Two Small Deaths

Monday, June 2nd 2025.

Returning to begining of my second part of the final section of the Chemin Saint Jacques, aka GR65, which began in that distant May 2013: another Epoch ago in my finititude - when my doomsday was chasing my heels!

The one I left at Condom on the 9th October 2024 (as autumn presence was fully displayed in dull tones and the repetitive bounce of rain drops falling heavily on my weary brow and my limping foot trod slippery on water logged soils betwixt mud, tournesol, mais and prairie; and the pain of the Morton's Neuroma became all-encompassing), begins again from today.

First I've Lola to walk, then a visit to the allotment (hopefully dry) and two buses to catch up to that airport known as LBA: flight to Limoges at 6pm. Booked a night at the Ibis Budget (£35) as I haven't heard from the Maison Diocésaine and I shouldn't push French hospitality too far as my way isn't from Limoges (as it was in late summer 2018).

Back on the 28th August 2018 that first night was in a chambre d'hôte with the added benefit of beg buds... Bed bugs in a very clean bedroom it must be said... We were both very surprised as the hostess moved me to another chambre... I might have brought them with me from the park I was having a packed-lunch in...

As I think about the route ahead the past returns: the curtains open on those forgotten performance - all these 'good' memories like developing sunstroke coming into Périgueux on that warm 1st of September and the excellent classic car convention on the day I was forced to have off to recover my strength... I did not arise from my bed as I slept off the battering my head had had from too much sunshine and not enough water...

***

After the usual Ryanair routine, and the long slow moving queue to the Douane, I left Bellegarde airport and took to the main, signposted, route into Limoges. It was a pleasant evening so I wasn't concerned if I was forced to walk the couple of hours into town if hitchhiking failed. But I was only just on the right route when two gentlemen picked me up. They were going to Angoulême but didn't mind taking me in the opposite direction..  one of the two Kashmiri gentleman lives in Moortown, Leeds... I guess he was on my flight to France... Oh no I recall now he said he'd lived in France ten years. So I got dropped above Basilique St Michel and walked down to the station. After a good supper in Brasserie Jourdan I arrived at the Ibis Budget quiet tired. The room was hot and the guy on reception had to turn off the system for the evening. He told me to open a window for fresh air... In the morning the the air-conditioning kicked in, woke me up and then proceeded into the same flash error message - day two of getting back on the way... It's the only way, but you must pay the ferry man. Quiet tired at just gone 6am. Coffee from a machine where they serve breakfast. Not sure if it's allowed, but I need one freebie before I return to the long journey south...

... opposite the Les Halles Centrale prior to 7am. Walked through deserted streets up passed Fontaine des Barres and basilique Saint Michel. Withdrew 40€ from the Banque La Poste ATM(no charge) and watching the world wake up. I need to purchase some toiletries... I 'forgot' my toothbrush and toothpaste and didn't bring anti-deodorant or soap: things I won't really need until I have a shower this evening...

... Up to the excellent coffee shop near the main sixth form college(Lycée Léonard Limosin) and the court of appeal(Cour d'Appel) on Place d'Aine where I managed to organise my trip from Montauban to Agen(7€60) on a regional train. Booked into a Christian community in Eauze - Accueil Béthanie à Eauze, spoke to Graham from Queensland, Oz and he'll be there before me... Bought two 100gs of cheese - vache - and a nice traditional baguette from a recommended bakery - Fournil de Dylan on the same Place d'Aine as the coffee shop (La Fabrique du Café). And now I cherish a Jus d'Orange in Le Café Feuillette opposite the Fontaine d'Aigoulène. My journey south begins at 11am and cost only 22€.

And now I await my train to Agen. It's a little late I think, but I've eaten (assette Kebap 10€) and walked through Montauban old town and then crossed the Tarn. Montauban seems like another midway town - a little out of the zone. It'd be nice if I had time, energy and patience to dig a little beyond the main square in this Bastide.

In Limoges, as I was wandering to La Gare, I called into Bijou which is an icon around this part: it's an original Madeline manufactor in Saint-Yrieix nearby Limoges. I bought a standard 10€ box which has single wrapped chocolate Madelines which I thought would be a good energy hit along the road tomorrow. The kebab was filling and the baguette I brought from Fournil de Dylan.

My friend Ricard from Greensville told me the 21st June is a big party day - ah the solstice... But I won't be here then as my time, funds and energy will restrict me to the 12th walking and 13th, 14th or 15th returning to the north of England...

