France is ... a powerful antidepressant

I have to resuscitate a dying sense of spirit and enthusiasm into my present as I have become detached from the real joys of my life. No reading, no writing; no contemplation. Even now I am tempted to throw down the device and forget it, but why - because it's a dead end...

Surely I can stay here a little longer until something infinite moves within and without?

***

As I sit on Ruby's sofa/bed and listen to the sounds of spring, with the gentle murmuring of the pond at the bottom of the garden and the distant hum of the A1(M) I am aware of the distance growing between what I truly love and what I am become; in despair.

Oh the alcohol fuelled me. The forgetful me. The desperately lonely me. The one I've cordoned off for the world to see.

Ruby is happy with me, Lola is happy with me but I am unhappy with me simple as I am - Mother Nature's son: tranquil and unimpeded by mental noise... Knowing the truth will set me free, but being forever unable to accept it entirely. It's just out of my reach...

***

This is novel. I am in Caffe Nero on Vicar Lane at 8am. I am preparing for the grand depart at 6pm from these sundry shores for as long as I am capable. Is forever too much to hope for? Le Puy en Velay is at the end of the long road south. First stop Beauvais. Second stop Montmartre. Final destination el Camino. The original and best IMHO. The foot is almost better. For the first time since January I have on the Meindl Bhutan boots which have seen little wear. I've paid additionally to Ryanair for the benefit of taking a full 10kgs on-board which means I have to leave all my sharps behind, but I've added the medium weight sleeping bag for up on the Aubrac. As cousin Robert remarked - third time lucky trying to reach all the way to Conques on foot - come rain, sun, hail, snow, heatwave or alien invasion it's back to only one foot in front of the other and trying not to get beyond the moment of the path below my feet, the smells of the wayside and the sounds of spring turning to summer in Central France.

Before coming out for the morning I had a long relaxing and cleansing soak. I didn't bother at Ruby's with their square narrow bath. I cleaned the wound and applied a new dressing which I thought was a good idea before putting on these heavy boots... If I had a little extra cash to spare I'd invest in the Hoka model John - husband of Susan Devoy -  recommended (Speedgoat). I was briefly, stupidly, considering going back to Wetherby to see Lola then come back to Leeds... But I had enough to do. Washing bedding. Packing everything away. Making lunch and afternoon leftovers. I know I must clean up the flat soon, but I've hardly gone up in those elevators since the operation  - perhaps 4 times embracing the large comfortable luxe mattress, duvet, pillow and familiar sounds and smells I associate with 69 Lovell Park Grange.

The past three months have felt like an exile in a commuter town. And the yawning gape of time since I last hung up these size 10.5s(Somewhere around Gandesa mid October 2024) has felt like brain deadening.

***

Things happen for a reason. I went to The Tetley to call on Bill, once barman supreme at Brownhill and Co(who are having difficulty with their unreasonable landlords), to ask him pass on my love to Bryony, Harrison and Richard during these bad times. Then low and behold I hold a fresh printed 10€ (left as a tip) note which will get me to Paris tomorrow or something else which was generously put in my palm... It feels like bye bye? For the moment or forever. Those who polished glassware, and were interesting conversationalists, have left me drifting with the current. Nick has moved on, Bill moved on, Richard et al will move out of LS1. Everything has moved on, but I feel perpetually been trapped in ever decreasing circles which make me dizzy and ill. 

***

This morning I am 'testing' my foot against the footwear I used to soldier on with. Up and Running don't sell Hoka. And the Currex insole are £45 (not so expensive in France where they were given to me in Chantilly) so I purchased a superior product for £7.99 in Deichmann which I have also had before.

***

A stretching lazy Wednesday afternoon with mainly clouds clustering above City Square. Just about to climb aboard the A1 to glorious LBA. A drugged up rag asks for change so I take a gun out and shoot him point blank - I think that's change... But that's not right. Enough of Leeds it's getting under my skin after only a few hours. 

