Pilgrimage Pt.13.
The weather has no meaning. It is meaningless to weight it down with personifactions. But the rain fills me with a deep longing for more yellow mellow circumstances. It is what it is.
Something I've eaten has come straight through me; Delhi Belly. Not sure what it might've been but there were plenty of flies at Relais St Jacques ... the food itself is usually 100% so maybe the water could be a possibility. It is a relief this didn't occur when I was marching this morning and before I climbed the hill between St-Côme and Estalion. That was tough climbing through the black stone quarry soaked. I'm not bothered about statutes of Notre-Dame really. I wonder if rural France never saw anything of the Revolution at all? There seems little to have changed since 1789 except motor cars; the diet must be identical? The food can't be a reason for these tidings.
Booked into to a gites occupied by a strangely inanimate Argentinian and Germanic caricature. I said hi at reception but perhaps shouldn't. I don't think he could conceive I had jacked England in on a whim. Body language and face of an unhappy person. Step back from over caring about what is meaningless; my Way isn't his: c'est la vie.
After a good Plat du Jour toying with the idea of catching a bus to Conques tomorrow to try to catch up with Brad the American PHD student? Will do! It is my Camino and some one must speak English without suppositions or expectations. My French is dreadful: no issues. Someone french, who knows my french is awful, has issues.
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