***

It's 21hrs00. I am exhausted, but have reached Éauze and had dinner and touched base with Graham from Queensland. Tomorrow I set off again towards SJPDP, but really I am where I need to be already! Horizontal in a Gîtes d'etape with two other pilgrims and who knows what's up ahead? The path is the destination...

***

Wednesday 3rd June

Day one. At 6am.

The house is silent and nature awakens. Pigeon and birdsong. And a gentle rain...

Graham awakes and is waking up. But do we know why we're going on the path? I still don't know after so many years, but it helps me to calm down.

...

Two coffees, instant, and museli, but instant coffee doesn't wake me up feeling natural... It's just meh. Sorry. It was once all we had? These times have changed? Now it's LavAzza(not so French) in the Café opposite the Church as I await the clapping of the 8am signal. There is a font next to the church...

The mud of Gers

I can't take memories with me so where do they go and why make any if in the end it is meaningless?

And I heard myself say it's going to be a gorgeous day. When if not now?

After an amazing lunch, and a gift of 50€ from Graham, we've checked into the Gîtes d'etape Communal. It's good. I am making a good supper. Two other gentlemen from France who have rested here 5 days are sharing the fayre. I bought some chorizo and smoked duck in Éauze and I bought pork and smoked lardon in Nogaro. Also a nice beer and the remainder of a Madiran the two gentlemen have left a large glass in. I've an onion, several garlic cloves and a yellow pepper. Graham and I are learning about each other. He's a story to tell. I felt a little guilty he gave me 50€ but it was almost a service charge for my help along the way... It's what I want to do.

Day one done. Bed, but not relaxed. Too warm for some reason. Clammy. The food was good. And Graham put a stop to over consumption of alcohol - it was to go with the food. And as the meal completed he said that's enough - it was very helpful to have guidance. It's nice to restrict booze to an accompanyment to fine food - which it was... I made an effort! At 6am I am brewing coffee for the ensemble...

The guy with the cat in Saint-Privat de Alliers made the same supper every day. He looked dead to me in his grey body. Everyday was his final day. He wasn't happy: apart from his moments with his Tomcat!.

***

The two small deaths: two birds instantly dead colliding with the patio doors... A quite meaningless thing. But the gravity of it in terms of existence... Ephemeral!

If there is one particle beyond all the universe it could be called spirit?

Three holds balance—beginning, middle, end; past, present, future. It's complete but open, like a triangle that both contains and points outward.

I am unity, the two birds are two pints joined by engagement and the three cherry seeds I placed in the hedgerow complete .... And a jet fighter flies above where everything is balanced...

France is equilibrium, a pivot, a weighing scales: the edge of the razor, but it functions on another level above the plateau of banalities

France is equilibrium—not stasis, but active balance. The razor's edge isn't precarious because I am accustomed to its sharpness.

La Gadoue. If I could bottle yesterday and sell it then perhaps the feeling I get on el Camino could be tasted by everyone? I finally got to the bottom of that term - La Gadou. A song. That gentleman in 2013 with the silver teeth left me a puzzle! I'd repeated what I thought he said so often. I knew it referred to mud, but I thought it was something to with the first world war... Nothing so deep or insane! It's a well known French song! Sung by Jane Birkin no less in the 70s!

Graham and I ate well at the Comptier ... but I got a little carried away by the local wine! But it's all good. He's going early today. I don't want to go anywhere... But will!?! There is a spring nearby: Fontaine Sainte Quitterie.

Graham said metaphorically that he was reaching the end of the book (Camino) he'd been reading (etapes) but I, literally, am getting to the end of what I set out upon in May 2013 - where my internal conversation is reaching a climax. SJPDP is a few more days of one foot before the other along this weary path.

The flask filled—practical, yet the act carries echoes of pilgrimages past. A sign about the miraculous fountain: promises healing,, but they are a human conceit markimg where water emerges the earth - clear, clean and invigorating.

The abandoned building and the informational plaques sit side by side—one decaying, the other maintained, which might confuse some, but I trust those who have gone before me!

