stringy, but this is probably a function of stingy cooking times or just my bad luck, probably. On the whole when driving they are decent to cyclists, though there is a man known to me as “le idiot de Gers” and a girl both of whom I would happily flail the skin from their backs.

The Gites are generally easy, uncomplicated to use and warm a great place to visit and perhaps to stay.

I had a good sleep in Navarrenx and got my clothes washed. I left the next morning with the expectation of reaching Saint Jean Pied De Port. The rain wasn’t that heavy the next morning, but it didn’t stop and only gained intensity as the day progressed, so by the time I reached Mauleon-Licharre I felt as though I had been in the shower for two hours.

I met this chick in a small town just before Navarrenx and could  not resist including her.

I really wasn’t prepared for what was ahead of me, Col d`Osquich meant nothing to me, it was only 400m and I basically ignored it. However by the time I had reached Ordinarp I had an idea of what was coming. The wind was gusting from either the south or from the west and thankfully very few people were abroad and there were few cars as the gusts were blowing me all over the road.

Somewhere during my slow ascent to the summit I stopped at a junction for a drink. The trees were practising their complete wind/ tree sound effect repertoire and the sign post beside me was thrumming like a recently struck  over-tight guitar string. As I drank and took a breather, the rain in concert with the wind and trees exercised an effects repertoire that the BBC would be proud of, it was at this point that I decided that even though Id never been in a Monsoon today qualified.

Despite raining heavily, the wind added layers of texture to the rain pattern like animated graphics driven by music, waves or showers of rain would pass across the layer of water already on the road, not  unlike someone passing a shower-head over an already filled bath.

It was pretty late by the time I had reached Larceveau and as there was a Gite there I decided to cycle the last 20km in the morning. There wasn’t any public phone and when I asked in the Pharmacy, the woman let me  use her phone.  I only got the answering machine and her good deed didn’t go unpunished as she then had to spend five minutes mopping up the water that gravity had forced off me and my clothing onto her floor.

Heading out the door I asked a customer if she was from the town and if she knew where the Gite was. “Its my Gite” she said “and its full”. Full I asked, at this time of year? She mumbled something  and I told her in English that I was scunnered with places advertising themselves as open all year. I don’t know if she understood the words, but she looked embarrassed enough by my tone., I know I’m such a lovely boy.

Anyway I went to the Hotel down the road and it too was closed, after explaining my predicament, I was given a staff/ emergency room and was delighted. Not much longer after I was sitting in the seat/ bath thing filed it with cold water, I offset the plug slowly brought my temperature up, after three fills I was on warmish water and ready for a dry chapter to end my very wet day.

The next morning the weather had cleared again, the contrast between the two days quite staggering and I took these shots.

Saint Jean Pied De Port was an easy and quick cycle and I arrived at the Municipal Gite long before lunch. After lunch I headed to the Post Office to collect all my post that had been waiting for me since I had been stuck in the Massif Central.

That done, I spent a couple of nights at the Gite made some minor but significant changes to the bike and caught a cold.

This is the Basque locals doing their thang:

By the third night at the Gite I was quite ill and moved next door, but it was no place to get over the cold and finally ended up staying at Tim`s B&B for two weeks. Tim is quite a character and I enjoyed listening to his stories. We had dinner a couple of times, he did the cooking  and I brought the wine, as I had found a reasonably good Madiran at the supermarket we had that twice.

There is a Basque bar where I would have eaten lunch and dinner every night if I could have afforded it. This is a Mutton stew that’s simply marvelous.

Tim’s place was well above budget but I had a good bed, a warm room and wifi. I did a lot of sleeping and after a week was feeling significantly better, the rest and some medicine the Pharmacist gave me helped.

It was quite a cycle to Lectoure, more like my usual distance, but still a little too much.

It was raining, not too cold but arriving in Moissac the light wasn’t exactly ideal for photographs, the Moissac link will take you to a description of the Abbeye of St Peter that will satisfy all curiosity and save me boring you more than necessary. I took a few shots and then headed for the canal a section of the route I had looked forward to.

No traffic a good surface are ideal conditions for making some distance and it its not that bad looking either. I was that intent on my route with the canal that I missed my first turn and had Valence not gotten in the way I might not have turned south either and have ended up in Agen.