***

Up one unit, across one unit and down one unit - just over an hour in the sky. It feels like the shortest flight into the continent, but Ryanair go through their routine once more. We're 38 aboard the flight which was full and late arriving from Palma - awful Palma - and those flight attendants offer a million pounds from those flimsy scratch cards they fan towards us and spray flem as they preach perfumes, fags and make-up.

***

On arrival at my Airbnb hostess last night (Genevieve @ 6 Rue de la Bauve 42€) I hastily dumped my bags to walk the streets around the cathedral, main square and, perhaps, have a solitary Le Coq Hardi at the interesting ragamuffin Cafe du Marché but then sense reigned so I walked to the end of the road, did a 180° and came back did my toilet and crawled below the covers to await May 8th and the day in Paris before I scatter my atoms on the Massif Central . Now I sit in a Bar Tabac with the voice of the telly behind my shoulder but here I don't understand a word. It's all gobbledygook... Now some awful euro pop blares out. Please get me to Le-Puy-en-Velay - outside where coffin dodgers cough into their palms as I sit waiting for the BlaBlaCar host to Paris (Laurent £8). Beauvais was wiped off the surface of the map between 1940 and 1945 so it's mainly reconstructed or post war architecture. The cathedral is superb and I believe it was an important centre in the middle ages for tapestry...

Forgive, forgive, forgive.

***

Brief diversion as the other traveller found a dropped passport and we had to locate the local police station. Now we're on the toll road A16... A fly in the ointment is potential strikes on the rail network tomorrow! That takes me back to being in a gridlocked Gare du Nord in May 2000 as I fled from God awful French Life campsite, in Brittany, back to Blighty and my first experience of their capital.

***

This time last year I was going through the motions of Montmartre and Paris to catch the train to Clermont-Ferrand. And today I found out there are potential strikes towards Le-Puy-en-Velay tomorrow as the French flex their muscles. I don't care. Give me a few days going towards SJPDP and I can relax a little from the previous? Definitely. It's not the destination but the path.

Oh but I've too much stuff. Too much, but probably not enough for the Aubrac and it looks like a storm is a'brewing over Sacre Cœur.

The storm was in my mind. Eventually I was horizontal in the Guesthouse of the Basilica. I can't stay there again as I don't get a solid kip. The noises around Sacre Cœur are perpetual. As you can't check-in until 6pm and I arrived in Paris a little prior to 9am it's a long shout to keep clean and sober during that time. I ate well at lunch. Meandered around Pigalle and Saint Martin, getting a little lost and doing a 180° back towards Le Tour de Saint Jacques near the Seine. Then I positioned myself at the top of Rue Des Martyrs and watched the world run by as I drank a few SuperBock with the clouds growing an ominous potential which never resulted.

***

The 7:45 to Saint Etienne has left Gare de Lyon, which I have a distant memory of from 2013 as I departed for the first time towards Le-Puy-en-Velay...

I took my morning santé mentale medicine and then went for a coffee in Le Bistro. There was a man, with his dog, muzzled and unhappy. We don't muzzle dogs on trains in England just the proles...

I've been reducing my prescribed measure from 75mg + 37.5mg to 75mg. The time I reached Fistera in Galicia I weaned myself off them with the help of el Camino. I was capable without them for a while afterwards, but I came back to them once more as I just can't cope with the UK without them. On my own I can survive intact.

***

Last year coming this way, in the final seat on the packed train to Clermont-Ferrand, the fields were drenched. Rivers had burst their banks. The fields were knee deep in flood waters.

***

The OuiGO pulls into Le Gare ten minutes late, but the corresponding train TER to Le-Puy-en-Velay is departing in two minutes. I am back where it all began that fateful day in May 2013. Older, but maybe wiser? Next stop Chemin de Saint Jacques GR65.

As I stumble over the proper word usage I reflect that the first time that I caught this train was the final one in the pitch black night and saw none of the approaches to the Central Massif - picturesque lakes alongside quaint stations next to the fledgling Loire; beautifully and tranquillity fluttering towards the Atlantic Ocean.

