pocket-full-of-seaglass

-Saint-Genix-sur-Guiers-

Feeling grouchy but refreshed after my sad little sleep and general day of self-pity and naps, I woke up to find my clothes dripping onto the floor. If anything, they were now more wet. Resigned to another morning of freezing cold, I tugged them on anyway, wincing as the sopping fabric hit skin. My teeth were chattering, and it was only 19* – it was not boding well for winter me, all things considering.

I got ready quickly and left – I had overslept slightly and didn’t want to miss the opening times for shops (I was ravenous). It was a Monday, so most places would either be shut completely or have weird reduced hours – I would never understand the French.

I was out of my lovely little caravan by 9.00am, and stopped by the nearby market, which was thankfully open, struggled with decisions for far too long, and left at 10.00am, €37.13 lighter with an umbrella. And food, of course. But the main thing was the umbrella!

From there, I followed the shells out of Saint-Genix-sur-Guiers, found myself a little bench by the Rhône, and made myself a knock-off nutella sandwich. Delicious. Suitably sugar-high, I followed the river again – this time significantly less blue – until it split away from me and I returned to farmland.

This section of the walk was rather uneventful, mostly flat and through fields of crops. I ate a peach or two, hosted some mental debates to figure out my Opinions on things (I always won), counted steps till I got sick of it, drank an odd but delicious lychee basil seed drink and eventually made it.

-Les Abrets-

Around 15km from my little caravan was the town of Les Abrets, a municipality that – for the Via Gebennensis – rather large. Meaning it had (several) restaurants, a bank with an ATM, and a few extra shops just for funsies. It also had an open toilet and a place to refill water which ruled because I had run out about ten minutes after leaving this morning.

It was also – and this is really important to note – absolutely fucking frigid. I was shivering like nothing else, and pulling on my jumper to warm up was how I remembered it was also still wet. So I sat beside a storm drain, shaking and pathetic, eating my lunch. Today, that meant some cheap fake Brötchen that tasted like the ones you can buy from the fridge in Coles (delicious), pesto, classic, some cherry tomatoes and – this is where it gets interesting – local specialty cheese. My inner German had finally cracked, I suppose, and when he saw some Comté from the region, grabbed it faster than the speed of light. I was a little nervous, but it was absolutely fucking yum; miles better than the terrible sliced cheese I had been eating the last few days.

As I ate, two new faces visited me – a pair of older women, with whom I had no common language, who really wanted to know if I camped outside the other night in the rain. We had a mini-conversation over google translate, then they waved goodbye to find a restaurant.

Now, in order for you to acutely understand the vibes up until this point, I need to divulge some very important information. This storm drain was located fairly centrally in the town, and shared a wall with the church. The church of Les Abrets is, without a doubt, the funniest place I’ve made it to thus far.

As I sat with my back against the shared wall, looking at the empty streets of the town – it was around 1.30pm, so naturally the French had vanished – the church was absolutely PUMPING hit after hit. They echoed down the alleyways, and I could not imagine ever being in a bad mood here.

After drawing me in with Lewis Capaldi and Somebody to Love, they proceeded to play, in this exact order,

1. Where Is the Love? by the Black Eyed Peas,

2. Where Is the Love? by the Black Eyes Peas (again),

3. I’m Still Standing by Elton John,

4. Viva La Vida by Coldplay,

5. Rolling in the Deep by Adele and then,

6. Where Is the Love? AGAIN

With the dulcet tones of will.i.am and fergie rattling around in my brain, I left Les Abrets and returned once more to the crops.

Here was where it got Fun (lie). Up until now, I’d been explaining away any aches and discomforts with my pack as being in the ‘body’ stage. While that may be true, I also needed to accept the second possibility; that maybe it was just too goddamn heavy!

With the addition of my 3.5L of water and general food for the day, I was carrying somewhere between 18kg and 20kg. Ideally, packs are meant to be at around 10-15% of your body weight, which would put mine somewhere around 11kg. I was just a little over. Only problem was that I couldn’t see anything I could give up! The closest thing to a luxury I had brought was a tiny film camera that weighed almost nothing – everything else had a practical purpose.

Cursing my father and grandfather and myself and our general stupid generational hoarding, I lugged it up the almost vertical climb to Valencogne, grumbling and groaning the whole way up. I passed sign after sign after sign for a beautiful looking gîte, but it was still too early to stop. Damn!