Arriving in Castet-Arrouy I had fully intended spending the night in as the Gite  which although full of locals for some festival it was open. I hung around the village trying to decided if I should stay or go, it was late and I was tiered. So I searched for a phone to call Lectoure, the woman had previously been difficult on the phone, Im not certain I even spoke with the same person as I was under the impression I had a room booked. This time the woman seemed surprised at my arrival but yes it was possible for me to stay and yes I could eat. This was the clincher really as had I stayed here in the Gite it would have been another bowl of pasta. Not that there is anything wrong with pasta sauce made from olive oil, shallots air cured ham and Parmigiana, but as a recurring theme I am tiring of it.

I had a warm welcome and a rather nice room, dinner was in two hours and it was a real treat. We had roast duck thighs, the meat just melted off the bone and was utterly fabulous. To start though we began with a glass of Champagne as I was their first Pilgrim of the year!

The next day I had a bed booked in Eauze and expected an early arrival, but not long into the morning I realised that there was little power in my legs and by the time I arrived in Condom I knew I needed to stop. I eventually got a hold of the woman that was responsible for the Gite all 4ft of her and she had seemingly applied her eye shadow with a roller – a steam roller.

The Gite in Condom was locked up tighter than a Frenchmans wine cellar, the eye shadow woman gave me a key for the various rooms and I headed off shopping. I took it very easy and would have been asleep by nine had there not been a French language class for immigrants in the room next door, I’m certain there is a PC way of saying this but I don’t know what it is.

I also called Eauze and asked them to expect me tomorrow, which was no problem. I spent the next morning in the Gite as there was no point heading off early as I had less than a half days cycle so I had a protracted breakfast till around lunch and arrived in Eauze at 16:00. Eauze was a town who’s name had not stayed in my mind, but I clearly remembered having lunch one afternoon here.

The Gite here is brilliant, its the top floor of Marcel & Paulines home we had dinner together, Marcel is a fine man and when I stayed in Moissac the last time around I had met Pauline. Marcel is working hard on the Gite preparing it for the coming year. At dinner we had various drinks, but the best thing overall was a spirit Paulines father makes with oranges which has a slightly burnt orange tang. They have a new baby so I headed for an early night leaving my smelly clothes to dry by the fire.

The next morning just out of town there was an Armagnac producer. I had promised myself to find out more about Armagnac the next time I was in the region and until now had no desire to make detours in the freezing rain. Eauze is the capital of Armagnac production but sadly the shop in town where I could have a dégustation was closed, so despite the chilly rain I headed into the farm to see what I could see.

There was aparently no one around, the quaint tourist trap was closed and I had all but decided to head, when I was met by a young man, who was very happy to give me the tour. I was more interested in the still and process so we bypassed the shop and went through a nondescript side barn door, where we found his father tending the still.

His father who I think effectively lives with the still gave me a description of the process which was not what I had expected. It seems Armagnac uses a Column still invented by a Scotsman, they didn’t tell me this wikipedia if the entry is to be trusted did. What is difficult for me to sort out is that Armagnac has been around since the 14th century and this type of still only since the 19th. Either the process has changed or the French had this type of still before “Scottish bloke” invented it.

As I left the warm still room and went outside I was delightfully met by snowfall and resignedly got on my bike. The cycle was the usual down one hill immediately up another with only the briefest downhill between. The countryside is pretty enough, but in the snow and cold rain I just wanted to make it to Aire-sur-L`Adore.

My last time here I had stayed at the Gite just out of town, this time I stayed at Hotel PAIX which is a wonderful place. The Gite which was supposed to be open was closed as was everywhere else and I ended up staying three nights at PAIX , the  Hotel and woman who runs it are both great.

When I was last in Scotland  at a cousins birthday party I found myself in the kitchen with one side of the family who had apparently retreated there in the face of opposing forces, there is therein a joke as they are of Italian descent but in the name of family harmony I’m going to stop there.

A young woman I didn’t recognise utterly surprised me. Unlike my memory of her, time had moved on at its normal pace but my last recollection of her was sitting in a child’s seat wearing pink and playing with my little pony. Rationally I understand it but still getting my brain around it is another thing. Her mum still looks the same, I don’t “think” I’ve changed that much and I’m not usually so  easily perplexed or  baffled but for some reason in my mind she is still three and not 23.

