pocket-full-of-seaglass

-Ètang Bleu-

As it would happen, I did repeat the mistakes of yesterday. When I woke at 6.45am, I was freezing. I couldn’t stomach the thought of the surely frigid water, and instead repacked my damp bag, hanging yesterdays’ socks on the outside of my pack to dry and pulling on my,,,, other,,, socks,,,,,

Where were my other socks?? I had three pairs with me, today all but one had vanished. They must have fallen out while I walked and I hadn’t noticed!!!! This was a problem, because without a rotation of socks, blisters would become much more common and much worse. Thankfully, I had night-socks; thick, warm, woollen ones. Not exactly hiking material, but they worked in a pinch, while these ones dried. I would add them to my growing list of things to look out for in the bigger towns I passed.

Right as I was about to leave, completely ready with pack on, I put my hand in something wet – slugs. They were everywhere (I’d had to flick a few off me after I got out of my sleeping bag this morning), and I groaned, leaning down to wash my hand in the icy water. Only, it wasn’t icy. It was,,, warm?? Refusing to think about the fact that I could have gone swimming and it would’ve helped me, I took the next road to Chanez.

Once more, I followed my beloved Rhône. The sun had not quite risen over the neighbouring hills – it was only 7.00am – and the soft orange glow of the morning began to hit the tallest trees on the mountains. It was so peaceful, so quiet. It felt like I was the only one awake. At a crossroads at the end of Ètang Bleu, you go straight ahead, then through a small (cattle?) gate onto a gravel road that mimics the river, twists and winds. Here the river splits, engulfs you; on either side they glimmer, one on the right hurriedly dashing, and on the left sloping gently along. Here is where the Instagram-level blue water is – I couldn’t get the pictures right because of the reflections, but just imagine Aeroplane-jelly-pond-style-cake blue mixed with those fake glass pebbles old people put in their gardens and you’re halfway there <33

Speaking of halfway there – you better focus! You’re about to arrive :]

-Chanez-

Located just a few kilometres from my starting point, Chanez is split between two sides of the Rhône river, linked with the almost ludicrously tall foot-bridge. And it’s stunning. I arrive at around 7.30am, only to discover the shops are shut until 8.00am. I wait outside the local gîte and try and kill time by refilling my water – not much success, it’s pay to drink (not a chance).

Standing at the top of the bridge, I pause and people-watch for a second. I love early mornings; the gentle buzz of a town about to come alive. But there, in the distance, leaving the town – could it be ?? A blue checkered shirt ?? Tall wooden pole ?? German level short jorts ?? And a paddy cap ??

Craig !!!!!

He was here, I was sure of it. Or was, anyway – he had already disappeared on the path. He was so goddamn q u i c k it didn’t make any sense for him to still be here, but that was his pack!! I’d try to chase him down eventually – but I couldn’t think about that right now, because I needed to find food.

Wandering up the sidestreet towards the local épicière, I clocked that today was going to be the reunion special. Because there, waiting outside with the packs, were two of the four that I had leapfrogged in the shade before Charly, three days earlier, two of the four I had met with breifly in Chaumont that night.

“Bonjour, bonjour!”, one of them smiled, “Ow arh yew dewoing own theese fine mor-nong?”

(French accents would never get less funny)

We swapped pleasantries, them laughing as I pulled on a push door only to realise it wasn’t a push door I just hadn’t pulled hard enough but then when I pushed it harder nothing happened and then I had to get rescued by the o t h e r two who opened it for me. [Run-on sentences are a myth made up by Big Writing! Live your rambly dreams <33]

Waving goodbye to one another, I grabbed my next lot of groceries; a baguette take two, chocolate pastry-somethings, some apples, an orange, a nectarine, a tomato and a bottle of coke. One of those does look a little out of place but the bubbles made it constantly feel cold and I had a feeling today’s temperature would be worse – wet heat always was.

Walking back down into Chanez, I went to t o w n on that nectarine. It was the most ripe, delicious fruit I’d ever eaten in my life, and the juice was running all down my arms and it all just felt like summer. I was in a fantastic mood as I chucked the seed into the bin and started my climb uphill; a mood that only improved upon realising whose packs I was following up – the two Germans from day one !!! Hieße, heiße, heiße !!

