pocket-full-of-seaglass

-Seyssel-

Today, I woke up at 6.25am, covered in dew. It had gotten cold, and I had had a bit of a miserable night – my choice in park benches was unwise, and every bone in my body ached. But it was hard to actually be under the weather while the sun rose over the Rhône. If you aren’t yet sick of how much I love the Rhône, don’t worry, because it continues for all of today <33

I packed my things as the first swimmers arrived, and I longed to join them, but I knew if I went in I’d stay another night just to be in the water, so I kept away. I needed to make up for lost time – with flights for Christmas booked, I now did have a deadline. I would need to be in Santiago (the second time), by December 15. That left me 113 days, including today. And I was not walking quite long enough for it to work. I needed to be making at least 20km days, every day from now on.

I was still wanting to give myself a fighting chance though, and so I was backing myself. I’d been averaging 18km a day, and that wasn’t so far off. On top of that, the Via Gebennensis was very uphill-downhill, where the others tended to flatten off a little. That would help with my pace, and I was hoping I could mostly catch up that way. But I would still start now.

So at 8.00am (the one day I woke up early was the one day I needed to wait for shops to open), I backtracked forty minutes into Seyssel. If possible, it was even more beautiful in the morning – the sun sent the reflections of the yellow buildings wobbling across the water, and the church towered above everything. It was more alive today, more people wandered over the ancient footbridge onto the main road, looking for friends and siblings.

I wandered on into the outskirts, trying to find the tourist office to ask about a credential. They had no idea – but not here. It would wait again. Back down I went, this time in search of a shop. The only one remotely near me was a little cornerstore, where I bought some apples, very overpriced almonds, yoghurt, and – responsibly – splurged on a magnum. It was already 37*, leave me alone. Breakfast was sorted then, and I ate in the shade of the church, watching little birds pick at the fountain.

And then, like every time before, I was off.

-Pont du Fier-

The walk to Pont du Fier was two kilometres of zero shade along the Rhône, and the back of my neck was boiling. But the worst was yet to come; the way had begun t a u n t i n g me. I turned the corner to find a n o t h e r isolated pool, this one e n t i r e l y in the shade, surrounded by swings and fun-playground-things-I-was-now-a-little-too-old-to-go-on-alone-without-looking-creepy. The French were out in full force, relaxing and having fun. Bastards.

I pressed on, down a windy – but thankfully shady – road, with cars few and far between, listening to the glee fade away in the distance. I was once more rubbing shoulders with the Rhône, and I followed it’s dips and curves for another few kilometres, until I heard the gentle thunder. Barrage de Motz – a massive dam. It was almost jarring, seeing a gigantic industrial structure after my morning of nothing but bike paths and water.

After passing the local kayak river guides about to start their morning appointments, the way leads you straight ahead towards some rocks that definitely don’t look like a path, but once you clear them you find yourself in,,, a new climate?

Almost instantaneously, you enter what feels like a rainforest. The river rushes on, just out of eyesight, as tall, broad leafed plants hang heavy with heat. The ground is cobble and mud, thick sludge coating the soles of your shoes. The birds chirp lower here, and hidden animals click and croak as you pass. And then it ends.

You arrive at the top of a hill to find two houses and the same dry, hot fields you left not ten minutes ago. The locusts and grasshoppers Tick and Boing across the road, where slugs have turned to stone and died on the burning asphalt. The humidity is almost gone, the broad green plants switched for brittle corn. What was that?

Leaving the microclimate behind you, you walk 50m past vineyards and pastures before coming to a road that forks sharply downhill into the shade. You will follow this road all the way into Motz, which, if your general fitness also leaves something to be desired, will take you around thirty minutes.

Motz is a cute little town you will see very little of, considering at the very first house you turn right and go directly behind the treeline. Here, you go downhill on an incredibly sheer angle down smooth stone, almost tripping over your own feet every three steps. The upside is, your downhill is marked with seemingly endless vineyards, and the grapes look delicious. But I do not take any, not today, because all I can think about it the German guidebook referring to the act as “mouth theft”, which is the first – but not last! – flawless translation of the day.

