pocket-full-of-seaglass

-Compesières-

Rest was a strong word. I woke once to see a face in the trees opposite me, but evidently looked away at the perfect moment when what I can only describe as a Creature came bounding on out and ran directly at the tree I was under and vanished. The face was gone – must’ve been leaves. Then I woke up again as the sun rose to find that there wasn’t a tree opposite me, and so it must have actually been a man just watching. Try going to sleep after realising that: not much bloody fun!

Anyway, after much trial and error and thinking a towel would be as functional as a sleeping bag, I eventually slept around six hours. At 8.00am I woke up properly, repacked my bag and got as ready as I could when you’re sleeping on a bench between a church an a main road, then got onto my daily chores. So far I had only one : translate the goddamn guidebook. As I’d learnt attempting to enter/leave Saconnex last night, relying on a guidebook I could sometimes half understand was not going to work. So, at each stop, I would sit down and translate as much as I could, then google would help me with the rest. That way (hopefully) I would stop getting so lost and befuddled!

As I sat down and began translating, I saw my first pilgrim! We both had red backpacks (though his was not even close to as overflowing as mine was), and he also seemed confused which gave me hope. He disappeared around the corner, and soon I was ready to follow – after I had filled up my water in the graveyard, naturally.

I hadn’t realised last night how close I was to the border – I crossed it within a half hour. I was in France !! As Switzerland wished me ‘byebye’, I crossed the road and made my way uphill.

I quickly realised the heat on its own was not a large problem, but the heat paired with my own unfitness ?? I was drenched. Never in my life have I sweat so much I could wring my shirt out I need everyone to understand how disgusting I felt. Not to be helped by the next two pilgrims I wandered on past, who were leapfrogging me every thirty minutes; both cool calm and collected while I staggered on behind.

–Neydens–

After another hour, I reached Neydens. I was parched, and needed the bathroom, badly. Although I had ended up having to piss in some fields behind the church last night, I was really hoping to not have to repeat the experience. The church seemed to be shut, and I couldn’t locate the water fountain or toilets. In a genius move on my part, I pushed on. Maybe two kilometres later I realised just how terrible of an idea that was.

I had gotten lost (again), and now had to backtrack and climb nearly 300m to get to Verrieres. Without water. Wuh oh !! About 3/4 of the way to the top, a Godsend appeared. A small church, dedicated to pilgrims of the Way – complete with altar, four chairs and a minuscule rosary drawer. A woman (presumably Mary), looked down on me in colourful glass, and there was an open book filled with messages of pilgrims past. Including one from today, from the only two pilgrims I had seen this far (the leapfrogging couple). Heiße, Heiße, Heiße! Fucking Germans !!!

I did immediately feel better given that Germans are far too into being Sportlich, and proceeded to piss n o t behind a church, but rather in some woods nearby. It was almost degrading how fast my brain had switched into caveman mode. But! I then washed my hands and took off my boots to air out my stinking feet.

I stretched out on the cool pavement, charged my phone a little so I could continue listening to music, and closed my eyes.

Two hours later, I woke up. I felt fresh, and relaxed, and dry and – how are there more Germans? She sat down next to me, and we talked for awhile. She was from Berlin, and was making the trek to Santiago as well, although she didn’t know if she had enough time to get to Finisterre. Being the first human I had spoken to in almost three days, I got exhausted quickly, and soon I had packed up my things and continued wandering – after a quick ‘Bon Chemin’!

-Verreries-

Reaching the entry to the town took only another few minutes, where I then had my second decision to make. Usually, churches and cemeteries were almost guaranteed to have a potable water source, and the pilgrims church did not. Verrieres was technically a ‘village’ of Neydens, and so did not have it’s own church. The next closest water fountain would be one town over, a two kilometre round trip. After a bit of internal debate, I decided two kilometres would be well worth the water, and turned directly away from the scallop shells.

Of course, when I arrived the fountain was bone dry with not a soul in sight to ask for help. Shit! By the time I had returned to Verreries, I was really worried. I hadn’t drunk anything since leaving Neydens, and I honestly thought of turning around and walking back down purely to look a bit better for the fountain. I hazarded against that though, and continued to follow the shells.