I swapped a bit of laughter with them as I passed too; we all knew they’d pass me again later while I napped, then I’d catch up again and our cycle would continue. I still had yet to talk to them in German though, so I swore that if I saw them again tomorrow, I’d try.

The path out of Chanez is long, and winds through towns which are more just scattered collections of a couple houses chucked together, occasionally with a water fountain. It leads up, up, up onto the mountain, then flattens to reveal a brick home in the midst of an immense vineyard. It was here, on the outskirts, that I paused for breakfast. I took off my shoes, laid back against my pack and watched the storm roll in. (The four French and two Germans passed me here, laughing at my long breaks).

Realising it would soon start to rain, I clocked that I had a problem. My raincover,,,, no longer fit overmy backpack. I had too many things strapped to the outside, tents and mats and dirty socks and now – a fucking baguette. After a lot of manoeuvring, I managed to make it almost work. The baguette would stay dry, and that was the important thing.

Gradually, it started to pitter-patter, and I recollected myself, optimistically put on my rain jacket, and went forth. About two minutes later the rain really started, and two minutes after that I took the jacket back off. You though the initial sweat was rough, try wrapping it in plastic and then t r a p p i n g it. Foul! A little while later, the rain tapered off anyway, so it was for the best <33

It was a long, long, long walk to my next stop. Stubbornness had won again, and I refused to rest until I hit Jongieux le Haut. Only problem was, that was taking a while. And it was starting to rain again. Oh well!

As the rain picked up, I found myself wandering over hills and past towns into valleys, climbing sharply to church steeples and then down just as quickly. Apparently, it was because the hills made great vantage points to see any threats to the surrounding area (obvious answer, lame) but also because it made it easier for medieval pilgrims (new answer, surprising, fun fact) – instead of following the shells, as I did now, they would follow the churches. Climb to the top of a mountain to see the church? You’ve got a pretty solid shot at seeing the next one.

Still didn’t help the fact I was climbing bloody mountains to Not sit down!! The Germans split off as I caught up to them, taking the shorter variant trail. I almost envied them. The declines were worse than the uphills anyway. At least in the rain. In the rain, each step was a maybe, every rock a what if. The endless drizzle had made the smooth cobble a warzone; I slipped three times. Each time, I had a split second of panic – if I injured myself, I wouldn’t be able to finish the Camino. All three times I was okay, but I had a newfound twinge in my right knee – too much pressure and it would jerk. Not the best, but manageable.

The upside to such a long walk is that I have a lot of time on my hands – more time than I’ve probably had to date. And I had nothing to do. This was what I was excited about ; left actually completely alone – who was I? I wanted to ponder my Big Questions and figure out where I stood on myself. I wanted to dissect my brain and better understand what made me tick. There’s a saying people who have done the Camino before often reference; that there’s three parts. Body, mind and soul. I was definitely in the body section, so I wasn’t too stressed when none of my big questions even got mentioned.

Today, the walk was just an excuse for daydreaming. It was cold and rainy and I knew that sans the whole scaling mountains thing, my partner would l o v e it here. It was weird, being here without them; sure, it had never been the plan for them to come, but still, there was a sort of,, emptiness when they weren’t around. Long distance was a motherfucker!

Luckily for me, distraction was possible today. So much gorgeous scenery meant I was making stories at the drop of a hat. I hadn’t imagined this many lines, created this many characters since I was tiny, writing on my dad’s laptop about sweet kingdoms and vegetable kingdoms after watching Wreck It Ralph for the first time. It was,,, nice. I’d missed the little rambly writer in my brain :]

So for the hour leading up to my next stop, I followed a story about lovers and loss and fixing old wrongs and trying to reconnect with people you haven’t seen in years. And I was getting really into it too; the last false-alarm-town had a fountain, and I was irritated because it interrupted me from the story I was trying to figure out. I wanted to know how it ended!

