May pilgrimage.
It's time to draw a line under the journal I've been keeping for Abby and returned to the journey. So I've begun day one the same way as all the others. Coffee. Podcast. Listening to nature awake. Crows and pigeons. And the distant hum of the A1(M).
I know where I am staying for three nights from tonight. Wednesday I am in the communal tent on the campsite in Monistrol-d’Allier ( Camping le Vivier): I am packing my own tent... But is this a fools errand as the more weight I put on the left foot the more it seems incapable of coping. Hobbling the GR65... If it fails I will hitchhike forward. But I am not there yet? It's just gone six am on the May Day Bank Holiday. And I've got to pay to put the larger backpack, I intend to carry, in on hold of the plane: vintage Karrimor Jaguar S65 Litre KS-100e SA - I have two, but one (although better externally) has lost its waterproof treatment to the corruption of time. But I am not on the way yet. Back to Free Thinking with Matthew Sweet?
X98 straight ahead. With an old school friend, heading to Lewisham - Alistair Driscoll - nice fellow and a nice morning... Feels like spring/summer? It is only early May! Picked up some groceries prior to the A1 flyer opposite Decathlon on Boar Lane and now awaiting the opening of check-in of my baggage. Last time I dropped my bag at LBA the thing didn't arrive at Paris Beauvais, until a month afterwards, and was returned after I'd had to replace, hastily, all I couldn't live without during the heatwave in July 2022... That backpack is worn out, but this backpack has years left in it even though it's 40 years old?
It's ages since I passed this way. It's strange. I return to how I find comfort in a very uncomfortable place. LBA. I have no control, except to let it be... To let it be ... Shoes and socks off and find a further removed locale to return to peace.
Just go and relax. Away from the clusters of people who seem driven to rant and rave: no doubt heading to somewhere British and also Foreign where it's Carling and Fish and Chips. I hate them. I loath them. But I leave them and they can't ever leave themselves... Relax in the end cubicle John as they come and go blowing a gale from the hand dryer, their arses and their gobs...
Catching the Metropolitan from Abbesses to Bercy. Too tired to walk too far. Coming down from a hazy night's sleep in behind Sacré-Coeur. I had some beer, the escargot and wine. And I couldn't find my painkillers anywhere... But a kind soul gave me one huge beastie in reception - which I put in the flask I purloined from Tony - he gave it to me as a present - and now I am reposed in Carriage 12 seat 76 on route to Clermont-Ferramd and a BlaBlaCar direct to Le Puy-en-Velay... Slowly becoming natural. The train is packed. People are away on holiday. I was lucky to get a seat I do believe. Until yesterday I was coming direct down to Le Puy-en-Velay, but a host driver cancelled. Apparently this person cancels a lot, which is no good for trying not to spend money in Paris? But now I've left Paris behind once more. I am slowly getting to 'know' it as I, more or less, walked the same route to Montmartre as I did on the first occasion. The only other time I used the Metro was back in 2000 when I was travelling from Montparnasse to Gare du Nord and I feel that the vehicle was exactly the same one - with the lever you pull to gain access to the carriage; and the same sullen faces seen on public transport the world over as we are forced cheek to jowel together when we want to be miles apart...
Last night I attended the Mass at 10pm, after the plate of escargot and small carafe of wine, at lunatic prices in a really crappy bistrot just along from the garden running down from Le Sacré-Coeur run by really egotistical coloured gentlemen who were sick of tourists and their stupidity. Two of the snails I ate had nothing in the shells and, when I complained, he said I'd eaten them although he'd clearly seen I hadn't. After around 30 minutes of the Mass, and prior to the wafer, I'd been below the mural above for long enough to take it in all the elements, including the kneeling figure of Jeanne D'Arc; I was pretty entertained. But then I was slipping into slumber so retreated to bed 44 in Saint Tarcisius's dortoir and listened to some sections of the final chapter of ACIM. I will probably return to page one on Wednesday...
Waited for the BlaBlaCar outside ibis Styles and we did blabla all the way into the Massif Central ... Now just eaten a late lunch in Place du Plot. Starving and ready for a siesta... Salade de Pays avec quiche et sirop verveine. Back to the Relais Saint Jacques and I've joined in trying to find a bed after Wednesday... It's a wee problem..I've a tent, but I will be a bit cold - I'll have to layer up? It's all very very interesting as the rain pours in waves across granite and igneous gray Le Puy-en-Velay.
It's a kind of chaos here as the Volunteers are calling everywhere to find a place ahead until Sunday. When the none pilgrim sect piss off back to travail...
***
A few gentle snores. And bird song. It's 5:30am and I am ready... It's day 1. Premier etape. Apart from the comings and goings during the night the bedroom was quiet. At 1'30'', however, someone got up making me think it was 'time' - there is no time. There is only now.
Those two days travelling, and pushing my body, were pushing me in to anxiety. The train, although direct and speedy, was full and tedious. Everyone in Paris was leaving it it seemed, just as three American girls were heading to Disneyland (such stereotypes), I was following them below the steps to the Metro. There was no one in Abbesses apart from one wasted gentleman asking for assistance; madness, and a couple of other revellers. It's years since I went down into a 'tube'. Since before COVID I believe. Perhaps when Michael Jung and I went on that meander to Winchester? But I also feel I just stayed above street level. The underground has no feeling: the faces on the trains say it all...
Third time I am in the Relais Saint Jacques and the first time I was smiling ear to ear at breakfast as those around me waffle in a language I barely comprehend... Which is nice?
***
Above and beyond Le Puy-en-Velay, around 7am, as the cathedral bells began to clang: calling me to go away. There are just two pelerin ahead of me on the cinder track. 11 years ago I came this way learning the names of the path side herbage: orties, herbes, herbe while I was easy peasy lemon squeezy laughing my socks off. I spent two nights around Le Puy-en-Velay arriving close to midnight then. Yesterday I arrived at 1500hrs!
***
Arriving in Saint-Christophe and stopping for a couple of brisk coffees and a hasty sandwich at Cafe do Soleil, exactly as I did in 2013, but solo. I am ahead of the baton brigade who tap-tap-tap... One is nearly upon my right shoulder like the grim reaper... But that scythe won't catch this life quite yet?
***
Montbonnet just ahead. 11 years ago I was with the guy who was hounding me. The guy with silver teeth I actually hid from in Aumont-Aubrac... Snigger!
At the café where he introduced me to sirop I stopped for a salad of lentils(AOP) lettuce and tomato and a demi of Pelforth which I couldn't pay for because it was a cash only stop... It's the 21st century. Some kind pilgrims I ate with at breakfast paid. Up ahead the campsite may be cash only too!