Anyway my befuddlement aside, I arrived in Lozerte, recognising the town from the distance. I had wanted to stay here the last time around, but the Gite had been full and I had carried on to Moissac grumpy at climbing the hill and the Gite being full.  I’ve  booked the 31st and 1st nights at the Abbey  but after arriving here I am much more interested in spending the nights in a warm, friendly  Gite with Wifi!

My cycle today was for the most part straight forward, except where this silly cow did her best to knock me off my bike. Her hasty departure was a wise and fortuitous move saving her from a sore face and me from a stint in a French jail.  Gallantry be dammed I say!

The weather closed in for a while and I though I was in for another tough day but then just as I discovered these guys there was a noticeable change in climate. I’ve no idea what the background to or meaning of a caterpillar chain gang is.

In the afternoon the weather just kept improving, it hadn’t been this warm since an unusual day earlier in Switzerland where it had registered 22degrees. The landscape changed again and I was just considering this when I was surround by fruit farms and vineyards.

Those of you with any interest in Fantasy novels will appreciate this picture.

I did start down the road to the town, but the road was rough and heavier going than the D19 which I decided to return too.

The welcome I received here was extraordinary, the couple who have been running a Gite for a while have just finished this place, which is just fantastic. Warm, friendly, Wifi, warm water, washing machines and great company and other Pilgrims!

Amounts the other pseudo “we are walking for the weekend brigade” Pilgrims was a young French man of note on his way back home to Leon after five months walking. It was good to meet another traveller who I didn’t need to explain anything too and we could just chill together without the exhausting overly energetic babble and enthusiasm of the weekender’s.

I asked if I could stay a few nights as its difficult  finding accommodation over the New Year, Michel discussed it with the boss and they agreed. Not only did I stay but I was invited to dinner on New Years eve.

This is Michel and a rather fabulous bottle of wine, the grapes for which are picked every December 31st at 9pm.

Michel and I got on very well, he speaks a little English which together with my poor French was enough for just about every subject.

As you might imagine the food was rather good, this course was pasta with black truffle and stuffed chicken, the coating includes ginger bread and is just fabulous.

To the Gavan`s and Maxwell`s with whom I often spend my New Year, I hope you all behaved yourselves without me there to keep you out of trouble! I had thought to post some pictures of New Year 2000, “Five go mad on Islay” trip, but as Keith has only just finished counselling have decided against it.

Happy New Year.

]]> http://www.howlonghowfar.org/2009/12/new-year-2010/feed/ 0 http://www.howlonghowfar.org/2009/12/three-days-before-the-new-year/ http://www.howlonghowfar.org/2009/12/three-days-before-the-new-year/#comments Tue, 29 Dec 2009 11:09:59 +0000 PJ http://www.howlonghowfar.org/?p=1044 Continue reading →]]> Despite the headache from my dessicated sinuses and a poor nights sleep today started well. There was a gentle change to the landscape and I decided to stick with Le Lot and not to visit Figeac. However this was the first time my map let me down and really its a question of detail. I wanted to stay with the river, but could I find the road I wanted? Platform 9-3/4 at King’s Cross is probably easier to find. I ended up most of the way up to Figeac and should really just have continued the last couple of kilometres but the descent gave me a better view and allowed me to head for the most likely looking road, an unassuming cutting that looked more like someone’s driveway. It was to my great satisfaction and relief the road I was searching for as I had long ago grown tiered of Capdenac-Gare, Capdenac-Port, Capdenac-left bank and Capdenac-round-the-corner, Capdenac-further-on-a-bit etc. Soon I was beside the railway on a small access road unluckily the road was out, there had been a landslide and unusually for France they had closed off access quite effectively.

I stood for a while considering my options, I had no desire to fight my may back up the track to the main road but there was a fence and barbed wire on both sides of the landslide. I eventually elected to cross on foot and scout  ahead for further landslides.

This photograph is from the “other side” I should really have taken some shots of my solution for moving seven bags and a bike  across this obstacle but was concentrating too much on the job at hand to be bothered. I will leave you ,dear readers with some homework as to how you would cross such an obstacle with said equipment.