Do not take the shade for granted, because soon you’ll enter – for you – about an hour of straight sun. And it’ll fucking suck. And you’ll probably curse God. And then every bit of wind will stop and you’ll go ‘Jesus Christ sorry’ and she won’t like that either.

Eventually I felt like I was going insane with the heat, and began searching for a place to sleep. Can’t be hot if you’re not even there! The very first shady spot with even ground I came upon was my bed. Stretched out between the long-empty gravel road, live electric fences, a tree and a ,, Big Log, I slept like a baby.

For about ten minutes. Tragically, you actually can still feel the heat asleep, and I woke in what can only be described as a plash of sweat. But heat had another force to reckon with : I was Eepy. I slept again. And again. Each time I woke tired and gross, I would simply rotate and try again, for the better part of an hour. Then I sat up and let the wind dry me as I downed my water and ate one of my (delicious) apples. A brilliant purchase!

From here, it was only ten minutes to Mothy.

-Mathy-

Mathy was – and this may shock you – lifeless. Not a soul stirred as I wandered the gravel main road. Okay, that wasn’t entirely fair; several lizards scampered away from my shadow, and I guessed that counted. I found a small cabinet tacked to the outside of a small, open, brick shell of a house with all the stamps and pens a pilgrim could desire, along with an invitation to rest in the shade. Damn. I seemed to always miss the best spots by a few minutes!! If only the sleep hadn’t struck so fast,,

I had one goal and one goal only in Mathy : get water. I still had 1/4 of my bladder and 1/2 of my bottle, but I knew by now that would run out far quicker than I was anticipating. And after this, there’d be nothing for 4km, until the rest stop in Les Borsières. After doing loops around the town, I came up blank. There was one tap, but it had no indication that it was potable – and in the (literal) heat of the moment, I decided 4km was better than getting really ill and not being able to walk for days.

Now, I don’t know if any local masters of perception have noticed that I tend to end paragraphs with positivity and then – shock horror – start the next ones with a very millenial ‘well that didn’t last huyuck’, but it’s a disease and I can’t stop, so indulge me.

I ran out of water about twenty minutes from Mathy. Aaaah. Not good. Well, technically I had about two mouthfuls left in my bottle, but I was saving those. The heat was really starting to get at me, so I paused again, downed some terrible almonds (cannot believe I spent almost €6 on bad almonds) and an apple. What I undoubtedly should’ve done was go, ‘hey, it’s better to have some maybe a little bit dodgy water than it is to have none, or hey! You could even ask someone where to find some :]’. But as soon as he heard the last part, my cynic took over. Dead French town ?? Find someone ?? I’d have to knock on doors – I’d sooner die of dehydration.

So I trudged on, lamenting my cynic. From this point on, I cannot tell you the exact path, because all I was focused on was getting myself so distracted I couldn’t think about my thirst. I had started to miss the music too much, and played a few songs quietly out loud – only knowing there were no houses for kilometres and I hadn’t seen a human person since Seyssels. But soon I could hear the water again, and turned it off. Oh the Rhône! I’d never seen something so beautiful ; it’s weird slightly milky water was like something out of a film.

As I followed it, I couldn’t help but think about the rest stop. Soon soon soon. I would meet the Rhône, dip away, reconnect and at that interception would be Les Borsières. All I had to do was get there. I refused to stop until I arrived; without water, it would be so much harder to start again. I pushed on, and on. 4km stretched into decades – anyone starting to notice a common theme here? – but finally, the sign was there. I had made it to the rest stop :]

-Les Borsières-

To be clear, the rest stop was a bench.

-Pont de la Loi-

Fuck fuck shit fuck. I was so thirsty. My next stop was meant to be Chanez, another 8.5km away – I physically wouldn’t be able to make it. Milky river water has never looked so good (I didn’t). After consulting the map, I discovered that the Camino also brushed against another town a few kilometres down the road : La Loi. Tiny, but a town nonetheless. Surely this wouldn’t be another Mothy – they’d have a fountain.