***
Five kilometres left until the extension of today is complete. Saint-Privat being complet au fermé. Stupidly I was hoping to eat chitling bangers again, but the Auberge had stopped feeding the masses these barely edible French delicacies until this evening. Coming down to Saint-Privat d'Allier I was wary of my feet as this is where Christian from Halle came a cropper... Getting tired, but managed around 30 kilometres on day one...now I am following the main road as don't need to go over to come down. The Allier river begins its cascading here.
Although I came this way 11 years ago it is still a vivid memory: I recall so well the wood after Montbonnet where I began trying to lose the man with the sliver front teeth who was walking me into despair!
And because I couldn't stop for chitlings I dug out the fig rolls I purchased back in Clermont-Ferrand and enjoyed 3 washed away by the water I'd collected welling from the spring I was led to coming up from Montbonnet.
It took me a while to register that I could hear insects. The crickets are cracking a broken tune within the ever present birdsong.
***
15:00 and stopped. 3 hours since lunch at Montbonnet. L'Allier des Saveurs, Monistrol d"Allier. Beer. Restorative beer. One Pelforth, one Pichon bÃere and one Pelforth with a terrine. Wonderful. Slightly drunk. Slightly drunk campsite dude. Very busy but told me where to stay gratis after Saugues ... Saugues is too early and c'est complet complet complet!
***
French food is top to bottom, left and right; north, south, east and west; straight and behind thoughtful. The water is wonderful. The wine sublime. The food beyond redemption. And I am going to sleep well in the tent dortoir built for 10. It's too expensive for a pilgrim? True. Tomorrow it's a cold dinner in an unheated gîte ... Great food and great wine. But I must decline a third course and a third wine being tired...
Back through the hanging carcasses... Well wetsuits hanging to dry by the toilet complex, to my bed and that was it. Until some one's phone at 2... And then I was awake until someone turned it off... Communal sleeping - I love it!
***
It's ... A restaurant/hotel/cafe run by an English expat. Peter Joyce. It's not Fawlty Towers... Or is it? It's a bit tarnished. And the plate of was a little greasy. No worries?!? There were still doors where walls might've been built?
Straight up passed the Chapel dedicated to Saint Madeline, which was several degrees easier at 52 than I found it at 41... On my right herbe, mûres, orties, borage and a tumble of flowers - where the birds sing in reply to a Cuckoo over the valley to the left and a White mare clips the grass. This is Le Chemin!
Talking back to Ben on Instagram, the only remaining connection I have to the University of Northumbria, and I realise I have no real connection with him so it surprises me I tracked him down all those years ago? Around ten years ago I guess? It was around then I chased Victoria Jolley to Canada too. She lived downstairs from Ben and my flat in West Jesmond for the best year of university life I recall: the second year - when I could've come to Lyon to study, but was a lot afraid of the unknown then.
And relax. Time to stop a while before collecting groceries and heading to the minimum of bed for this evening? 7 kilometres further. But a coffee and some food... Hastily bought ferme yogurt, home made Bolognese and a half of a local fromage (fromage du payes) then back for repase...
Great lunch surrounded by the Gallic charms. Sharing my table with a French retiree and allowing another French retiree to take my place. I did a main course, then a starter and then a dessert (farm yogurt) now I dropped my kecks in a eco-responsables toilettes publiques before the final part of today to this barren Refuge... Where I expect to find it full and then I will pray. Two glasses of white wine and the old guy gave me a red wine for letting him sit opposite in the crowded café/restaurant... It was a bit chilly outside.
***
I guess I was a little intimidated by the guy with silver teeth? I tend to be hiding from him still as I have the ghost like memory with me as I pass through the area of the legend La Bête du Gévaudan... Haunted. I am now the man with the missing front tooth and the gold lower mollars.
***
End of today in the Maison de la Béate Refuge, La Clause - which I have no memory of from 2013 - but I was fighting a blizzard going up to Le Sauvage It's got no water. No electricity. No beds. A fire, but no wood and no means to start a fire. Tonight I have layers as the early spring flies leave their dormancy and buzz around my body. It's a good job it's not cold and snowing as it was the previous time... And it's the day that the flies explode. And cats. And pilgrims; everywhere.
Apparently it was rebuilt in 2012. I've two other pilgrims for company; so far. Both French: she and him (Elisa and Cyprien), but not together. They seem fine and it's better than being alone really in the barren space. We've brought our food together for eating this evening. If it's not too dark. The guy has a dark dog (18 months). I've not got the correct stuff for camping really - the sleeping bag is too light for early May. The two girls on horseback I saw yesterday after Montbonnet passed by too on route to the next hameau Villeret-d'Apcher. Two older pilgrims chew the fat with the younger male who's staying in his tent?
We shared everything we have. And some guide left us a large quantity of rice and tuna so combined with the Bolognese sauce I'd picked up in Saugues we dined, surrounded by many many many cats waiting a morsel.
***
With a barking dog in the night it was a mainly unbroken rest until 6am when I popped across the road to drop my load in the eco toilet. Breakfast of various combustibles and away at 7. Along to the next hameau and coffee and fromage. It's a truly beautiful morning. But I did bad not bringing my waste to deposit after Maison de la Béate Refuge; oh well tempus fugit. The swallows, swifts and house martins are arriving now. On time for the explosion of the insect population.
Up ahead pilgrims who set off on their way around nine. On my right a couple were leaving their pod for the evening at 9:15am and I get mean. But it doesn't matter? I like the illusion of utter solace, but overhead the contrails of a jet dispenses the Truth and in the distance the jet engine reminds me that this is not wilderness.
A pause of sufficient time for the flow of people to continue along GR65 with me in their midst. Le Sauvage and no snow, but hardly a cloud in the sky. The walk into Saint Alban was extremely tough last time. Eighteen kilometres I believe? And chased by the silver toothed grin. What a strange baptism of the original Chemin Saint Jacques I took the baton to walk... I wonder if he is still alive 11 years later and if not what happened to his teeth afterwards!?
Coming down into Saint Alban through deciduous managed woodlands with a cuckoo calling me: all this walking and what is it for? Nothing matters, except a comfortable mattress or a gentle breast to nestle betwixt?
Collecting water from the font Saint Roche mattered. The church on the border between Haut-Loire and Lozere didn't. The cuckoo call is as clear as the murmuring of the brook by my feet or the cricket crackles and I follow line of least resistance through the reflective ribbon meandering to join what's up ahead...
