Pilgrimage Pt.11
I think more of the wolf in sheep's clothing as an obstacle to overcome through self examination. He had no knowledge of what I was seeking but my mind allowed him to enter my subconscious and bring forth demons. He is at least a day ahead of me now.
This morning I was ready to leave the Chemin Faisant by 7:55am. A breakfast with people leaving by train to jump forward some 300 kms in seven hours; catching three connections at various stations: that also is a Way.
Walking though Lasbros my thoughts turn to Lord of the Rings as I am walking passed a feature known as Barradou.
The two Germans I saw this morning, who I assumed to be French, I left behind at Le Gare Au-Au, but as I approached Chapelle de Bastide the cheats were already ahead circulating like the Kaiser's Raptors.
Onwards at a steady 5.6kms per hour I am covering the distance respectably.
...
'fucking weather, ha!'
What happened to the weather. The wrath of god was upon the moor. From a cloudy day to a torrent of earth molding rain and, for the last eight kilometers, head on sleet straight at me. I can't actually afford a proper meal, but I'm soaking and cold and I swore at the Aubrac like a man possessed.
So beef and aligote will solve my inner need. I read somewhere that this pilgrimage should work out at 1€ per 1km. Today is the test. If I do 35kms I will leave Aubrac the village 35€ lighter. Perhaps my sanity has been pushed on that moor. I'm wet. My balls and tintagel have just about vanished. I felt tossed like a leave as I weaved up and down over ever more horizons without a house, farm or barn ever coming to meet me. When they finally did I found it wasn't blasted Nasbinals, 1180 metres further from reality. Where is the roaring fire and the buxom wench? The warm hearted woman for this frozen homme. In the distance I hear Django Reinhart drawing my thoughts far into a distant land of repeated lavendar fields and the red sinking sun. Sol, where be you today?!? Come back and play with us a while. Kiss us with your loving, passionate, lips.
Between Au-Au and Nasbinals zero euros and now 19 down on a warm sunny day you could manage all 35kms none stop. If I leave now to reach Aubrac will it stay dry for eight kilometres?
...
The last stage went upwards and on forever. I really thought I would never see that Tours de Anglais before my legs gave in. 35 kms weighed down by a rucksack waterlogged, boots sodden and trousers wringing isn't a happy way. Just as I was giving up ever seeing this Aubrac, from a V shaped cutting in the trees stood the fine four storey English Tower over looking the cloud bound horizon; at the beginning of the end of the Aubrac Plateau. I arrived in the ancient church to be guided a few more gleeful steps to the Hotel that deals with the reservations for this ancient tower become gites. Staggeringly lovely and romantic soaring high over the villager's heads; I imagine Eleanor of Aquitaine being sung to passages from romante de la rose while troubadours earn erstwhile love from white hearted ladies.
A minor drawback - I couldn't manage to pay for the bed at the Hotel because they only accept cash or cheques(!!!) and acting on behalf of tourism office in the next village along. I freaked that I was wet through but would have to walk another eight kilometres to find and ATM or bureau de change. Luckily she told me tonight I could stay for nothing but pay the €8.50 in the TI office tomorrow; which I will as all good things etc. It was a long walk. I will sleep soundly and forgo breakfast and eat in the village where I must pay the ferry man.
Fig rolls in France are exactly how I recall in my youth. Jacob's used to make them full of lovely fruity loveliness. I could eat a whole packet today. Not going anywhere out side the tower now except in the morning. Next port of call will be Saint-Côme d'Alt in a steady 23.4kms. So plenty of time for fig rolls!
As I was struggling towards Nasbinals I tentively tried to hitch straight up to Aubrac. The first vehicle was La Poste van; he couldn't stop, then came a tractor; no space to hitch and finally when I couldn't take anymore a Peugeot sped past without a second glance; vainglorious bastards! I'll teach you about the lion going from strength to strength!
There are 58 steps between me and the throne; either way it will be freezing come morning. Most of my clobber is dry again: except the cotton stuff. Lesson learnt there.
Snow falls again so choosing to stay in and do nothing has proved sensible, however prunes, compote de pomme and fig rolls are not a banquet fit for the histories played out by chevalier's passing this way around 1100. The wintry weather would be preferable to the damp mess Tuesday was. The Aubrac plateau reminds me of the North York Moors; hardly a tree in sight, except spruce plantations, and bogs a plenty. It's great cattle weather, true; the beef is dead cheap and excellent and the fromage de Pays is top banana. Cantal is Cheddar! Actually apart from a couple of working horses the only domesticated animals I've seen are cows, mangy feral looking cats and bright eyed working dogs.
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