-Jongieux le Haut-

Eventually, I made it. I put down the slowly expanding book so I could rest, eat a chocolate pastry, air my feet, close my eyes. Except there they were: the fantastic four. I had learned as I walked that they were two French couples (no idea of their names yet), but more than that I had not a clue. They were drinking in the shade, cooling off with water. And here is where I do a very Max thing and get competitive.

I wanted to win.

Now, I also didn’t know what that meant at this point, but I knew I wanted to beat them. And so rather than rest my eyes, I pulled my shoes back on and began to walk once more. Directly uphill. Of course.

The road is more of a gravel trail that leads you up through vineyards and apple trees to the next town on top of the hill. Here, I half learned from my mistakes and filled up my bottle with ‘eau non controllee’ or ‘we-don’t-really-check-if-it’s-okay-to-drink-but-it’s-probably-fine’. It was c o l d and thank god too, because the sun had just come back out and it was heating up fast. From here, there was an incredible view over the very mountain I had passed this morning – it seemed so far a w a y – and I couldn’t believe I had walked so far already!

On the hills in the distance I could see a steeple – small, stocky and weirdly,,, drawing ?? It was so isolated, the other towns were so far spread out it seemed odd to have a church all alone up here? I wanted to investigate, and thankfully the path led me straight to it.

It was the Chapel of Saint Romain, and it was,, shut. But hey, got me to the top! There was shade, and benches with cold marble countertops and I wanted so badly to sleep, but I could see the four in the distance and I wanted to be the first one to Yenne (it may be stupid, but anything to push me on).

Now, the chapel was – naturally – on high ground, so reasonably, I was expecting downhill. I was not expecting this downhill. After passing by a warning sign that says after rain the path may “promote dangerous hazards”, you enter a lovely stretch of dirt path that follows the very edge of the mountain – and a 250m drop. Also, it had rained. Also, the path was slanted towards the drop off. Also, I kept slipping.

But at least the Rhône looked great!

After a bit of an adrenaline rush, I made it to the forest, where I could begin the regular downhill and wow that is steep okay. So slick was the mud, and so eroded were the ‘steps’ that each one was really starting to hurt my knee. And then I slipped again, almost pitching off the side and giving me a heart attack. (Fear not, if I ever get lucky enough to deliver the ‘I’m in a hospital seriously injured’ news, I’ll have a way more dramatic way to make it. Today is not that day)

It took me around an hour to carefully navigate down without injuring myself – I may be a little daft, but I am not stupid. I’ve never manoeuvred myself and a heavy lumpy pack around a path this precarious before, and more than once I had to pause, go off the path and reconnect; there simply wasn’t a safe enough way.

Once I emerged at the bottom, however, my legs were jelly (jello, if you’re reading. Also, hi <33). Helpfully, someone had put a sign up to advertise the most lovely, clean, warm looking gîte right next to some benches and I sat and gazed at that thing longingly for a solid ten minutes, just quietly considering. It was out of my way but not that out of the way,,,,, but no. I had only stayed outside one night so far anyway, and I wanted to get to Yenne before the storm broke. The forecast had it pinned down as 100% of Yenne raining by 5.00pm – it was now 3.00pm. And so, I rounded the corner into corn fields, and found my last false-alarm.

-Petit Lagnieu-

I’ll admit, from a distance those dark red thatched roofs really made my heart skip a beat, but alas. Petit Lagnieu. My final frontier before I hit Yenne. Which was, according to the sign, a quick two kilometres! Perfect! Except this was the Via Gebennensis, and things could never be so simple.

‘1hr 10min – Yenne – 6km’

Awesome. Turning right, away from the asphalt into the fields, I followed the shells until they led me back to the Rhône. Maybe I could forgive them, just this once. The river to my right, rows and rows of grapes and apple trees to my left, the rain began again. As I wound around and around and around, Yenne started to stretch out into the impossible. My rucksack felt like it weighed a million tonnes, and no readjustments would help. I was at the end of my limits – I should have taken a break earlier.

So self-involved with my boring old whining was I, that I didn’t notice someone coming up the path. His footfalls had melded with mine and the rain, and so when I glanced up to see a man not twenty centimetres from me in neon green I made some sort of strangled noise and ‘dodged’ – but he was already rounding the corner, looking concerned. My heart hammering out of my chest, I heard the giggles of children and the clunk of motorhomes.

