pocket-full-of-seaglass

-???-

So, I know everyone loves hearing this, but strap in, because this morning was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. I had struggled to sleep quite a bit, not least of all because it was six fucking degrees, and despite having my thermal fleece, socks, sleeping bag, gloves, pants, and beanie on, was still so cold I had to drape my sweaty shirt over my face in order to sleep. Doesn’t rank exceptionally high on most-restful-or-nice-smelling-nights-ever, but at least I don’t have a cold.

But also due mostly to continuously hearing footsteps, scratching and weird whistling. After many hours of on-off panic, I eventually fell asleep gripping my metal waterbottle, trying to convince myself I’d heard footsteps the night of the storm too, and it was nothing. Probably just rain and wind. And again, when I woke up, everything was fine! I mean sure, that odd smell was still there, but that was probably nothing!

So – as it turns out, it was something. It was a stack of several dead animals and old chunks of pig skin. About a metre from my tent. Where they definitely had not been last night. Rightio.

I packed my shit up with more enthusiasm and get-me-the-hell-out-of-here than I had previously thought possible, realised the tent peg closest to my head was gone, almost stood on another dead thing I hadn’t seen, clocked that were definitely footprints around then absolutely booked it the fuck out of there. Glancing behind my shoulder for the rest of the morning with a firm grip on that waterbottle, I rambled on down into Le Pin.

Oh and for the record? I passed a perfect completely secluded meadow like the one on the second day not 100m down the path. So close, but s o far. Yesterday evidently had just not been my lucky day!

-Le Pin-

After that general debacle, I wasn’t too keen on the idea of staying outside again. My skin was crawling and I was still a little shaken; nothing like a bit of ‘hey y’know those worst irrational fears you were imagining? they were real‘ to just really make anxiety easier to handle and reign in.

So as I stopped for breakfast – cheese, tomatoes and bread, classic – I flipped along my guidebook to see if I could find somewhere. Nada. They all seemed to be full already (somehow), or were too close – I still wanted to hit 30km today. I would camp if I had to, but I really needed a good nights sleep – it was meant to get drizzly again and being tired on slippery slopes was not a fantastic idea. And call me crazy, but I wasn’t ready to bank on sleeping soundly outside.

After a good thirty minutes, I gave up. It was still early yet, and I didn’t want to waste too much time; let’s get moving. From Le Pin, you go up and down a few hills, cross a few streams, go through a field of corn or two, the usual. Except today, I was unusual. That tweaked knee was really ramping it up today, and my legs were killing me.

Guess the body stage had truly hit – honestly pretty happy with a day nine! To start, I had stopped every few kilometres to get them to relax a little, but that was doing more harm than good. Actually concerned now, I took a bit of a longer break outside of Blaune, stretched and massaged and the like. Somehow, that also made it worse. Two days of 25+ kilometres were coming back to bite me in the arse. I was not yet as fit as I thought.

So, only a few kilometres from Le Grand-Lemps, the next ‘bigger’ town, I staggered on. I’d find a place there tonight. Actually, shit. It was already midday – most stopped for the day at around 2.00pm. Places would be filling up. Except, double ‘actually, shit’; there were no gîtes in Le Grand-Lemps, it was on a ‘talk to the locals and see who’ll take you in’ basis, and I’d take the tent and weird animal-killer in a heartbeat thanks. Was there anywhere else I could stay?

Now, would everyone who knows me at all please sit down for this next bit; I am about to spend an extortionate (for me) amount of money for no real reason.

After a little bit of digging, I found that there was actually absolutely fucking nothing,,, bar one. A private villa (???) with swimming pool, and – and this was the kicker – a fully stocked kitchen. I was sold. I needed warm food, besides the burger in Ètang Bleu I hadn’t had a cooked meal since the 18th. Plus a swim and a shower? God. And my grandmother would be happy – I’d finally have a bed for my aching bones :]

I was able to justify the price purely because I was now lumbering uphill in such pain I was almost crying, and I just needed to collapse in the warmth. So I booked it. Oh, Euro to Australian dollar conversion, how I despise you.

-Le Grand-Lemps-

The ‘entry’ to Le Grand-Lemps is evil – it’s situated about 3km outside of the actual town. Those final three were possibly the most difficult of my adventure so far, each muscle screaming in protest. I was also mentally wrecked, and didn’t have much in the way of distraction. It was simply walk and arrive, no other choice. It was straight downhill, with smooth, slippery rocks and slick mud everywhere. It was slow, miserable going, and a few times I had to stop my legs from buckling. What the hell was going on??

The only upside is that to get to the villa (insane thing to say), my path would trek through the centre, and the shops. I needed to stock up, both for the morning and for tonight, to finally be able to cook (I was so excited it was unbelievable). So in I went, and man, if I wasn’t already on the verge on tears I would be now.

Lidl.

I walked past the packaged bread, hoping to find a baguette, and found something infinitely better. Brötchen. Real ones too, seeds and kernels and brown, topped with poppyseed. I was ready to stake my life on this Lidl in the middle of this odd little town (it’s like a Dr. Seuss line). God bless the Europeans!