***

Here I am. A slight rain. Nothing like the downpour of last May. Had a good lunch with a bottle of sparkiy water and one beer. Having a beer in the café I irst sat outside of in 2013. I've discovered another area of Le Puy by turning right out of the Gîtes d'etape. There was a gathering of Pilgrims as I left to locate a few necessities from the town. It feels new. It feels fresh. I am not fresh... I need some soap!

***

A string of intense dreams. The dormitory is quiet. Not so many pilgrims to overwhelm it with snoring sweating bodies. I am awake. Good wholesome food for supper. I bought three sausages, borrowed an onion, used a free packet of cracked bulgar wheat and ate well. No alcohol - water. At the end of the day I washed myself and the solitary t-shirt I have had with me since my baggage went AWOL in Beauvais some 3 years ago now, but the collar is becoming saggy? I've enough layers for cold and wet, but I find the blend in the t-shirt comfortable as my base layer when not so cold. I am awake.

***

Around noon I felt tenderness in the operated area of my foot so hitched to where I couldn't move for people in 2024: Saint-Privat. And all day I moaned and groaned fearful that I wouldn't be able to continue on after only 1 day on foot. After a good supper I retired to consider it no more and see what the morrow would bring.

I gathered my things to see if I could find a café prior to petit dejeuner and stumbled into a café allongé with a trio of cakes. The foot is still smarting from yesterday so walking would be foolish? Escargot. Snail trails and weary pilgrims climb behind the café on their way to meet a collection of random bones: bones unexamined since the middles ages...

Stopped at Chez Thierry for a tea and then struggled to keep my bowels in check before all hell broke loose and I reached sanctuary at the descent in Sauges. They've placed conveniences along the route, but they're well spaced out. Every boulder and bush was looking inviting...

Revisited Chez Soi for the second filling repase in two years - the same gentleman I shared a table and a carafe of red wine was here. The hotel run by the Englishman in Monistrol d'Allier was for sale. The owner of Bar Soleil in Saint Christophe had changed hands after 20 years. I feel that last night's host was completing his lap of life. Olivier looked gray and worn pencil thin, but he was around my age. He only smiled for his 'Cissy' a Tomcat.

***

Day three and though in pain I am happy. Taken my daily medicine, had coffee, have a snack... Off I go. It was cold in the municipal Gîtes d'etape.

***

Midday break @ Le Sauvage. Third time lucky. I am sat down for lunch. I am not being pushed to Saint Alban by a guy with silver teeth, yet I am anxious still.

***

I asked about staying, as I never have and it is the suggested etape, but they were complete(full) so I kept on enjoying my lunch. Towards the final slice of local cheese I was approached by one of the proprietors who declared that they'd had a cancellation so I was able to give them all my remaining cash to stay peaceful up in the Domaine de le Sauvage. Luckily this morning is UC day and I am refreshed - if awake at 5am...

***

And I am going through the motions, but not inspired because I feel corralled. But I visited the barbers so am handsome. Today is Saturday (Tuesday in reality). So many trucks and tractors vanish through Aumont-Aubrac that it seems there is a little know convention, fayre, festival where only tractors and trucks can go...

***

I think my joy is vanishing, I must stop relax and recover today. An American who is 'after' the Dutch pilgrim... So wooden, so phony. He's been chasing her since I met him the first night out from Le-Puy-en-Velay. I allow Americans to upset me too often. If I stay here today I will never see him or her again. Thankfully I was able to make a nice supper for two French pilgrims here in the Gîtes Chemin Faisant, but I bought the wrong wine for the repase... Oh boy - that's not like me at all. Today I decide about footwear and lighten the load and it looks like too nicer day to head up onto the bleak plateau... Coffee is calling. I will speak to Annie later and hopefully can stay a second night? 

***

I thought it better to go with the weather being good. The Aubrac is dangerous when it's cold and/or wet. So far my luck is hanging together. There are dark clouds around, but my waterproof is at the top of my backpack if a change occurs and I've my fingerless gloves close by too.