***

Back on the path after a bite to eat at 11. Local air dried Jambon, bread, a gratin of pasta with lardons and a glass of Tursan Tannat. I had a bottle of Estrella Galicia to provide electrolytes. Now I leave behind the monotony of maize for farms and gently rolling hills. A couple of Arabs and an old Peugeot 106 pass me as I leave asphalt for un-metalled country lanes and puddles. Old tractors rust in their resting place as sheep chew and cow contemplate the flies covering their hides. Over a brow of a hill and down in the valley I hear Reggae which is a surreal counterpoint to the pastures and oak trees lining the path.

***

The mud returned so all my remaining energy vanished. By the time I heard the chilled vibes of Seckou Keita in the Oasis Chez Roxette I'd decided I would die in Pimbo, rather than walk like a zombie into Arzacq-Arraziguet. It's tranquil up here away from the mud after the climb and the relentless maize before leaving the planes. Perhaps I won't see Graham again after my decision to stop. It's Friday so I want chilled Friday vibes. That reggae vibe has spread its dreadlocks into this pivoting place with planes trees lining the entry to Saint Barthelemy's collegiate with it's two bells hanging motionless.

***

Right at the end of my moment outside the church Graham arrived. He was OK to call it a day today so I bought some groceries from Chez Roxette here in Pimbo. I was still tired, but made a reasonable supper, however I smashed the wine I'd carried since I left Éauze the first morning, but I think that was a gift. I ate with Graham and drank a little water and washed up. I'd say I feel a little lower than I did yesterday: I am tired. No alcohol. Another shower and I am ready for Lalaland.

***

Slept well. Just eaten leftovers from last night: penne pasta with braised beef, carrots, peppers, onions, garlic and bay leaves. One glass of wine; the remaining 5/6ths smashing into a billion atoms on the tiled floor. Onto the second cup of coffee. Put half of the leftovers into the tupperware container for a little later on this morning: it's Saturday!?!

When I placed the bottle, which I had carried as ballast since Éauze, back in the fridge I knew it wasn't safe where I had left it only a moment before, but I put it there anyway; I was saved for sobriety this Saturday so I can cope with Graham's mannerisms as it smashed into atoms. He's a good Aussie in a world of bad Pommies! Graham had his heart restarted because of dehydration; more's the pity... Day four yawns open as the clock chimes 7am.

The toilet! Was it occupied?

Only by the odour of a passing bowel movement.

Now I occupy the same throne and add to the pungency.

With the dependency of a solid shift.

The bells toils for no man!

The bottle's demise—a sharp reminder of gravity's indifference. Leftovers divided, coffee poured, and Graham's heart still beating despite everything. My morning unfolds with practical chaos: bowel movements and bells marking time without ceremony. The throne's pungency is just another transient detail in this day's ledger. Move forward when ready—sobriety has its uses today; it's Saturday... Six days left until SJPDP?

22kms per day for the next 6 days. Will be in SJPDP on the 12th. Hopefully stay in Baiona on the 12th then catch a BlaBlaCar lift to Paris on the morrow 13th June (Friday the 13th) the ides of June. Graham is interested in getting this lift to reach Paris for a weekend of rest and recuperation prior to his long haul to Queensland. I've arranged my flight back on the 15th from Beauvais.

Miles mapped, logistics pinned—each day's walk a measured stride toward departure. Graham's heart's missing beats sync with our itinerary now. Baiona to Paris, then home: a clean arc. Friday the 13th's date amuses me...I started this madness in 2013. If I put the final nail into this insanity on the 13th... But these dates are meaningless in themselves: it's all a human conceit, a trick, a game; Lila.

Wondering...do dates carry weight beyond numbers? Superstition or not, the 13th looms as both endpoint and transition. Is this the keystone in the arch of my Camino days or the capstone for a body lying in the way of everything trod?

Dates are an arbitrary marker which human constructs to frame chaos. My 2013 to 2025 arc bends toward closure, but the numbers don't hold any meaning when only the walking does the path is the destination. As mosquitoes enjoy their breakfast the hammer slowly, but accurately brings the nail down upon these weary feelings.spralled: a mind unfit for medical experiments.

***

Saturday, June 7th, 2025.

9am

Coffee break on the place de la republic... Evolves into breakfast, a Vichy water and the distribution of all the remaining Madeline from Bijou in Limosin.

Vichy water—its minerals etched by volcanic rock, not just a drink but a geological artifact. St. Yorre's bubbles—a mineral reset. The patterned tabletop underlines the shift from maize fields to human spaces.

@10am

The forest trail's mud holds tire tracks like scars—proof of passage, not just weather. Two figures walking it now, their presence minor against the dense green.