The Fit app suggests this part, since Le Sauvage, has been intense. The weather has definitely switched for a day or two at least with no suggestion of rain or snow, but it's not La Meseta in August. Stopped for a beer as my legs felt like lead and I need an unbroken night's sleep to make this 27 kilometres seem facile without sounding arrogant. Saint Alban at the bottom of the hill, but then how, where, what..
***
Totally buggered. Sat opposite Le Centre with its side entrance to the Gîte du Centre €37.30 demi-pension and I don't care. Totally exhausted. It's warm and I am carrying a tent which I may not use... Just like 2013.
***
I have been for a well earned shower and collect shower gel for the trip onwards in morning. The dorm is slowly filling and I caught the sun this afternoon. As usual the same neck as I am always walking westward. My left side is over wraught. The foot, the shoulder, the neck and that section of my brain. And I was just told I am getting drunk so retreated from them to the bed. Exhausted. Sun struck. Enough? And a very long day tomorrow as I intend to get to Aubrac if I am capable. I am still wearing the same attire as I did on Monday, although I did clean the handkerchief as it cleaned me!
***
On the John at the beginning of day four and I was wondering what I am doing following these crowds this time? The supper was OK, but not really adequate. A demi pension doesn't usually quibble about a carafe of wine with food, but the solitary glass I had was added to my bill. And so were the beers from yesterday, although I wanted to pay for them when I'd finished, but the girl on the bar wouldn't allow me... So now I've a bill to pay this morning, after petit dejourner. And it's onwards to either Aumont-Aubrac, Nasbinals or Aubrac. But I think Aubrac can wait until Sunday?
Reset the sack. Reset the head. Although I've walked 3 days my head was going firmly up my arse as I was rushing rushing rushing to get to the suggested destination of the stage (etape) and I was very tetchy from the comment I was a little drunk. But I drank plenty of water afterwards as I took the horse riding pilgrim at her word. I am not here to get drunk. I am just here. I've not drunk lemon water or eaten any fruit. The Way is simple, but it took me a couple of days to spot my arrogance. My attitude to the father of the family walking Le Chemin was rude. I was tired and didn't need telling to take just a little of the bread... God knows why I snapped as I did?
***
Memory is a funny thing. Leaving Saint-Alban I have no memory apart from the dog and I leaving the Gîtes at the same time in May 2013. Now, as I climb up to the Aubrac I recall the woods being the first place I heard a cuckoo. Since I left Le Puy-en-Velay I've heard them regularly as I am probably crazier than eleven years ago?
***
Yes I didn't catch the bus: the two girls on horseback remind me of my plans last night...
And then I recall another wolf I was being followed by after Saint-Alban - a Dutch pilgrim who seemed always to be after the women in his Way? Or was that a projection? His name will return shortly, but I saw him everywhere including Cahors. I thought him a little vulgar. But my thoughts are often not a reality and I was(still am) a very angry person... Hank(rhymes with ...)
***
That half day in Aumont-Aubrac was simply necessary. It's great to be back in the Gîte Chemin Faisant(25€) all these years after the first time. The host was super surprised that I had the original Credencial stamp to show her. At first I was on the top floor next to the door in an emergency space, but then, after the large group had arrived, she moved me into a single bed in the annex next to another room and I slept entirely without waking until 6am. Bliss.
And I made my own supper from groceries I'd purchased opposite at the Epicerie hitting bed around 7pm. In the afternoon, after I'd eaten well in a restaurant and had a shower and siesta here in the Gîte, I read another chapter of Idle days in Patagonia; the second bite of the cherry.
At lunch I caught up with Elsa - we have connected. Had a laugh. Exchanged FB addresses and perhaps I will see her today; the big day. The one which almost killed me in 2013. The wild day on the barren moorland plateau called L'Aubrac in the wind, rain, sleet and snow. The day when the elements pounded against me ...
***
I stepped back. It's 6:30am. Taking my time to get together for the mammoth day. Sat in the dining area while a couple take a shower, etc. everyone is ready for the Bon Voyage up onto the plateau. Yesterday I bought a packet on charcuterie made from pieces from the head with pistachios. It has something akin to haslet in the centre, some tongue and some cheek; it's like luncheon meat ... This morning I used half of it and half of the remaining cheese, and half the baguette to construct a sandwich. It'll get a little fruit somewhere? Yesterday I made a flask of lemon water ready.
Now I pray for a day free of pain in the left foot. If positive forward actions can engendered positive outcomes ... I did not awake once during the night to go to the toilet. Same can't be said of Monistrol, La Clauze or Saint-Alban. So I am repeating Tuesday/Wednesday's precedent. I slept really well in Le Puy-en-Velay... Day five or day one again?
***
A return to the breakfast table gallic murmur. It's fine. I am the solo Francophile. I am away shortly. There are clouds on the horizon. I better collect my sandwich before I depart ... Almost forgot. This is a reload. A restart. All set up to be demolished once more...
Off we go? Through the same underpass carrying the A75. The Aubrac gets closer... Where I think I died and was reborn. As I shouted and raved at the heavens for destroying me, coming off the plateau and into Nasbinals. A true baptism by Nature. I was truly helpless and was slowly freezing to the point where any logic or reason had vanished. Desperately wet. Wet deeper than I had experienced since adulthood and its arrogant complacency.
***
11 kilometres and a mytile tart break at Gîte 4 Chemin; and now I can feel L'Aubrac and see it ahead too.
Tiring walking up through the dale leading towards Nasbinals and I reflect upon the 8€ I owe for my previous visit to Tour des Anglais in 2013. I couldn't pay, but I could stay if would pay in Saint-Chely - which I forgot as my brain was suffering from exhaustion coming down from Aubrac in the snow and rain. Now I am afraid that the receptionist on the hotel will remember me and call the Gendarmes.
A natural break. Truffade(3€), banana(mine) and a Bière Vivante Ambrée(4.50€) @ Le Rose de L'Aubrac. 30 minutes, roughly. Then toilet break and away to Nasbinals. Resting these precious feet for the second half of the 35? Shall see... More Voltarol applied me thinks...
The first crouching toilet I ever saw and used was in Amsterdam back around 1996. And the second was up at Saint-Christophe after Le Puy-en-Velay. I've just seen and soiled another. I don't know where the incontinence came from? Yesterday I ate good clean food... But I really didn't enjoy the Aubrac blonde beer. It tasted a little stale... I'll blame that!