I took the last swig of my water to motivate myself, and kept going. Another thirty minutes trundled by, and I was talking to myself – not a symptom of the dehydration, just for fun – when the bushes beside me shook with force. Oh. What maniac lay in wait, ready to murder pilgrims, what feral beast – cat :]

She perched on the nearest rock and I was in love. Eye of the storm and all that, because when I turned around, everything was alright in the world. I had stumbled upon – and I need you to know I’m serious – a secret cat society. They were e v e r y w h e r e, sitting in trees and laying on the ground and dipping their paws in the puddles. They had completely taken over this long decrepit house in the forest, and I had disturbed them. They fled, disappearing into the ether, as I neared their home.

The path soon twisted, and I jumped a fence to cut into La Loi. It was bigger than Mothy, significantly, and so I had hope – but that was quickly dwindling. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Finally, my cynic cracked. Seeing a man walking down the street, I ran back down towards him before he turned into his house and I lost him, looked him in the eye and spewed out some vaguely French word vomit. He tilted his head and I tried again; miraculously, it worked. He told me to follow the path to the restaurant where I would find eau potable. Merci!

And there it was – heaven on earth. A toilet, water spout a n d an eco-charging-port-bench (?) for bikes and everything else you could imagine, which conveniently was made in the best napping shape possible.

I drank, and drank and drank, then drank some more, and then drank a bit. I was a thirsty man – I had walked for seven kilometres without water. Then I went to the bathroom, which had what I would consider a standard toilet (getting used to the squatting ones here had taken a few days); yet another luxury. I didn’t nap, but I did reassess my day.

My goal was still to make it to Chanez, not for any real reason other than the fact that it had a shop and I needed groceries (a few apples and shitty almonds was Not cutting it), but as I looked for a new Thing to push me on, I found it.

Le Burger.

I hadn’t thought about burgers once in the last month but suddenly I could imagine nothing better. Plus, it was literally called Le Burger and that is s o funny, how could I not ?!? With my new aim in mind, and the storm brewing, I walked on, attempting to teach myself restaurant-related phrases.

-Étang Bleu-

Another three kilometres had disappeared behind me when I arrived in Étang Bleu. Would anyone like to make a guess as to what would resuscitate my mood entirely? Ding ding ding ! Another swimming spot :]

Not that I realised it at first – what caught my eye was a small restaurant, just beginning to open. And I was so dead, and Chanaz was still so far away, and I was like a moth to fairylights because the second they turned on I had made my decision. I took a picture of the menu trying out the Google translate picture to words thing and my god – what an invention. As I backtracked a little to the camping table and toilets I had just passed to change into a nicer (read : dry) shirt, I had to contain myself. The desire to order ‘you & her shit moss’ was mounting.

After people watching for a moment so I would know what to do, I approached the counter. Fumbling through my French, I got a table. I felt crazy, sitting next to all these beautiful people in beautiful clothes with my hiking clothes still reeking of sweat, even after cleaning myself up! I was out of place, and I knew it. Not good for Mr. Cynic.

I was still trying to wrangle him back down when I ordered; nailed the things I wanted – a burger (sue me) and orangina, but was entirely undone when she asked how I wanted the burger cooked. Not a fucking word processed, and so I had to confess my inability to actually speak French. Luckily, she spoke English, and everything was okay. I was fucking ecstatic. Not to be incredibly lame, but ordering at a restaurant in my own language was horrifying enough, and doing it almost entirely in another language, a n d it being okay?? This was huge for me :]

They did only have one burger, and it was meat, but I was too hungry to care, and I needed the protein. So, I caved. So long, vegetarianism (minus the tuna and salami). It came, and it was delicious, and man did I love orangina, and as the sun set over the mountains I felt genuinely proud of myself – how surreal.

After I finished and paid, I walked down the road a little, planning to get at least a little closer to Chanaz, but my plans came to a screeching halt when I saw the swimming hole not fifty metres from the restaurant. Fucking y e s. It was too dark now to swim but tomorrow morning I would not make the same mistake as today. I laid against my pack for a time, waiting for the stragglers to leave and watching the trains pass by on the tracks above the lake. Then, like I had on the second night, I unrolled my mat and slept beneath the stars :]

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Day 4 – August 24th

Seyssels to Ètang Bleu

19km

~ 84km total

€37.17

~ €92.41 total