It was here that I met The Cows. Hearing distant thunder, I’d turned to my left, only to discover the thunder was merely the rumble of hooves – quite a lot of them. Twenty odd,,, teenaged cows (they definitely weren’t calves anymore) ran right up to me, eyeing me and sniffing, bellowing. Bit intense, I joked to no one. They followed me up the hill, until the end of their fence-line, then watched me vanish into the distance. I laughed the whole way down.

Tonight the plan was to stay inside again; it had been raining on and off all day (thank god for that umbrella, I was dry and not that sweaty) and another storm front was due to hit tonight. Plus, again, fucking freezing. All the places to stay in Les Abrets were expensive as h e l l though, and that just was not going to happen. I’d managed to find a reasonably priced room in Valencogne, but they hadn’t picked up when I’d called. I figured I’d at least give it a shot, and if not, I’d stay somewhere nearby as there were a few places around.

-Valencogne-

After an hour and a half, I arrived, utterly wiped. I wandered down a few streets trying to find the place, almost knocking on several of the wrong doors (nightmare), but eventually found it. 126! As I walked up, I noticed the car in the driveway had grass growing over the wheels. Ah. And the lights were off. Aah. And there was dust on the laundry pegs. Aaah. They were definitely not here.

I knocked anyway. Waited ten seconds. Rang the doorbell. Waited another ten. Resisted the urge to run away. Knocked again. Nah they were definitely gone. I turned away again and began making my way up to the centre of town, to the church, where I could figure out what to do next.

The church was cool and old and a church and that’s all I really processed, and I stayed on its’ steps for the most part, hosting yet another internal debate, but eventually it was just too goddamn cold, and I caved and entered the doors. Thankfully, I didn’t instantaneously burst into flames because that would’ve really put a damper on things. Instead, I just breathed in that sweet sweat stagnant sweaty communion air and relished in not being dipped in ice wind.

Now, I had a few options. The first was to stay nearby, as planned – but everywhere was either booked, or costed €80. No thank you! Onto the next. I could,,, stay here? Technically I didn’t know if churches locked overnight, but I’d read several pilgrims accounts who recall sleeping outside/inside churches with no problem. That one was a little less my style, but if push came to shove I’d sleep in the shadow of the lord god bless <33 (As long as it stayed warm and I could escape before anyone arrived in the morning)!

Alas, the time chose for me. It was only 5.45pm, and it wouldn’t be dark for hours. I had waited on the steps too long – I couldn’t justify staying for much longer. So the third it was. My third option was very smart, and it was to simply continue walking. Had I mentioned that storm that was coming yet? There was no accomodation I could possibly get to tonight, so that would leave wildcamping or finding another church. It was due to break at 7.00pm – about an hour from now. Maybe, if I was fast enough, I could outrun it.

Suddenly boosted with adrenaline, I tugged my shoes back on and stood on my aching feet – onwards and upwards! Literally. Unfortunately, I was not done with hills yet. Every bone in my body ready to give out, I follow the signs to Le Pin, just about 8km from here.

-???-

I don’t make it. After forty minutes, the rain begins to mount. My feet are ruined, and my knees have got the shakes. I’ve passed a few dead cats on the side of the road, which hasn’t exactly brightened my mood. It’s cold, and windy, and rainy, so I begin my search for the perfect field. Like the day before last, I pass by several ‘almosts’; a few too close to houses, one because I couldn’t figure out if it counted as private or not, one because it was too exposed to the wind, etcetera etcetera. Eventually though, again like the day before last, I find one in the nick of time.

After near continuous rain for a half hour, it abates as I arrive in a field – not perfect by any means, visible from the motorbike/walking trail, but enough for tonight. I set up as the drizzle begins, and as I finally get everything inside and brace for impact (!!!!!!!); nothing happens. The rain clouds pass over, leaving my hill intact. Fuck me. I could’ve made it to Le Pin! Even so, I stay put. It’s comfortable here, and there’s still a chance of rain yet.

Also, I cannot be fucked to walk another step.

So, for once, tonight can be an early night. It’s 8.48pm, my blog is written (hello you! we meet again <33) and my freezing body is trapped inside a terrible sleeping bag – I’ll definitely need a new one for the winter. I’m sore, and I’ll be uncomfortable in the morning, but for now, I’m on top of a hill in the middle of France, eating cheese and tomatoes and watching the rain fall in the valleys below. Could always be worse :]

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Day 8 – August 28th

26.1km

~ 160.1km total

€37.13

~ €201.04 total