Nasbinals is just around the corner and a gale is blowing up the dale as we come slowly off L'Aubrac. At this point 11 years ago I was screaming like a lunatic at the elements and my stupidity for leaving a cosy, four walled, existence. Aubrac is still around 10 kilometres away. And now it's raining again... Proper downpour. I had to hastily dig out the flecktarn, which is hardly waterproof at all as the seams need re-taping. Hands frozen. Aubrac is too far. I've a dodgy stomach too. So I am horizontal at 16:00.
And at 1700 suffering from a little hypothermia after the last thirty minutes in the cold, sleety downpour. I was in a similar place in 2013, but I don't know how I coped carrying onwards to Le Tour des Anglais. I ate and switched clothing. A similar means to come out of the shakes. Merino layers, socks and thermal, but knackered, Layer 8 joggers. And I might not move tonight...
Just as was wondering if I could move this evening, which I probably shouldn't - other than to clear the malady from my body (out the front door or the back door) - the other pilgrim (2 so far in a dortoir for 7) walks in. What a star, étolie, and Nightingale places a 1000mg of paracetamol. I've added an additional layer to keep off the shivers and, after a visit to the toilet, retreated under the covers once more. There are dark ominous clouds around Nasbinals... Be warned this is L'Aubrac and it's probably taken may pilgrims away from the path prematurely?
***
Monday morning. Seven days since I left blighty. The first full week ahead on el Camino. The hordes went home in various capacities yesterday. Indeed I saw a couple finish yesterday and climb directly onto a bus. Perhaps I can stop rushing? Yesterday morning I was nice and calm, but in the afternoon the backpack got heavy, I got weary, the foot began to throb and I was ill. I wrote off Sunday afternoon sleeping almost entirely until 6am.
Just gone 7am and the hostess is busy around with preparing breakfast. As I ate nothing last night I should be famished, but I am bone weary so ate without tasting. I had an ague... Oh my bones do ache. It's going to be tough going throughout the day? And I will be gone by 8? That's the plan.
Yesterday I saw a hazelnut on the path. It looked as though it had just been dropped and it tasted fine! This tiny nut is what caused all this malady?
My foot is agony today. More or less all the morning... Walking Le Chemin bare footed ...
A change in fauna: lizards. We're in to the other part of France Occitania...
Last hour was just 2 kms without boots, but actually my feet appreciated it, when I wasn't bumping tripping kicking the rocks gravel twigs, while trying not to slip slide into the gully on my left. Can I go any further today? Last time I hitched to Saint Côme d'Olt...
I left for Saint-Côme d'Olt, to hitch, on the wrong side of the cascade running down through Saint-Chely (but the right side for Le Chemin Saint Jacques) and I considered continuing onwards, but, just as I approached a water trough, filled with spring water, I couldn't bare the pain. I climbed into the trough and sighed with temporary relief. But then I knew I couldn't go any further, but hobble back to Saint-Chely and attempt to hitch on the correct side of the main road. Luckily someone I thumbed at turned around and came back... But they were going to Espalion. Twice on Le Chemin Saint Jacques from Le Puy-en-Velay I've struggled around Saint-Chely, and not approached on foot Saint-Côme Then is was the weather and this time it's my aging body... But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Bumped into a guy called Ben, again, just now and he seemed appalled I might hitchhike... That might be in my tired mind? And it doesn't matter. I enjoy walking and hitchhiking. As long as I don't stoop to public transport I feel real... This German pilgrim mentioned rain on Tuesday - all day/heavy. As a fly crawls over my left arm I wonder...
***
Tuesday dawns and a good night asleep. No noises. The other three pilgrims might as well be dead in their slumber. Awake just prior to 6.
The host reminded me that this is 'My Way' as I asked is it OK to retire from the dinner table. But then I had forgot my downstairs laundry (communal and gratis - donativo)The two pilgrims I saw at Le Puy-en-Velay, and who graciously paid for my meal in Montbonnet, asked for their money back... Oh. OK then. I returned with their 10€; we're all on a tight budget no doubt.
Ben, from the Black Forest, had been wild camping a little, but also had the wrong sleeping bag (for the night-time temperature on L'Aubrac or Lozeré) a la moi. And was very relieved to get a proper meal in his belly here at an official Halte (Jacquire)... He had two helping of everything; bless him. He'd eaten a microwave Aligot and dry bread yesterday evening on the campsite in its 'kitchen', which consisted of a microwave!
Three courses, water and wine. Pea soup, hearty, smoked fish bake with plenty of broccoli and cauliflower, potatoes and some pasta, fillin seeg, and a divine banana pudding (Ben confessed to a sweet tooth). Demi-pension 42€.
So it's raining. No rain of substance have I seen since I arrived in Le Puy-en-Velay last Tuesday (a week of the illusion of summer and in truth I have seen some swallows, but 'some' don't make the summer). The rain which overwhelmed me with the shivers was very brief, although cold, sleety and intense - it was a warning from Nature not to take the Massif Central in complacency - it's an intense environment which I believe created a part of the French character... Confusing...
At 8am I am walking out of Espalion along La Lot... And it's tipping it down - heads down to get soaked?
***
By the time I reached Estaing, and found the place I stayed in 2013 is closed because the owner died, I am going to warm up by eating a healthy lunch and then head up to Golinhac? If the torrent stops a little and I hope to reach for another demi-pension, like the Halte Saint Jacques in Espalion, if it isn't complet. It takes away all the fuss, especially when the day is merde.
But it's 'complet' and I don't need hypothermia twice in three nights. I stayed in Estaing then caught the bus to Conques in May 2013. Tomorrow is May 2024. I am on a different journey. Ben arrived in the same Gîte: I gave him a warm hug. He's an interesting and interested soul.
***
And I can't be arsed to move. The host, Alex, and I were having a laugh with pronunciation. The word Warm is Wrarm to him. He wants to add a French 'R' to the 'double u', but in French it's a 'double v', so I don't know why other than he's trying to use his mouth in a French manner.
There is a couple of Australians, one New Zealander, several French, one German and one English; and a bleeding Yank... All my stuff is drying out from the downpour this morning. And I find myself wondering what it's all for? The relentless trudge... The momentary bliss...
Good food, but too much conversation about trouble in Africa: because she works for the Embassy in Kinshasa as a diplomat. It's not real. I wanted to retreat from a lovely plate of saucisse, sauce Provençal and rice, after a slightly bland potage with a nice chorizo quiche. Washed down with water. Tomorrow I will walk. And the two women from Perth, WA, just asked really banally obvious questions about The Congo and I glazed over in mute agony rather than respond in alacritical and defamatory manner not suitable for a pilgrim's dinner table?
