pocket-full-of-seaglass

-Yenne-

I struggled to sleep last night – after five nights of sleeping outside (and in a bed), my legs felt trapped by the tent, limbs fighting for space against my pack. I joined the living at around 10.00am, ready for the rain. But,,, it was dry?

After all that lead-up, the storm had never broke! I could’ve stayed an extra night outside – but oh well. I had left my powerbank on charge overnight, and it was now just over half-full – I sat in the communal hut and had my last pastry for breakfast, and thought about what to do. My feet were officially aching, and my legs weren’t too hot either.

I really wanted a rest day. But I also wanted to celebrate a week of walking with a rest. And I had to make 20km days each day. But it was so nice here. Back and forth and back and forth and then finally, an hour later I had made up my mind. I would carry on today, and tomorrow, then celebrate a week. As I stood up, the storm broke.

Fuck me. I volleyed my things between my tree and the hut, drying off my towel and attempting to be even remotely dry. Naturally, my clothes from last night were still soaked, but I pulled them on regardless. They wouldn’t have stayed dry for long anyway. Then, I was off. Well, sort of.

My next shopping opportunity was around 30km away, in Saint-Genix-sur-Guiers, and at the pace I was making, that didn’t seem likely for today, especially considering it was already 11.30am and I had yet to leave. Not very pilgrim of me! So my first stop was the shops, around a kilometre off-route. This time I did put the rain jacket back on, considering I could officially call it bucketing and I was not in the mood to be soaked to the bone already.

I was soon distracted again by a rack of postcards outside the local newsagents – until this point, finding cards had been much harder than I was expecting. I quickly bought a small, hand-drawn one to send home to my partner :] My original plan of a card per town was proving to not be entirely accurate, but I vowed not to leave the bigger towns until finding one from now on. How else could I send all my lame cheesy thoughts across the sea!?

Eventually though, I made it to Carrefour Market, which was the first supermarket I had entered,,,, since America actually probably. Little overwhelming, especially when you arrive sopping with a massive pack. Not quite the local get-up. I went a little overboard here, and bought myself one of the finer things in life; a litre of ‘multi-fruit vitamin juice’. Crazy, I know, but sometimes you need to splash out a few euros!!

Alongside that, I bought some apples, burger buns (infinitely easier to transport than baguettes), cheese (finally it was cold and would k e e p), cherry tomatoes, gherkins and kinder chocolate. And an iced tea. And socks (score).

It was only as I was leaving that I realised : I had nowhere to put any of this. My raincover barely fit as it was! So we had the first reconfiguration to handle. I found an old bike shelter, laid my pack down and crouched above the sopping floor, ready to real-life-Tetris the fuck out of this shopping. And real-life-Tetris I did, even if I had to assemble a sandwich then put it on the wet sidewalk for a bit before I ate it (it was delicious). A strong success, even if I sculled half of the gherkin water – to lighten the pack of course – not realising these were extra vinegar and almost burnt my tastebuds clean off.

Finally, after much stress and re-assembling, I was off. And then I got sick of the jacket again. But then I was off. And I forgot to get water. Damn! At 1.00pm, I finally left Yenne. I was horrific at this whole pilgrim thing; at the start I had had big dreams of becoming a morning person but it just wasn’t happening. But even so, I was keeping up with the people I’d seen in the first few days – and as the saying goes, slow and steady ,,, Not that we were racing. At least not now they were ahead!

My goal for the today was just to walk some distance. I knew it was late, and I just wanted to push myself a little – I wouldn’t stop until I’d reached my first town, and after that we’d see. It was a 9km stretch between me and the town of Jagdhütte, and all I had to do was make it there. I could do that! So I followed the shells uphill.

I would feel pretty confident in saying today was the most beautiful day so far. The rain had petered out to a drizzle, and the clouds were rolling down the mountains like waterfalls. It was cold, but I was moving and warm. I soon came to the Chapel of Notre-Dame de la Montagne, which was again closed. I didn’t mind so much – the churches were interesting, but this wasn’t religious to me. And history was also interesting, but the real magic to me was the trees.