I bought far too many (four), and a baguette (I had big plans), then continued on my loop. Tomatoes, red onions, mushrooms, capsicum, zucchini. Considered a cauliflower, decided against it. Funghi pasta, some cream. Mozzarella. Brown onions. Garlic. Yum yum yum yum my stomach was already growling. Kinder chocolate too, of course, and some juice. How adult. I was set. I went a little overboard, forgot I was only cooking for one, but today, for some reason, I didn’t mind. Money would come back, it was worth it. Who was I?

The only problem with all this? I still had a kilometre and a half to walk. Plus my food. Oh god. After an embarrassing amount of time, I met the gates. After an even more embarrassing amount of time, I figured out how they opened – by pressing the button. Shocker!

The owners were lovely – although so would I if I got €100 every time someone stayed in what some may call a villa, but I would call about half a granny flat. Even so, they brought over a microwave from the garden (?) despite my protests, and invited me to share a beer – or a juice. Unfortunately, I was still dripping in dirt and sweat and tears and, inadvertently, cow shit, so I sadly had to turn down the juice with the funny French people. Another day!

And so started my first mission: Get Clean. I chucked every gross wet mouldy-smelling item of clothing in my bag in the washing machine, and opened up my bag to hopefully air it out, because it was starting to smell rank after a good four or five days of holding said clothing. Then I got in the shower for what can only be described as an eon. I had the water on the hottest possible setting and yeah, sure, I ended it head on my knees sitting on the floor for ten minutes in the burning heat but y’know what? I’d say that’s probably none of your business anyway <33

Finally, I got out, bones suitably pounded and muscles vaguely relaxed (my shoulders were beyond help I’d already long given up), and hung my washing out to dry. This time, please let it work. Allegedly it’d be sunny tomorrow morning, and I was praying for a <Camino miracle> to really get the spirituality flowing. I felt very unpilgrim standing in the middle of my private residence for the night, ready to be loud and alone, but I figured my nights outside made up for the fact. I was at a net zero with God and the pilgrimage I think.

Speaking of pilgrimage, I realised – as I lazily leafed through guidebooks and dozed on the lounge – that maybe this could be a celebration as well. Today, I was officially halfway through the Via Gebennensis. I had walked more than 175km over the past nine days, and was making good time too. Most (according to my guidebook) completed it in 18 days – as much as I had laboured on about my unfitness and taken essentially a full day off, I was halfway done at the halfway mark. That was big for me :]

It also meant there was a possibility I wouldn’t actually need the full 109 days I had left, but that could come later. Anyway, to avoid you and I falling asleep on this extraordinarily comfortable couch, it’s 6.00pm – time to cook dinner.

Now, I’m not one to nitpick (sometimes), and I knew that people simply experienced the world differently and we should treat others with respect and understanding regardless of our small personal differences, but to me, calling a kitchen “fully stocked” when you don’t have fucking spoons should be cause for a night in the gaol. Steadily realising this would be a very rough dinner, I started chopping straight onto those kitchen counters babey!

And here is where something else exciting happened; I became independent. Turns out daydreaming and dancing alone around a not-fully-stocked kitchen you paid too much for to shitty music and cooking your own food does feel as good as my earlier prepubescent daydreams hoped it would. And somewhere between caramelising my onions and sitting down on the little bench to eat, I finally felt it. Independence.

I’d been waiting on the plane to the US, and I’d waited in Germany, and I’d been needling at the edge of myself in Scotland, but it hadn’t snapped into place. Even as I began walking, it still felt like the safety net was there. But here, it finally disappeared. I was alone. I was the only one I could rely on, physically, for thousands of kilometres. If anything went wrong, it was just me. No one could step in, brush over everything, make it better. No one could accidentally stifle, make it claustrophobic. I had all the space in the world. I finally got it, the buzz. Ten year old me would be so happy.

And so I sat, and I ate my weird cheesy tomatoe-y pasta thing and my failed attempt at bruschetta. And it was delicious. And, like every dusky bus station and airport I’ve entered over the past few months, like every quiet night in Washington and walk back to the hostel in Edinburgh, the goddamn fucking Lumineers started to play. I’d been trying to avoid the Northern Rivers coming of age stereotypes so hard, I swear, but they followed me. It was fate, I guess <33

And so we’re here again, back at the end of the night – it’s nice to see you :] I hope you’re well <33 It’s cold, still, even with all my winter gear on and the aircon turned to 30*. I think I’m doomed – cryosleep sounds like the only end to this walk – and I can’t believe I ever complained about the heat. Give me back the 46* days from last week, I’ll take napping in sweat to this!!!

But even so, I’m so tired and swoony and light again, and I think it’s time for bed, and I’ll just leave the cleaning up for tomorrow morning, like a true responsible adult would. I’m really gunning for a good night – but I guess we’ll see in the morning :]

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Day 9 – August 29th

17.7km

~ 177.8km total

€130.05

~ €331.09 total