***
Daniel what is it for? 6am on day day 8 since I left Le Puy-en-Velay (already) and what does it mean. I've been listening to a lesson a day a tried to be in the moment (even in the tanking rain) but I couldn't get away from attacking the two or three people who passed me in a hurry(but it was raining)?!?
***
The problems between people don't actually vanish on the way - usually I can't understand what other folks are whittering on about - it just feels like they do as I am stuck to the side of the tower of Babel.
Peace everlasting. It cannot even be found on el Camino, as moments change. The thoughts about nothingness passing through my mind! They never cease to clamour for my attention - I see it, but I rarely can act on it in the moment (I regret my passion). Yesterday I allowed the Yank to wallow with the Aussies as I went upstairs, opened the window and listened to the swallows dive!
After the anticlimax of Conques the bells of doom from the church opposite the Gîte here in Naoilhac... When will I get a solid night's kip? Those church bells is why I gave up camping... Cheddar campsite and its closeness to the quarter chimes. Why why why why do we need to know if it's a quarter past 3am at 3:15? At 6am they chime 6am twice. People mustn't hear the first peel... But I have breakfast to return me to sanity.
Ben and Mary, the American diplomat, camped outside the Gîte, but used the Gîte - but his voice does carry...🤣. He's like a German fog horn.
***
Today I will choose heaven and not hell.
***
Day Ten and walked before I hitched a little to Firmi - hoping to find a café and bank. Unsuccessfully finding a café or bank I hitched again. I remember Decazeville being a strangely dead town so didn't really wish to walk to it again. It's a working town, but all the town centre seems a louer, boarded up and even the Boulanger and cafés seemed closed down. I think it's a fairly modern mining town which is ideal for collecting money out of an ATM, but I only had an instant coffee this morning and it's awful!
***
Thunderstorms this evening. Sounds fun. Hopefully I will sleeping silently in the Gîte de Carmel? In the square in Livinhac I am pretty exhausted. I've just eaten and am enjoying a coffee opposite the church, but I don't think I have another 25.5kms on top of the 10 already this morning...
So tired I missed the signs. So had to go slightly off piste and now I am covered in nettle stings and hay fever is beginning to work its magic as the grasses launch their frontal attack.
***
Day ten of hearing neither George Michael or Elton John playing in The Mews in Wetherby - bliss, but is it sanity to keep walking when The Mews, and them in it, stands still? Brandon, who works there regularly, tends to play more interesting music when he's leading the shift. And in am a million miles from Wetherby. People in Wetherby tend to stand or sit still.
***
And relax. Backpack dropped in the Carmelite Monastery/Gîte. Only the second 'donativo' of the Way so far. I've returned to the Plaça de las Castanhas for the third and, most definitely, final time in my life. I could really do with a 'rest day' here if I am to reach Cahors on foot... I left Le Puy-en-Velay a full ten days ago. I've hitched a bit today because I was wilting and in agony. In 2013 I stayed at the Gîte two nights and made Bœuf Bourguignon for the other pilgrims: it's a shame that there was only half the expected contingent. In 2013 I wasn't a pilgrim. I've been made into a pilgrim, but this pain in my foot is making it a pain in the arse to be a pilgrim and I might abandon the ship.
***
I could be erroneous, but I do believe the dortoir has moved upstairs in the Gîte du Carmel. And I am sure that there is an additional room for baggage... And as a donativo the suggested minimum of 25€ was a bit intense! I thought I'd got a night where I am not skint at the end! But I think the Catholic church has other ideas? It's all good?
***
Fantastic supper. A laugh. Fine French food and interesting volunteer hosts from Metz. This is the other aspect I would like to be involved with. Around Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in the future: as the foot is declining but as el Camino keeps on smiling... All French except a solo Québécois - the first I have spoken to this Chemin - et moi! He's gone to catch his bus back to Le Puy-en-Velay and a couple of days therein before the haul back to Canada.
***
At 7:30am I've left Figeac for ever heading west along the Cele in a gentle rain with suggestions of more? It's leaden skies this Samedi. Passing back through Figeac to collect cash and spend the little change I have left. One orange and one lemon. The flask is empty, but I will see plenty of wells along the way?
***
Guilt is driving me mad. Because I am in constant pain? I don't know. I can't really walk and walk and walk...so I auto-stop and now eat wonderful. In Corn, but not on corn. Foi Gras etc... and exceptionally white wine, then fantastic slow baked lamb with exceptional red wine. And turning left then right ahead of me a good baker's dozen of pilgrims; we're all below the cliffs which line La Célé.
***
After that wonderful lunch (starter, main, dessert, one demi bÃere, one glass of white wine and red wine) for only 45€(ouch) I walked another hour thirty, alongside the cliffs and the Célé, until I could go no further. Then up ahead the Gîte in Espagnac-Sainte-Eulalie looked presentable(being an old Abbey) and I rubbed my hands in glee, but I got my hopes up too soon. The place is complet. So what next? Keep walking and, potentially hitchhiking, but I want to walk to Cahors this time if I am capable. In 2013 it was two nights in Figeac then bus to Cahors and three nights in the back garden I am hoping to pitch my tent again for a couple of nights if the place is full.
The campsite at the old mill was complet and the next Gîte on the list was complet and the next too. At the left turn to the rural campsite, alongside the Célé, I could see was closed. Hastily, and slightly worried, I didn't really know where I was going.
The final roll of the die turns up a caravan (20€) at the final house on the right, below the Chemin Saint Jacques in Chez Claire. Now I have had a shower and feel poised for a siesta in a very quiet place... And I really love random old caravans on el Camino.
***
Slept silently until 6am. There was a grunting bovine, deer like bellowing in the night which got a little closer for the few minutes it continued. Then I was woken by the birdsong in the quiet valley beside the pasture and gently swaying barley. And now I am eating yaourt nature fermier bio au lait entier de brebis and enjoying a Italian stove top coffee.
***
Not that I necessarily have to take it, but I decided to book another flight back to the UK. Bergerac(13€ to Liverpool) is closer to Cahors than Perpignan. And I don't know if I will stretch physically, mentally and financially to Saturday. As long as I've reached Cahors, by foot, by Monday? If not I'll have to head to Perpignan instead.
Yesterday, at the campsite The Old Mill(Moulin Vieux) I looked longingly at the spaces for a tent and thought I am a coward for resisting to place the thing I have been carrying since Le Puy-en-Velay... But this morning I was a little damp from dew and I was quite cold without a thicker sleeping bag so ... I wasn't being foolish?
Drinking coffee from a stove top pot reminds me of those interesting mornings on the Campsite at the Forêt Fouesnant when the other two campsite couriers and I drank our hearty fill before going to do more montage. I've not returned to Brittany since that strange couple of months putting up tents, in bad plots, for those two months along the coast around Quimper and Concarneau, but it was my first true experience of life in France.