At the top of a windy stretch of road, in the middle of a rose garden, I met my first Camino angel. He was jogging, and noticed my empty water bottle – and led me to a small tap I had walked past not two minutes ago.

“This is the last one for three kilometres!” He said, and I almost cried.

He waved off all thanks and wished me Bon Chemin, then off he ran.

It was here that I met my German friend from earlier, as she rounded the corner and joked that I really had not made it far at all. As she filled her bottle, I became aware that something in my bag had split; weird residue was coating everything. We walked together uphill, until I found a place to sit and sort, and we parted ways. I wasn’t confident I would see her again; she seemed far fitter than I, and so we said goodbye and good luck. And then it was quiet once more.

I got passed by one other pilgrim, a man with (yet another) red backpack. Not entirely surprising, given that the outdoorsy colour schemes for men seemed to be red, navy and black – ve r y boring. My searches for an obnoxious yellow hiking rucksack had not yielded much :[ I spent the next hour resting, eating lunch and cleaning my things. Once I was repacked, I pulled on my bag and set off once more.

-Beaumont-

I had a blister. Two, to be exact. On the same toe. Little bit cooked, but what can you do!

Turns out : you can take a break. My ‘pace’, if it could even be called, that was really taking a hit due to incessant breaks – every town was marked with a sit down in the shade. All I wanted was a cold shower and a nap, but alas, Beaumont was where the heat hit. It laid wobbling across everything, thick and heavy and immobile.

As I walked into town, past the gîte which had once been a cheese factory, I was i t c h i n g to go inside – if only I had a credential. My stubbornness in not staying a night in Geneva had come back to bite me in the arse; the church here was closed too. No pass for me today.

It was now 4.00pm, and I had only around four hours until the sun set – unlike last night, I wanted to be set up and ready for sleep when it did. So, after a quick rest in a bus shelter, I tugged my boots back on and followed the signs to Col du Mont-Sion.

-???-

Or at least, started to. Almost immediately I ran off course, down a good few hundred metres of steep, steep downhill – which naturally lead to a dead end. I cannot properly describe the feeling that came over me when I realised I would have to get back up; something between dread and jesus-fucking-christ-why-am-i-doing-this. Eventually, I made it back to the cemetery I had passed moments before losing my way, and what better timing could there be !! I was out of water. I quickly filled my bottle and took a few gulps before realising the water was milk white. Ahhhh. Not good.

If I get some sort of crazy illness just know it is entirely because I drank what I can only assume is liquid death.

After a little bit of searching, I found the actual water fountain. Small and green, it had a screw with no screw, a hole for a button sans button, and a spinny top that did,,, nothing ?? Having already resigned myself to dehydration part two, I was halfway across the cemetery when a little boy came running up to me and tugged me back. He led me to a woman crouched down by the fountain, waving me over. She showed me to spin it and then let g o and step back – sure enough, out poured the water.

We talked in broken languages until I had replaced my water-bladder, about homes and distance and the hugeness of the world. The boy waved goodbye to me as I disappeared down the road.

-The Woods-

After passing through the small but winding down of Jussy, I entered what was supposedly the final fifty minutes before Col du Mon Sion. The first section cut through a gorgeous forest, where sky-divers and hang-gliders soared through above the cracks in the trees. I laid down on a bench, and was genuinely considering staying the night, but I was too afraid – of the noise, of the Creatures, of the Things in the Dark. I was not yet used to any of the noises – a forest would not end well.

So I wandered on, passing cows and places of pilgrim worship alike. Rolling meadows and towering cliff faces surrounded me, and the sun was beginning to set. It was warm and muggy and I was getting seriously sleepy. And so I did what anyone would do, and walked until I found an empty meadow. No signage, no fences. Just a wide open space directly by the path, but hidden by the trees. Perfect.

I sat and wrote, waiting for the sun to go down in earnest. As the last light faded, I rolled out my mat and sleeping bag, balled my jacket up as a pillow, and tried to sleep. The noises were eerie here too, all snapping twigs and jittery legs. But there was something about the meadow that felt oddly safe. The sky seemed endless, and the stars were slowly beginning to peek through the twilight. I would be alright :]

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Day 1 – August 21st

Compesières to ??

15.5km

~ 26.6km total

€0

~ €13.60 total