At this point I should probably mention my sister Anne and her husband Alan, who gave me a Leatherman Wave as a gift for standing around at their wedding ineffectively showing people to their seats, thanks.

I finally got on my way again to enjoy another delightful part of France, few cars sleepy collections of houses it is quite special here,this old mill would be near perfect if it were not just so close to the road.

This small intentionally unnamed hamlet is prime film set material full of buildings like the one below and then crossing the river there is the fortified Church and Toirac.

It was pretty late when I arrived in Carjac and I had a few concerns about making the next town, I had slept here the last time on the Camino, the town is nothing special but the area is quite fabulous. As it was late I decided to buy a few essentials for dinner and milk for a cuppa and  with the bike further loaded I headed on. There is just outside of Carjac a fabulous tunnel for barges and ships that  allows the canal to pass through the mountain and effectively blocks the route when the gate is closed so I had to return to the town and join the main road again.

As I had followed le Lot to Figeac the last time, I hadn’t crossed the Causses Du Quercy, which is a national park. Despite having a couple roads running through it the area has an otherworldly feel to it. I would love to return here on foot and head off into the national park and camp for a week or so, had it not been winter I may just have done so this time. The presence of the forest and the wildlife was palpable. These few photographs do not do the area justice, cycling through this landscape  in the gloaming was a wonderful experience.

Sadly its also a BASTARD of a cycle and with the light failing at the end of the day, I switched on my lights and tried not to get too anxious at my lack of progress.The last 14km were tough, I find this area tougher than Switzerland especially Gers. You descend from one climb and immediately and I really do mean immediately begin another climb. As a cyclist training area I think it would be difficult to beat.

Luckily the Limogne-en-quercy Gite is at the beginning of town and is just brilliant. The woman who runs it is very relaxed and there was only one other person staying -  a grumpy old Frenchman who I eventually got on with very well. He was quite a sensitive old sod and I think the grumpy thing is just a cover. My arriving spoiled his scene and he had to hurriedly  to go and hide and lock his laptop in his rooms lest I steal it!

After dinner I decided to open my Christmas cake as Dominique had described it. It was actually a biscuit mix, mostly based  on marzipan and almonds! What an excellent way to end my day.

I had all but decided to spend a second day here as it was fun with the old French guy,  whose name Ive embarrassingly forgotten. “One meets so many people” but in the end I decided to head off around 2pm towards Vaylats where the was a Christian retreat and  perhaps an iNet connection.

A warm greeting from a Spanish bloke  signalled my arrival and I asked if I could use the iNet and was told yes but later, so I prepared a little and as I had heard nothing by dinner decided to ask afterwards.

Dinner was an absolute hoot. I had dinner with a group of older French people, they were here  in Vaylats for rest and recuperation I think. The food wasn’t bad and they all kept insisting that I have more of everything, at the end when the biscuits came, they were all passing me the extras from their part of the table.

We really had some fun, from the youngest guy who was clearly ill and kept asking me what is”xxy in English” to the old dear that still thought she was a catch, so I could not resist flirting with her causing no end of consternation between two other old girls. They all drank water with the exception of my drinking buddy a rather robust 70 year old  woman who had the most wonderful facial expressions,  she could have been on tv. There was an old guy in the corner who was just tiered with life and  constant pmediacation. Ssitting beside me an old dear who was more Spanish than French and seemed to my eye to be dressed in a collection lace doilies.

There were other dining rooms and I suspect the Nuns thought I had drawn the short straw as there were other French Pilgrims who I dint meet at dinner, but I was very happy and most entertained my only regret  is that I didn’t have my camera with me.

The only negative to my stay was the head honcho, a woman I will describe as being of a certain age and institutionalised. When I asked about the iNet after dinner she took me to an office and a computer. I sat, she departed and I read one email, by which time she had returned and was hanging around behind me like a bad smell so I asked if she need to use the machine urgently.

As I stood there she started to read the website of the community and look at the train timetable with an intensity that belied belief. She obviously had little idea of what she was doing and having witnessed this behaviour before I knew that she was way way out of her depth. I didn’t care, I just wanted peace to use the connection for a couple of hours so I suggested I leave her to counting pixels and I would bring my laptop and utilise the printer connection to which she appeared to agree.