When the lingering mist, alongside the Célé, dissipates the morning will be tres bon?
After my siesta yesterday I walked back to the small roundabout, to the bar, for a beer, but the bar-restaurant was closed. I'd put on my jogging pants, as it has been cold in the late afternoons, but I was being slowly coddled like two eggs in a ramekin (and I really didn't need the hoody on either)!
I am following the road, so far, towards Saint Suplice, and have considered hitchhiking forward once more. The GR 651 is just above me, but I saw no turn onto it so far - I think it's on the cliff top, but I love having a river to follow.
Day twelve and perhaps the best night's sleep so far? At the end of every day I have felt the absolute exhaustion of constantly carrying the backpack, my clothes, boots, flask and then gravity pushing my body back down into the dust from whence it came?
Yesterday I thought I was carrying only soiled underwear, but then I recall the communal wash in Espilion so my pants are fresh on this morning once more... Simple joys?
***
Paige, from New York who lives on Isla Mujeres, is my off piste company this morning. Straight alongside the Célé, but on the opposite bank to the official Camino GR651.
***
As I creep closer to Cahors the cost of my day also crawls up. The slight beneficence of 20€ for last night's caravan of solace has ratcheted up now I am high above the Lot river overlooking the crowds of bleeding weekenders... Noisy children and woke parents.
This morning Paige, New Yorker, crept up on me after I'd climbed up to Saint-Sulpice and back down to the road heading into Marcilhac-sur-Célé. We stopped for a couple of coffees and I ate a croissant from the associatif behind the ruined abbey. In the Boulanger I purchased half a 'crown' loaf and a tarte noix. We walked until my foot was throbbing, always off piste, to the left of the Célé and the 'true' path ...
Although Paige seemed to like the randomness of the route we walked (following yellow not red/white signs) she was still drawn like a moth to the 'actual' route (but she was the very first American I ever knew who pronounced it the same way I do (not like rout)).
In truth there is no right way, but there is onwards: straight ahead, and in any direction you might please? Unless you can walk el Camino backwards (which I guarantee someone dressed as a mediæval pilgrim has achieved because there are odd folks everywhere, and especially on el Camino); and me? I am dressed as the Fool I forever am.
***
With a sad heart I decided not to stay in a campsite caravan this evening, as I had no-one to share the 65€ for a chalet, with rain threatening, and climbed up to the 'beautiful', but damned to tourist hell, Saint-Cirq Lapopie for a Gîte d'Etape Demi-pension. But if only I had managed not to eat Confir du Canard for lunch I wouldn't be feeling guilty, like a Bad Pilgrim, for wasting money I really do need to get me to Perpignan after Cahors - if I hang around in France for the duration. My garden allotment is tugging at my sleeve and Lola is forgetting who I am to hug, hug and hug again!
Noisy weekenders distractedly knock over drink while la bebe screams. It's too much? I've moved to sit in the gentle rain. Gosh I am close to my destination. A destination I reach by bus in 2013. And then switched back into the wine guy, I had been for a few years prior, because I really didn't understand el Camino.
Paige and I shared a nice three glasses with lunch. She two rosé and I two blanc before we had a superior Malbec each. My white was the same as in Figeac (50/50 Chardonnay and Sauvignon aged on wood(lush)) - wine guy reappears.
In La Tonnelle I've had three glasses of the local beer Ambreé - Ratz - which seems ubiquitous and is pretty good. Hardly anything edible is poor in France(even though beer isn't that exceptional anywhere), but as the place fills it is time to leave; get me away from the hordes of undead...
***
Ate well. Didn't need a second meal. But it came with the bed. All French except two Dutch and I at the end. Most are out from Conques. The younger gentlemen alongside me is doing the Rocamadour triangle from Figeac to Cahors. Slept well until the lady opposite began snoring and her friend kept kicking her bed... It's 5:30am. I'll be off once more (D minus one Day) getting closer to Cahors. I thinks I want to follow the Lot towards Cahors, as I could go up and stay up above the limestone cliffs which run alongside it, as they do with La Célé, or go low. Eating breakfast. The bread I collected yesterday from the Boulanger in Marcilhac-sur-Célé. Need to finish the Sotch cheese I bought in Figeac too.
***
Since leaving Figeac I haven't known where I am heading. Until Figeac I was following the preceding Chemin so it wasn't a surprise. But now I am getting to the end of this 'trip', which may culminate with a couple of nights on the Mediterranean, or not? My stuff is mainly soiled now. Either 2 or 5 more nights in France, and on el Camino, until the beginning of September? Money will be tight in June and July and August are those festering sores called school holidays open; corrupt and delirious!
***
Two coffees, four slices of bread with butter and jam, a piece of sotch cheese and a yogurt and I am usually OK once more... The sky is leaden grey like the dullness of sleep deprivation for all the other reasons (not alcohol induced).
This backpack feels like a sack of coal as I head down, wearily and warily, the sodden miscellany of stones, rocks and boulders leading away from Saint-Cirq and back alongside the Lot as it connects with the Célé around Bouziés.
And the bed and linen were very comfortable. Three bunk beds and two singles in that room was a little tight and I was reacting to some feminine perfume too as I struggled to breathe...
It's Monday. It's another Holy Day. Pentecost. It's only me away so early?
At 11am I was absolutely on zero. I'd used the fuel into the minus degree and the engine was spluttering, gasping for gasoline. Stuttering to go nowhere. And now here I am in Cahors, but it doesn't really matter ... All that slogging for 13 days. Amazing that a snoring female could keep me awake. And I am pretty sure I was snoring too as I was having trouble with my sinuses all yesterday afternoon and today I've full blown hay fever. A Parisian couple, who were heading to Limoges to deposit their hire car, picked me up as I was lost in my head on the road creeping into Saint-Géry and he gave me a full packet of antihistamines. Who says Parisians aren't helpful? And he could see I was absolutely beyond walking...
***
Another Confit du Canard in another locale in Department Lot. It was satisfactory. Le Dousil. Last time here I bought a number of bottles of quality wine which I then carried to Pamplona, via Montpellier, Girona, Zaragoza and kept for several days along the Camino Frances. Was I sane stuffing those nice wines on top of my already stuffed sack in 2013?
I should be ecstatically happy now I have reached my goal, by hook or by crook, but now I never am! In the past I didn't look for things along the Way and so they tended to appear. And now I appear to be looking everywhere and that's a mistake as they rarely do now. There is still a little of the serendipity I have felt in every moment, but you simply can't go looking for it?