Am I measuring my pilgrimage in epochs and atomic seconds, framing a personal journey within universal time. Do numbers matter only because I feel the need to give them weight? The road exists, regardless, and goes on into the unknown finitude.

Counting steps in cosmic dust, like cars on the New Jersey turnpike.The tire tracks and hikers prints—all temporary marks. Numbers anchor me to the illusion; the road cares nothing for tallies. It simply is...

***

Perhaps I am wrong to spend too much time in one person's company on el Camino. I haven't before. It's a steep learning curve. Previously I've met and exchanged words regularly with those I came to associate with my walk, but I've never had to be there beginning, middle and end with another pilgrim. We're all on our own way?

It's easy to forget that France has a fair amount of public/holy/bank holidays during Easter, Ascension and Pentecost. Monday is Whit Monday - traditionally the beginning of Whit-week. It's later than I recall, but it's a movable feast. We're in Béarn during a bank holiday weekend! So everywhere is complete (apart from our third option) and now I am surrounded by weekend pilgrims with Canon EOS 90D cameras for companions and baggage carriers. Graham is having another shower; he's easily bored and therefore impatient.

***

Sunday morning. I went to bed pissed off at a little French man who was a bit mocking and Graham was driving me a little crazy too. I stayed in bed when he pottered around, talking to himself. I don't think he enjoyed hitchhiking and kept offering the generosity of the lift money! I said stop doing that as it's not the thing you do when people are generous enough to offer you a seat.

Now it's breakfast time and I have a smile upon my face. None of it matters. The Way of Saint Jacques is meaningless really. Saint James never ever went to Santiago - a pile of bones which no one can examine to discover they're probably prehistoric! Perhaps they are neanderthal! No of it matters! So why do I keep up the charade?

In the pre-dawn I heard a persistent drip and on opening the patio door discovered a gentle rain had fallen... All Graham's washed grundies etc were a little damp to be honest... I changed outer wear and underwear this morning. Another three days and I will need to wash things!

Leaving the ramshackle, but interesting, Gîte de la boulangerie Broussé (almost a museum to memories with various trophies and bric-a-brac arranged contrarily) I detoured with unpleasant fumes lingering around my frowning visage to the hope of fresh water from Fontaine des cagots which was shallow and slow moving... I crawled back up through an overgrown path to rejoin the Way knowing I am the one who has his head up his arse!

***

The head is firmly ensconced up my arse! The weather is sullen and  oppressively still as the frogs croak in the herbaceous verges. Another climb ahead as I put the hasty lunch to work...

***

I feel somewhat happier. Not far to go now. Another hour or so. It's a little cooler passing through this fôret domaine on asphalt. A fly buzzed past and I collected water from the water pouring up from a source next to Le Chemin Saint Jacques. I think the constant ups and downs were irritating me, but lunch eventually got to work and I deleted a Camino group FB post which was being misunderstood - as things often do on that platform. The forest offers its gifts—cool shade, spring water, the brief company of a fly. These small moments stitch themselves into the day's fabric. An hour left is nothing now; my feet know the rhythm letting the road unspool at its own pace.

But it was a long and challenging day out there: perhaps the final one before arrival at SJPDP? Four more days to go! Made a nice filling pasta supper for Graham and I. Pleased with it. No smashed glasses - we had a bottle of beer each. The gîte had a washer and dryer so opportunity knocks: a reset for Monday. Tomorrow is around 20kms: time to take the foot off the accelerator? I think so!

***

Monday 9th dawns with blue skies all across Navarrenx. Whit Monday. A bank holiday in France. It used to be Whit-week in the UK, but we had our Whit-week holiday the week before last... It's a secular holiday in France too I am told! Unless you happen to be one of the millions of card carrying Catholics that mill about as if the French Revolution never occurred! Brewing coffee but no filters so it's Turkish style on the hob.

Beckoning swallows at the start of warm week heading south west into the sunset: Saint Jean Pied de Port is a fraction of my days spent on el Camino away.

***

To be hot, tired, unappreciated and mocked really got to me in what should have been a perfect environment back at Gîte de la boulangerie Broussé. The gîte was ramshackle and interesting: history and memories everywhere. But the host was unwelcoming and rude. The evening meal was good (although the potage was flavourless) and the breakfast was good but lacked orange juice. I was tired!