Earlier I sent a message to Le Tour de Anglais for tonight, but I might stop in Nasbinals once more. It's cheaper in the Nada and I don't want to push my left foot to 30+ Kilometres today... If it wasn't full...

Needed to use a WC just now - it was a hole in the floor affair without bog paper... I hosed myself down from the attached pipe and I am clean if soaked from the waist to the knees...

***

Nasbinals. Finally arrived in one whole piece. Neither my mind not body pulverised by the Aubrac. Covered the 30kms well, but the foot was eventually sore. I missed out on Le Tour de Anglais for the second time, but heavy clouds developed and a downpour resulted: as I watched the bedraggled pilgrims and walkers come up into the Bastide I grinned because it wasn't me...

Sharing a room in the municipal Gîtes (16.50€) with an extreme snorer. A big lad. A nice lad. Yet he could complete in the snoring event at the Olympics if there ever was a thing! I put earplugs in and didn't really hear him until this morning. I was genuinely tired from the walk and those couple of beers and a light dinner wiped me out. I paid for the night and turned in around 7pm...

***

The longest day. I set off at 7:30am and enjoyed the morning up to Aubrac where I ate an omelette and relaxed prior to going the wrong way down off the plateau. I knew I was on the wrong path(GR6) as it looked foreign to me, but I kept on anyway. Eventually it brought me to the left side of Saint Chely where I ate bœuf de la Aubrac for the first time. I then looked around for a place to stay. As I bumped into the octogenarian Graham there appeared to be a single space in Saint Chely so I let him take and took off back down the path I'd used last year in acute agony as the final nail was hammered into the Morton's Neuroma, but this time I was fine and happy and on a completely novel section of the Chemin Saint Jacques from the dreaded water trough where I plunged my feet in without a hope of ever going a step further without the pain taking away all the joy I'd been having...

With around 4kms to go, and after 35 good kilometres since breakfast, I saw a solitary car wobbling down off the steep road. In it's angelic whiteness I knew I was done for so climbed aboard and was brought the remaining distance. The branch I had carried and used for support going down since on the Aubrac, where I walked a little with a French guy who I'd last seen in Le Puy prior to his rest day back at the start of this Chemin, I dropped down alongside the road - it's function complete - and came to take the final bed for the final stage in the town I'd failed to tick off on the previous too occasions.

One of the most amazing scenes I saw this time out, leaving Aumont-Aubrac, was a sparrow-hawk taking a swallow on the wing... Such acrobatics and such devilry to provide sustenance for one's brood. At first I thought it was one of those tussles between birds for territory I've usually witnessed, but not this time. It was the highlight of the walk so far.

And I've let Tom, American, go from my fears. He reminded me of pinocchio being so wooden, but that's my fault not his as I have no idea what he's really like or where he is going so early ever morning...

***

In the end the love we give is equal to the love we make...

At 3pm I have woken up: France is a powerful antidepressant; it needs to be provided daily in a tablet form!

This morning I meandered around the largest city-wide Marché I've ever seen. Perhaps it's because Figeac ain't as large as Périgueux, Cahors or Albi

Ca plane pour moi playing over the airwaves @ L'annexe. A glass of vin blanc sec VdP 14cl - a perfect measure it must be said (we over gauge average wine and pay through the roof for it in the UK) - 4.50€. But tomorrow I will use the final day to walk with a pique-nique with the eggs I bought this morning and left overs. I've an ideal breakfast with yaourt au lait de brebis, brioche and bananas. I won't get carried away as I enjoy the final couple of nights within L'Hexagone. On Monday I catch a lift to Brive-la-Gaillarde and then fly into the UK arriving in to its cramped space through Stansted, then I catch two trains and step off the platform at Leeds Station a little prior to 8pm, where there is a drought developing, making it a place barren of hope: dust bowl Britain... For now I feel excellent. Tranquil and satisfied; I even showered and relaxed prior to this afternoon promenade.