Currently I sit with the book I carried on Place Gambetta during the emptiness of the back end of Monday on a bank holiday with the weather blowing an autumnal gale. Everything here about will be closed this afternoon and in the morning. In the Gîte La Maison des Pelerins in Saint Georges (the other side of the Louis Phillip bridge) I showered and had a brief siesta before the other gentleman joined in the room. I thought it a courtesy to allow him to douche and siesta before he goes and has a tour on one of those faux trains: I saw three very wet individuals on the petit tren earlier as I was going for lunch, when I had been to the l'Octroi for another repetition: the same Credencial tampon as in 2013 and when I was very excited about being here.
Fatigue has got to me I guess. The bed in the Gîte is comfortable and the room is also comfortable, but the other pilgrim is a tad older and just know he's a snorer, and I left my gun at home!
The majority of folks I have seen this afternoon are those who have hit hard times. It's hardly comparable to Leeds but I've seen the same cluster of homeless dog persons around town all afternoon. As everything is closed the other class of inhabitants has virtually dried up. The wine bar had closed and so had the cave du vin. I arrive at Cahors at the sweet end of a bank holiday which is thankful. The Gîte is a demi-pension and I ate small for lunch while enjoying three local whites.
A couple of familiar pilgrims are fending off the beggars and I really feel done. Absolutely. There is a bus out of here around 7:30am which will begin to take me to Bergerac, Liverpool and then home! I am looking forward to my Lola kisses.
***
Shared a final pilgrim supper. Saucisse de Canard with a courgette gratin. Extremely nice. The Department Lot has a lot of duck on the menu. And as soon as I'd paid for the demi pension (38€) I went and quacked in to the night. A good night's sleep. Two hours and I need be on the bus.
***
Last night I ran into a pilgrim from Amiens. I was excited as last year I found myself walking from Arras to Bayeux via Amien, 'Vexin' and 'Bray', Dieppe, 'Caux', Rouen, Le Havre, Harfleur, Honfleur, Deauville, Ouistretham, Caen and Bayeux en-route to Mont Saint Michel... Perhaps in June?
Now I catch up with the various podcasts I've not had an opportunity to listen to as the other me reappears. The one who drinks copious beer in loneliness and boredom. The naming of football teams on Word of Mouth pretty banal. Back to hoeing, raking, weeding and planting. Back to collar, lead and fish skins. Back to Lola leading me where she pleases. Back to mum and her running commentary of the happenings on BBC1 from 7 until 11 every morning...oh the humanity, but it's all good?
Blissfully a good night sharing the twin room with the older gentleman. We were both exhausted from Le Puy-en-Velay and the distance covered. I managed 13 days, with a little hitching, what would take more like 14 direct, not on the Célé variant... But then I wouldn't have seen the legions of the damned crawling up and over Saint-Cirq Lapopie...
Down by the Gare SNCF for the long haul back to Blighty begins shortly. First bus 890 to Monsenpron-Libos(2€). The reverse of the trip out to Paris Montmatre on Monday more than two weeks ago. Second bus. Monsenpron-Libos(2€30) and I am beginning to smell myself - which is never good knowing? In Bergerac I am seeking a washing machine with an apartment for the final night. Every night since Paris I've had other persons in the Gîte. In Noailhac I had the vast majority of the place to myself, but slept next to a very noisy tour de cloche. Third bus a little over an hour from Villeneuve-sur-Lot (2€30)
***
Passed the time in Bergerac yesterday. It's a small town perched above the Dordogne. Heard many English voices and saw a sign for the GR - a variant of the one to Périgueux from Vezelay - but I am thinking of catching the bus around 12 to the airport, although it's a short walk and I've most of the morning around here. Flight isn't until 13:25 and I am already thinking of other aspects of my existence: the allotment and our Lass (Lola) who I will be with on her own until I look after Ruby as well from Monday.
In the Airbnb I am struggling to get the Nespresso to pour me a coffee. It appears to be blocked? But it has no moving parts... Undone by a coffee machine! The end of the Pilgrimage has definitely occurred. I much prefer drip coffee machines over these naff espresso machines. The coffee always tastes rank because it's Nestle, Nescafé is plain bad coffee... And I am not a coffee snob but can't stand the bitterness of the coffee coming out of the pods. The family of Ruby, who I look after from Monday, have a Nespresso too which I don't touch as I stick to their cafetière... Simples?
Was it good to leave Le Puy-en-Velay on the Via Podiensis? Yes it was. Regardless of the exhaustion. It's a tough route with lots of ascents and descents. With bitter weather and a lot of mud. But the weather doesn't really matter. Only one or two days of torrential. The one from Espilion and the one from Figeac. The rest was perfect (a bit warm for May perhaps). And I didn't use the tent in Cahors after all! The weather in Cahors was stormy in the afternoon and it was raining as I passed the cathedral and caught the bus.
***
And as the grouch I am I couldn't give a toss that the Olympic Torch is passing through here at 8:30am! I can't find a route away from the cordons to get a better coffee than the Nespresso. On the main street I found one after being pushed away from the barriers by the police presence: for a flaming torch. I do not get it. It's nothing. It's such an unreal thing. How not to excite me after those beers in the bar on the corner opposite my Airbnb. The group of Portuguese musicians on their way to Brighton Fringe and Bristol. Two of England's more unusual cities... They have green credentials. One of the guys took me at my word, spoke to the guys running The Prince Albert and has been asked to play there. Wow - proactive and from Setúbal. Playing their instruments for their accommodation and their supper as they're sleeping two to a van, head to toe, all four of them: that's dedication. And I used to care. I bought one a beer before I disappeared for an assiette de kebab in the square opposite the market Halle: piled high with salad too. It was the first and last and it was nice.
***
I am feeling a little better. A quiche, a croissant and a second café allongé. I am climbing the north face of the Uxbridge Road with this hangover. It's a difficult road to ascend. Usually I pack up and leave the apartment early, but I intend to return to shower and relax prior to the next stage of the great return to Leeds and her; check out is at 10am.
Andy, my compatriot on the allotment, forecasts heavy rain on Wednesday and Thursday back in Wetherby. That's good news as I wasn't sure about the tomatoes yet? But the main crop potatoes can go in this weekend, before I begin with Ruby on Monday morning. Now I am off to collect a lemon and a yogurt to get together this fragile body. All my clothes are fresh this morning as, thankfully, the Airbnb host came back with some washing pods, even if the Nespresso was beyond me?