Well, when I returned and began to reply to my email this didn’t suit her and an argument whose foundation I didn’t really understand followed. I suspect my ability to hit two successive keys in the intended order within a minute was disturbing her.

After my last iNet connection I wondered what was going on, who the God of connectivity was and how or why I had annoyed them? I decided to depart as I didn’t understand what the issue was, leaving her free to destroy what left of her eyesight and I went for a walk.

I had some difficult words for her that I fortuitous could not translate into French and it is probably best that I don’t start here Ill leave scathing attacks on myopic Christian communities to others.

For some reason the next morning she had elected to serve me breakfast and I suspect she expected me to be all sweetness and light in response to her “tra la la bullshit”. I think my “feck off and shove it up yer arse” countenance shocked her, but hey – I’ve never been good in the morning.

Visibility was ok and the snow had a difficult time gaining purchase on the wet and well salted roads but the route today really was on a knife edge. Had either the altitude increased or the temperature dropped just a little then I would have been seeking shelter much earlier than planned.

There used to be an old bridge just outside of Estaing and just after it is the Chapelle Del Dol, you can read the Legend of Aveyron through the link. Will we men ever learn?

A consequence of not following the Camino today was that I bypassed Conques and when I reached this junction the idea of the 16km+ detour just wasn’t open for discussion.

The last time I followed the Camino I remember the incline to the town and parking in-front of the church. I hung around for a while and decided to leave as in August the tourists are not unlike the eighth plague, but the junction at the bottom of the hill had me flummoxed. My map said I should cross the river but could I find the bridge? I wasted an hour heading back the way I had come, then back to the junction and further on. I had just about given up and returned to the T junction that should have been a cross roads and realised that the improbably narrow gap between the cafe and building next to it was actually the  bridge access. Gaining the other side of the river wasn’t much of a coup though as the climb on the other-side reminded me of Switzerland. I should say fondly reminded me but I clearly remember my demeanour not being at its best after the wasted hour and then the unexpected steep climb.

The valley that the Lot cuts is pretty enough but I didn’t stop much as today it was just dreich when the snow wasn’t blowing that is. I managed to miss the Gite and it took me a while to find it. This was no bad thing as the people leaving their car who I eventually stopped to ask were actually the owners and had just returned.

Sadly the Gite was another converted barn with air conditioning, which translates into a large poorly sealed building stylishly left bare to the beams, stones and mortar, heated in winter by a fan blowing warm air – great idea and just so effective.

The bedroom was better sealed and the air-con unit more appropriate in size and area of the room, but I’m certain this is where  the cold eventually got a hold of me as I needed to have the damn thing on all night.

Not only were they burning vast amounts of Nuclear electricity with their ill advised heating, but they were signs everywhere about water usage. I was frozen so had my customary “hour shower” which starts with cold water.

There are those of you who will just assume that this is another aspect of my masochistic behaviour but its practical as the cold water is warmer than my feet and I need to warm them slowly so that they dont swell up too much, believe me were new boots available I would have bought them already.

Anyway I ate with the people here, the woman was ok, the guy an artist and a bit of a prick who switched the Wifi off while I was in the middle of a call. There was no reason to switch the damn thing off, I think he just wanted to irritate me and by Jupiter, he did! On reflection I’m surprised he didn’t piss on the door step when we arrived or growl during dinner, but perhaps he has been house broken.

]]> http://www.howlonghowfar.org/2009/12/still-pushing-my-luck/feed/ 0 http://www.howlonghowfar.org/2009/12/well-call-it-christmas-when-the-adverts-begin/ http://www.howlonghowfar.org/2009/12/well-call-it-christmas-when-the-adverts-begin/#comments Fri, 25 Dec 2009 20:36:51 +0000 PJ http://www.howlonghowfar.org/?p=1008 Continue reading →]]> I left Nasbinals fairly early as I wanted to be in Estaing as early as was possible. The landscape and light were pretty fabulous until the snow started and even then it wasn’t that bad. My route today wasn’t exactly a major one and most people in France stay at home on Christmas day so the traffic was very light. Many of my thoughts today were of Christmas 2008 when I cycled 100km+ back into Bombay/ Thane, read about it here. after I had been in the mountains to visit Nashik a very different journey.