-Yenne-

I arrived on the edge of a bougie-looking campground and immediately began trying to find water. I was about to be out, and it was not ideal. I also needed a toilet, and somewhere to sit and rest and eat. Eventually, my quest for water was unsuccessful, I found a toilet but only noticed it didn’t flush till it was far too late (sorry Yenne), found somewhere to sit but would have to share it with teenage boys (Buckley’s), and eventually stumbled upon a covered picnic table, threw my things all over it, laid down, and passed out for twenty minutes.

When I woke, my stomach was making noises I’d never heard another living creature make. Food it was! I pulled out my baguette (not a French euphemism) and slathered it in pesto ; mmm bon appetite. My last tomato had gotten juiced, and now covered every other item in my little green bag of food. Yum. After an extra apple and a pastry, I was starting to feel alive again.

Now the next dilemma; where would I sleep? My whole two nights outside, one night inside had worked well for it’s first rotation, and that dictated today was my inside-night. But where to stay? I was still attempting to do this in the cheapest way possible – initially because I didn’t think I could afford it, but now both because it gave me a challenge, and would leave me with enough money for Christmas :] Plus, I still had flights back to Australia to worry about. And rent. But that was a worry for a later time – for now, I needed peace of mind.

Flicking through the guidebook, most of the gîtes were still too expensive for me to justify it this early on, when my body was still only just starting out – I had a feeling as the weariness set in, my frugality would take a (rightful) hit. Even the camping spot I had walked past seemed intense, and expensive (€30 to c a m p?), and I was soon considering another night outside – or walking on – and had just stood up to keep going, when I saw the sign out of the corner of my eye.

‘Kanoti Camping’. And who was beside it? That lying little man and his walking stick. It was pilgrim-friendly. Cue the angelic choir, because as I arrived I saw it had pilgrim rates. €10.50 for a night with access to everything, unrestricted, with no checkout necessary until 4.00pm. Sold!

I fumbled extraordinarily with trying to ask for a place, so bad that she just started talking in English unprompted (noooo). But I managed to get a place, and she told me I could have my pick of the lots. An angel <33 And so I chose a shaded spot under a tree (yes I know there was a storm coming, I was clear from the branches – breathe, family members, breathe), set up my lovely little tent for the first time and breathed a sigh of relief. This was, in a way, inside. And the campsite was beautiful – directly on an inlet from the Rhône, with wide open spaces and a little communal hut.

After getting myself sorted, I moved on to chores. Hand washing all my clothes once more, I hung them out to dry near my tent, praying that by the time the storm came they’d be dry. Organised the last few things inside my tent, then went swimming :]

The water was freezing, and beautiful, and f a s t. I stayed in the inlet, away from the currents, but every so often my feet would brush the bottom and I’d feel the surge. I got a few odd looks, and I got the feeling it wasn’t too common to wild swim here (it wasn’t). I had checked beforehand to make sure it wasn’t illegal or anything, and everything seemed relatively okay. There was the standard ‘don’t swim if you can’t swim’, and ‘be aware of your surroundings’, but I could stand everywhere so! Everything was good, and I felt calm and clean and refreshed again. As the first few droplets began to hit, I wandered back into the camp and dried off.

My dinner was one for kings; stale baguette, pesto and some burger sauce I found in the communal fridge. I ate and watched the clouds darken, and the thunder and lightning begin to start. I pulled my clothes down, shoved them into my sleeping bag – they’d dry overnight. And then, I sat on the grass outside, waiting for it to break. At this point, it was already 9.00pm, and there had been no real rain, but the lightning was so bright and the thunder so loud that surely it must be coming soon. After an hour, I gave up. I was too tired to wait, and I’d just as soon wake up to it in the morning anyway.

So I laid with my legs against cold washing, and the wind blowing between the layers of the tent, and I dozed. It smelt like rain, like the verge of something. And I was out like a light.

---

Day 5 – August 25th

19.6km

~ 103.5km total

€23.00

~ €115.41 total