***
Ate two yogurts either side of the shower. Sorted lemon water. Packed my backpack well. Had half an hour relax to one of the final sections of chapter 31; yesterday I took no part of the Course and went squiff. It's essential to my Being. I started to recollect all the interesting aspects of the pilgrimage; recalling the people I shared the hopeful journey with from the first breakfast in Le Puy-en-Velay to the final supper in Cahors. Will I come back to continue on the way from Cahors? Perhaps one day... In another dozen years when I yearn to continue the Via Podiensis I have managed from Geneva to Cahors, but no further. And now, as I get my self together to check out by 10am I am considering gently meandering up to the airport. I've done it in several places so why shouldn't I here in Bergerac?!
The end of the May pilgrimage...
And I am back in the flat. Yesterday was long and exhausting. I passed through Leeds which was dense with people, just after 5pm, in the heavy matter rain. I ate on the train some items I'd bought in the Sainsbury's on the corner opposite Oxford Road Station in Manchester, but before it got packed with commuters heading east at Manchester Victoria and then I found the table such a tight space that I opted to go and sit on my backpack on the floor next to the door space. A narrow gage railway carriage doesn't allow for arms or legs, hands or feet - they get in the way of any comfort on the aging Trans Pennine Express carriage...
It's creeping towards 6am UK time. By 7am French time I'd be on the Way again. But here I've washed and am washing all my clothes, sleeping bag and travel pillow. And just enjoyed porridge and coffee while I returned to In Our Time. Had a bath last night. Will be heading over to LS22 shortly from LS1 to check in with our lass: Lola. L O L A, Lola...
Back at the bus stop Station D. It's inevitable. Some how I have to enjoy this. As I can't escape the pavements I tread between Lovell Park and Boar Lane, and el Camino is a temporary expedient, and collect a coffee from Caffe Nero (with a free chocolate praline bar because they weren't paying attention). It's a bit chilly for mid to late May? The rain was unrelenting yesterday, but it's only grey so far.
Yesterday I had a half in Friends of Ham and one in Brownhill and Co. as I crept to the flat. On the way back I bought two cans of baked beans and two pots of live yogurt. Is this all that there is to my other life?
***
The end of a pilgrimage always leaves me feeling 'meh'. A lot of pilgrims died on their way to Santiago, or on their return, and sometimes - as I lie there in agony at the conclusion of the 'Etape' - I don't think dying along Le Chemin is the worst way to go: fatigued to death, but on/in my spiritual home?
'The world I see holds nothing that I want'.
The indirect X99 didn't arrive so nowt for it but to it than to catch the next bus: X98. The bus where I must truly forgive? Filled with all the school children heading to Wetherby High School and a double whammy of workers, packed like sardines(but not as tasty), on a 'Sky Class' double decker.
***
But a good reconnect with Lola a nice walk up to the old hotel by the original A1 roundabout, where Lola was in fresh rabbit carcass heaven, then a good circuit of the Ings before back through Raby Park, Sandringham Park and along York Road, had beans on toast and just had 30 minutes by her side before I disappear up to the allotment...
Allotment from noon until four: weeds. Spring is fecund. Put some tomatoes in. All the beans which are showing appear to have been nibbled. But it doesn't matter. My hoodie is falling apart, but it doesn't matter. Mum 'bought' items off a scam website and is now screaming because she can't speak to her bank, but it doesn't matter.
At 20:05 nothing matters. Good night?
***
We ate a Chinese takeaway from Mister Yiks(should be called Mister Chits). I can't recall the last time I had a Chinese takeaway. Must be years ago? Probably since Diamond House vanished opposite The New Inn. The pork char siu was a little dry to be honest... But the noodles were good. It doesn't matter.
The crows are crawing opposite on the embankment alongside the Engine Shed. A gentle rain is falling. I was mainly awake at 4:30am and didn't sleep very well with a belly full of ice cream on top of the char siu. But it doesn't matter?
The pilgrimage has really gone. The candle has been snuffed out once more. It was lovely to connect with Lola, but mum said she's feeling tired... I guess that's the next item on the agenda? Mother passing away; it doesn't matter?
On the allotment the weeds have made themselves known again. Two and a half weeks ... Nature will find a way. It's the season where every available land space is covered in green greedily photosynthesizing. Before it sets seed and then wilts and dies. It is the best time of year. Yet, it simply means nothing at all.
***
It's better to travel than arrive. Pay attention right now and not in the future. The path is the destination. Remember Daniel. This has worked for you before. You don't have to get anywhere...now not ever.
***
Foolishly I fell into another Way. From Estaing, where I met the American diplomat for the first time, and until I could get on the other side of the route after Figeac (so I could get away) I let her and Ben, now stuck to her side, get to me mentally. Having first met Ben solo, prior to Aumont-Aubrac, I had spent some time in his company prior to Estaing, but afterwards I was sorely trying to keep ahead of them because they were inseparable and doubly annoying!?!
Hounded I was by the things she'd said, of which I really had no interest but which somewhere got below the surface because of her 'arrogance'. I think I was frustrated that the whole table seemed glued to her every mannerism or movement and then the conversation became unreal as the kiwi/aussie began asking the dullest question fathomable(and she an retired teacher too). Things were judged through the American lens and found wanting... What a conceited git I thought she was. Maybe I am carrying a chip on my shoulder, which has become something heavier and untenable since those half dozen 'resume' enhancing college girls descended upon me volunteering in Merida Mexico during the summer of 2014 - where I thought I'd been buried alive in the wooden walled room, next to the pool, I'd been deposited in and left to fry.
Oh yeah! One was Canadian, and a little older than the brats, but quickly morphed into a full blown Yank as though she had no independent personality! It was her who actually told me I couldn't teach Mexican children to speak English my way because it wasn't the correct way!
It so exhausted me: just after Snoops (Weimaraner) had to be put down, and my entire world had collapsed in Cancun(a crap place if ever there was one)! Although I did met the most excellent Michael Spells (TravelwithSpells) and became good friends, get to Mexico, out of Merida and into the beautiful other side of that glorious country - and Central America.
***
The sun is shining, the crows are crawing, the birds sing their sweet song it's just gone 5 and I slept peaceful, undisturbed, and I brewed coffee the previous evening. It's full blown Spring. And I needed to take antihistamines prior to sleep as something was irritating myself. The American brat is probably passed Condom now - my original destination until I just wanted to get off the Way and return to the UK.
That one night in the caravan, prior to Saint-Cirq, reminded me of something real when Le Chemin was dissolving into discordance. One night to save my life where the grunting of a wild animal reminded me I am never alone, but being haunted by my own impossible thoughts?
Comments