Autumn felt real here, marked my oranges and yellows and reds and browns I’ve only truly seen in movies, and as I walked, I truly felt like I was in Frozen II (I couldn’t wait for Christmas <33). Once again, the Rhône was kind enough to accompany me this morning. It poked out between trees and rumbled along, far below me as I made my way into the sky.

As I walked, I had been mumbling to myself again, trying to catch the ink from yesterday’s story – the lovers in the rain, tea in cold hands – and I got a little too distracted. My foot slipped on a smooth rock, and I pitched – directly onto my knees, overlooking the abyss. Oh. I pulled myself back up, and leant heavily towards my left, forcing silence on myself until the path evened out again. Now I clocked why I had seen no-one – who would climb this mountain, the most acute to scale up and down for most of the Gebennensis, in a storm?

But I was still nothing if not stubborn, and I refused to turn back. 9km was all I needed. Soon I came to Belvédère Pierre Châtel, a small viewpoint that boasted brilliant views – or at least I assumed it would, were you not there on a day like today. The rain had eased, the thunder broken in the next valley, but the mist and clouds were immoveable.

I was beginning to lose the shells. Hard enough as they can be to spot on their own, usually no bigger than a palm, in the mist I was losing all direction. Not the best, but I pressed on, because of course I did, and writing these at the end of the day is always so funny because w h y did I do that?

On and on I walked, and the mist became thicker and the ground more slippery, and I became more and more excited. Something about this felt different – knowing I only had 9km (hell, by now it was probably only 7km) to go, I had a spring in my step.

I was going up and down mountains like nothing, sipping my tea as I did (whoever invented Fuze peach iced tea could have my firstborn and their pick of any of my other loved ones), and in general loving everything. It was much easier to walk in the cold, especially as there wasn’t really anywhere to break.

Gradually, I clawed my way back into the story, lived the lives of the couple together until they resolved everything, until I had my answer. I passed mushrooms and lichen and moss and water and thought of him for hours. The rain was not helping my daydreaming, and I was aching for December.

But it would not be December for a while yet, and so I preoccupied myself with the small. I saw not one but two red squirrels, ate some kinder chocolate and watched the cloud front obscure almost everything. For hours, I was doing amazing. More often than not, it would be a tall yellow signpost telling me a direction, then nothing for forty minutes, then the next.

‘St-Maurice-de-Rotherens – 4hrs 50min’

‘St-Maurice-de-Rotherens – 3hrs 30min’

‘St-Maurice-de-Rotherens – 2hrs 10min’

‘St-Maurice-de-Rotherens – 0hrs 55min’

But then, in the last fifty minutes, something shifted. Suddenly, I was petrified. I had no idea what changed, but at one point, I paused to unscrew my bottle and there was a snap of twigs directly behind me and I spun around – nothing. And I was quiet, and so were the woods. Not a single thing moved, but it was like the breathing was everywhere. I fucking hated it. I felt like I was being watched, but I couldn’t tell from where. And I was most likely the only one on the mountain. If I vanished, no one would know.

For about twenty minutes, my true-crime infested brain took over, and I was convinced I was being followed. Remember that thing I told you the other day, about footsteps sounding like voices? Sucks a lot worse alone in the fog on top of a mountain. I was freaking out, generally shakey and – this was the kicker – really goddamn delirious. Evidently, when I’m tired, and I walk a lot, when I pause, my vision does that movie-zoom thing, where it pauses then r u s h e s forward really fast and leaves the edged fizzling. I had noticed it a little over the past few days, but heightened with fear it was worse.

But then – safety! The sun came back. Small spotlights of warmth dappled the floor as I stumbled even further up – slipping as I went; the ground was really wet this high up – and I couldn’t remember why I was afraid at all. Down, past tall pine trees that reminded me of Washington and sent me into another yearning tailspin, and then finally, towards a well-walked grass path. I had been walking for well over four hours, and I still hadn’t reached the town.

Curse my unfitness! I generally felt quite terrible about myself and my abilities, and was still in a self-hate spiral when I passed the first few people. What?? They weren’t carrying packs or water, which meant – I was close! They must have come from Jagdhütte!! I stumbled along, past horses and cows – definitely close now – until I saw the roofs. Thank God that was over and I could relax and – you’re kidding.