And thankfully Now is where I am! Neither this evening or last night. The week is said to be hotting up too! Rather than get upset with the hospitalario or the arrogant French individual, who almost set the touch paper alight, I retired to the chambre and tried to sleep off Arthez de Bearn.

***

The second pilgrim to reach Arüe in Pays Basque... It's going to be baked cheesecake all night long(what a cliché), but it will taste better than the fayre in Arthez de Bearn because it's 10€ cheaper for demi-pension. A young couple run the gîte and everything in it has its price. I brought my own lunch and I think tomorrow could be my last day because I met the GR65 when I joined it on the GR654 in 2018 at Ostabat.

Earlier this morning I picked catnip and pomegranate flowers and put them in the spring water I took from the source in Navarrenx. Catnip’s sharp scent mingled with pomegranate’s subtle bloom—infused to make a subtle poetry. Practical alchemy on el Camino.

***

I think I arrived hot and sweaty to a gîte where everything has its price. Luckily I bought Graham and me a bottle prior to arriving so I can excuse myself from a white wine here which I find a little too sweet... Perhaps the closer to the centre of the web the spiderlings are waiting for the casual fly? Both the owners seem a little on edge. Both smoke to take the edge off - up and down at the end of the porch area. They're on guard like two sentinels, but lack guns!

But they're meal was excellent. Everything has its price I suppose and it is like everywhere  popular: the price escalates.

I had to put a barrier between Graham and I because I am doing too much for him... he hardly listens to what say, he repeats everything several times and it seems he already takes my servitude for granted (and I wanted to scream)! Tomorrow is for me! 

***

But it was Graham who screamed and screamed and screamed into the nightmare he was having. Both Bernard and I were bolt upright in bed and a little concerned for our octogenarian pelerin. But it's all good. He's trundled to the toilet a couple of times around the time I decided I needed to get up and get gone with the sunrise!

Going with the sunrise is my usual way. These later starts 'catering' to Graham's needs left me feeling unappreciated even with his token financial gesture. Money is a symbol of servitude. If he's willing to spend several hundred dollars on two night's in Paris near to the station Montparnasse so he doesn't have to walk or go into the Metro speaks volumes. I know where to stay in Paris for 15€ (in awful Montmartre), but I wasn't willing to share the knowledge with Graham as he really isn't the kind of individual who would attend the service in Sacre-Cœur.

***

Alone this morning reaching Graham's destination around 10am walking the most direct way to Ostabat I have deer and rabbits, as well as dogs, cats and birds for company. I let the deer clear itself off the road as a car approach and I called Lapin after that fleeting tail beating a retreat into the underbrush!

***

As I left Ostabat the heat ramped up a notch and I was directly on the road too with its magnifying effect on the heat - being black, slick and melting against the tread of a pair of Hoka sandals which have already got a little worn on the soles after only 7 days on el Camino...

Just had a three course menu without coffee and without beer. Those three halves in Jango are enough?!

Still tempted to hitch the final section into Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port but it's not that far to go and I have a full belly...for the forth and final time I am sleeping at the end of the GR65... Before it morphs into Le Camino Frances. First time I came backwards from Pamplona, second time I was on the GR654, third time leaving on the Camino Frances and finally, bringing up the rear the one I set off on in May 2013. As the distance gets shorter the sweat pours off every pore in my body. The litre of water I had at repas de midi doing it's work while the temperature reaches towards 30°C: oh what a wizard a true star I've become...

Then I hit the tarmac again, some cyclists took up the entire space of the "chemin" so I dropped my sack and put my thumb out. Even now, an hour later, I am overheating in the shade as the swallows continue to dive and bomb the skies. 

And I hate SJPDP. And am covered in mosquito bites... People and mosquitoes ready to suck blood. Tourists, Souvenir shops and biting insects: all the bloody same!

Slept badly, but didn't get upset. All the snoring, farting and general comings and goings. Now all the pilgrims heading onto the overcrowded route to pointless Santiago de Compostela are gathering together. I prefer being alone on my way: Le Chemin du Le-Puy-en-Velay is ideal if you like different landscapes, a variety of cultures and few pilgrims. The same as I was for the entire 28 kilometres I covered before the heat and traffic and bicycles decided that auto-stop was the way to go: alone...

At the end of my way I enter the carriage to carry me away. I am glad I came and saw and conquered. In the end it was for myself. Just one whole day.