The descent from Aubrac, where the monks used to ring a bell for the Pilgrims lost in the snows, had been both exciting and challenging. The road had a fair amount of snow and slush and I was more than a little concerned about meeting black ice at an unfortunate velocity so kept my speed down. As the snow and slush dissipated I grew more and more adventurous and made the most of the 8% descent into StComtDeOlt.

StCompt is not a large town, the last time I was here on the camino I was sharing my route with a Swiss girl. There  was about a week where she would leave early and walk a good day, I would leave late and cycle an easy day, organise accommodation for us at our agreed destination. An ideal, idyllic and lusty part of that journey that I remember fondly.

That night after dinner in StCompt we took a walk around the fair that was in town.  Unable to resist and amused at the idea I  gave the shooting gallery a try, where I paid for two turns. The first turn allowed me to determine what was wrong with the sights and performance of the gun. The guy tried really hard to get me to use another gun for my second turn but I insisted and to his chagrin scored a bulls-eye with every shot with my second go. The cuddly toy wasn’t that impressive, but  good fun amongst the candy floss and screaming kids. This time I circled the town which was empty and headed on with little delay.

Today was another of those days where the change in landscape is quite stunningly apparent. Aubrac  is famous for its bad weather but  as you can see from the picture above, 10km further on and 600meters lower down its very different indeed.

I’ve often thought about returning to Estaing and the easy cycle along the from Saint-comte-d`Olt was quite full of expectation. I stopped across the river and took a couple of shots before crossing the bridge and taking a short circuit of the town. I knew where I was going, I had arrived early (for me) and it was interesting to see what I had and what I had not remembered of the town.

My last time along the Camino I had not intended stopping here, but the town and location were  like a dream, I found a quiet spot along the river and played my flute. Later with plenty of luck I found the Hospitalité St-Jacques. They are a Catholic community somehow associated with the founders of the town. It is an interesting place attracting an interesting group of people. Sadly, Paul who I had met the last time had left, having returned to Paris where he lives with his family. He and I had an instant rapor,I  cooked together and afterwards he let me make a noise on his guitar, which he then deftly played.

This time I was greeted by Dennis who is here for a while from Paris and Vincent. Dennis speaks very good English as does Vincent and we had a very calm, quiet and simple meal together last night, which I enjoyed as I didn’t have to cook, but did  suggest that if I stay a second night I do the cooking The banter while washing the dishes was perhaps the most fun, where Vincent declared his love of singing. He was very honest about his distinct lack of skill and ability, but he loves the process and we all delighted in his frank acceptance of the situation.

I joined the guys after dinner for a short session of prayer, they are not “inyourface” about  the holy things which is good as I have been known to have an adverse reaction to this approach and anyway I am not against positive energy and intention in this life. So we spent a calm half hour where they followed some holy rites and after exposing the Eucharist, I sat for a while thinking of my family and friends, their various situations and wishing them all well for the coming year.

This took me quite a while and I think Dennis was happy when I finally left the room. They have a Jerusalem cross in the parquet floor and were delighted when I told them that my intended route takes me through Israel and Jerusalem. They will pray for me until I reach Jerusalem and I gladly except any and all positive support.

Very bling here at the alter in Estaing

Hiding in a corner is this fabulous freeze, I think the handsome wench is Catherine of Alexandria

I had already booked a room on the 27th and had hopped to change the booking to the 26th, but despite my best efforts this morning(they made me have breakfast @07:45) I did not get the people on the phone so I’m here for a second day. Did I mention the 7:45 breakfast?

It was here in Estaing that I found one of my dearest possessions, a knife that many of you will be familiar with. An elegant  Lagoile blade hand made in the shop pictured below. Its been everywhere with me since was I last here.

I’m hoping to find the proprietor as I have a friend who both appreciates and uses such things and would like to get him one. He has also just had a son who’s initials are also PJ. Despite hanging around outside the shop in a rather suspicious manner Ive yet to instigate any life or response, but I’m certain the artisan lives above the shop and its only a matter of time before the police arrive or he dumps the contents of the water closet on my head.