-St-Maurice-de-Rotherens-

Where the hell was St-Maurice-de-Rotherens? Was I still not there? I was only on the outskirts yet, so I kept walking, out of one village and into the next, where I finally found a bench and sat directly on the dripping wood. I was dead. And I still hadn’t reached Jadghütte :[

Now, the Germans are probably laughing to themselves, or confused, or both, but either way, here is where I realised my mistake. There was no town. Jadghütte is ‘hunting lodge’. I had passed it in the fog in my first two hours. I had walked for five hours non-stop.

But that still left one question; where was St-Maurice-de-Rotherens?? As it turns out, it was a long goddamn way further than I thought I’d make it today. Anyone remember my record of 4km before a break? Today I had walked 19.8km. Hell of a way to one-up myself.

But I was not quite done yet : the actual central area of St-Maurice-de-Rotherens was another twenty minutes away. And so on I walked, intent on finding a picnic table and some water. Having found one of the two, I tore into a sandwich and drank my juice, then stretched out my poor aching legs. To what should be no-one’s surprise, today I definitely had blisters. One on my pinky, which, I am not shy to say, was the fattest goddamn blister I’d seen to date. Foul. I was so excited to pop it <33

Second skin on, I relaxed – then thought the better of it. It was now around 4.30pm, and I had no plans for the night. It was going to storm again tonight (although I did not entirely trust the weather reports after last night), and I could spend the night in the tent, but I’d prefer some warmth. Rain also complicated the whole drying clothes thing, and generally made the insulation vanish.

So, I mustered all my courage and, for the first time, called a local half-hotel-half-gîte. And she answered. I panicked, forgetting everything, and just sat there like a stunned mullet until she asked if I was okay. Yep yep totally fine just all of my worst nightmares coming true – bonjour :]

She did not have any pilgrim accomodation available anymore, and too late I realised that was because her pilgrim package included dinner. Strangling Mr. Cynic with one hand, I dialled again with the other to ask about any rooms at all. This time, she didn’t pick up. Ouch! Mr Cynic was in control.

‘This is why we don’t call places !! Everyone is scary !! You’re so bad at this !! How could anyone expect you to handle yourself !! Useless !!’ As my optimist attempted to figure out other options, he wouldn’t shut up, and eventually I just had to pack up shop and keep walking. We’d sleep in the first good field, promised the optimist. Ha!

-Côte Envers-

In the 4km between St-Maurice-de-Rotherens and Côte Envers, I passed seven almost-perfect fields. In each one, I found some flaw; too close to the path, too isolated, too steep, too flat, too sunken, too hard, too soft. At each, I knew I could find something better. I couldn’t tell which half of me was in control, the true cynical optimist experience – “everything is bad and terrible but also we’ll be okay”.

Passing small towns of Malbuisson and Gréslin, I seriously considered a park bench with my tent covering thrown over the top. It was 8.16pm, and the storm was forecasted to break at 9.00pm. This time, I really believed it; the clouds were black, and the wind smelt electric. But no – there would be something better. It was my first real ‘stuck in a pinch’ moment, reasoned my optimist. That was exciting!

As I passed Côte Envers, I groaned aloud seeing the place that hadn’t picked up the second time. Oh man oh man what I would do for a shower – I was shivering with sweat and rain. But my cynic wouldn’t allow it, not tonight. So on I walked. Past another meadow – too close to the houses. Another – wrong plants (that time I knew who had control). Another – fresh tire tracks.

Finally, a kilometre down the road, I settled. This would do. It was over an embankment by the road, so the cars couldn’t see me, and neither could any nearby houses, and yes it was on a slant but I could handle that. It was 8.38pm. I set up faster than I’ve ever set up before, and as I zipped the outside door at 8.49pm, all hell broke loose.

Thunder, massive, like mountains caving in, while lightning lit the trees up behind me, send skittering shadows along my tent. I barely slept a wink, the angle so steep that each breath would send me slipping down, and the rain barraged the sides of my tent with such vigour that the broke free from the straps and sent water flicking inside. And all the while, I kept hearing footsteps and breath, animal or human, and dogs howled over the hill. Not an ideal cacophony, and I shivered long into the morning.

---

Day 6 – August 26th

Yenne to Côte Envers

25.4km

~ 128.9km total

€24.50

~ €139.91 total