pocket-full-of-seaglass

-Saint-Chély-d’Aubrac-

I had been up getting blogs ready to post till 2.00am last night, so I’d allowed myself a lie-in, my alarm set for ten. I woke up at 8.37am on the dot though, again. Troubling – I was not a fan of my new normal. Against my better instincts, I chose to doze anyway, if not purely for protection from the cold. Last night, as I had gotten up to go to the bathroom, my dragon-breath had billowed out in thick clouds, the ground frosty (like, actual frost).

The instant my alarm actually went off though, I realised what a bad decision I’d made. I was sluggish as all hell, and I didn’t want to move. From my quick peek outside, all but one of my pitch-mates had left already, and it was still cold. Jeeesus. I’m not designed for this kind of weather – I need the heat to survive, like a,, lizard?

Packed and ready regardless, I left the campsite around 11.00am, chucking my rubbish as I walked out. It had been a nibbly breakfast, just polishing off anything I was almost out of; it was restock time. Pros and cons of more shops – I could carry less, but had to shop more. Unfortunately, my quick scout while following the arrows out of time yielded not much at all, so I stuck to the red and white.

Today would be mostly downhill, so after a sharp climb to the hill over Saint-Chély-d’Aubrac, the path slopes down, and stays that way. We had a new type of landscape too : thin white Birch, streaked with black ridges. They were more like stalks than trunks, spiking up from the mulch undergrowth. The light was pale and green and everywhere; I was mostly alone, passing only two pilgrims in my first two hours.

I met the two on the rise towards Les Grambrassats, where they stood still against the side of the path, looking nervous. I tried to figure out what ‘is everything okay?‘ looks like in universal charades, and got my answer with a shaky point. It seemed we had company.

A young bull had managed to get free from the fence and was casually taking up a majority of the free space between us and the rest stop. Also, it would seem one of the pilgrims had a fear of cows. Cannot imagine she’s been having the best time so far. Luckily, I love the bloody things.

I walked up behind him, slow and calm. He was a little huffy, a little nervous. Understandable – poor thing had probably not had much experience with these strange people and their big clanky bags coming right up by him. We had a bit of eye contact, and I moved behind him; a quick head turn and half spin, eyes wide – “you’re alright mate“. I get more Australian with animals, apparently. Slow and steady, he let me pass, even leaving some room for the others, and I thanked him for the trouble.

More white trees and waving canopies, and more terrible pop-punk (I couldn’t stop), and I wandered on past a ramshackle barn, all worn stone and tiles, covered in moss and ivy. A long-abandoned house followed, torn blue curtains blowing in the breeze, and L’Estrade came into view.

-L’Estrade-

Located just off 7km from Saint-Chérly, L’Estrade is the prescribed ‘offstage’ for this stage, with a little gîte just to the left of the path. I passed; today I wanted to walk till dark. I was aiming for Estaing, even if I started late.

Kindly, L’Estrade also has a first for me; a little pilgrim rest stop in the shade with orange juice and hot chocolate and coffee all for €1.5 each. It’s all left in large thermostats with a little box for the money, and I gladly take them up on it :]

I try the hot chocolate, but can’t figure out the thermostat thing and in trying to understand accidentally manage to take it apart revealing,, water?? So I go for the orange juice, which takes me a humiliating amount of time to realise comes out when you repeatedly press the large top button not by pouring. €1.50 lighter and significantly less hot, I carry on.

From here, the downhill really starts. You’ll go down just about 800m over the next few kilometres, and you can definitely tell. It’s pinball-lite, as I stumble down into a few trees, making my way down the rocky path. It’s clear, and warm, and you still haven’t learnt to apply sunscreen before the middle of the day.

This section began to blend a little for me, and I’m aware some of my earlier posts verge on novels, so I’ll shorten a little <33 You meet a few new cows, fall in love with them all, watch the mountains dip behind the treeline as you weave down into the temperate valley. A sign will tell you there’s only 5km to go – it’s lying. You’ve still got eight or nine, but right now you can just use that to push you on, even if towards the end you really start to second guess how long it takes to walk five kilometres.

You cross a river, go uphill for pretty much the first time all day, cross another river that might be the same one (?) and clear a cool old stone bridge and cross what is probably the same river again. It’s thick and green, full of mossy white trees, ones that have clearly had their limbs amputated for pilgrim convenience and now grow back stark white and stretching for the sky, white arms clearing their mossy cardigans.

Sorry, I know I said I’d keep it short, but some things deserve a bit of a ramble :]

-La Rozière-

You’re close to the first stop of the day here, or the end of your stage, depending on how you’re feeling. It’s only a few more kilometres till Saint-Côme-d’Olt, and to motivate you there’s some classic statues of Mary and a few crosses. Oh, and clean, cold water, which might be a tad more refreshing if you aren’t so biblically inclined.

I take a break here, decide to rest. I’m weirdly drained already, and I’m blaming the late start. I drink, rest my feet (without airing them, rookie mistake), eat some cashews, try to make my brain want to move. I’m still feeling tired and slow, and my pace has taken a hit. I don’t mind as much as I used to, but on these longer stretches without épiceries to refuel it gets very draining to be moving slowly.

As I rest and try to pretend movement sounds like a good idea, I’m passed by a small party of pilgrims – three, to be exact. They’re a little family, and if I’m grumpy about the pace I’m walking at, then this guy is Furious. He looks about fifteen, and his parents look much older – every time they call him back I watch him go a little more insane. I hope they let him walk ahead later.

I’m also passed by a guy with a close-shaven head, who smiles at me all friendly. I smile back, wave him on. Then I’m passed by a bunch of very necky chickens who all look decidedly freaky and decide they can be my push towards Saint-Côme. It’s another rocky path, another downhill. I really am trying to be concise now, I swear. I daydream the whole way down, try to pass the time, and then the church spire comes into view over the ridgeline.

-Saint-Côme-d’Olt-

It is wonky as all hell. Seriously, the thing curves so much to the side it’s funny – it might overtake onion church as the best-shaped-church so far! It’s also pretty kitted out with a fancy new pilgrim rest stop; benches for sitting and reclining and a big wooden map of all the ascents and descents of the 750km, some cool art pieces that double as clothes-racks, water, bins and some toilets. Not bad, Saint-Côme.

I get cleaned up, see the guy with the almost shaved head again, nod as we pass each other then I head firmly away from the red and white. Am I going into the church? Nope. Am I exploring? Nope. Am I going to learn about the history of this stunning medieval town? Nope.

I’m going to Netto.

On the list of things I love about France, Netto is,,, it’s there. But my god? Today it was worth the blood chilling walk along the highway, because I find the beetroot thing. Holy shit. The carrots are there too and I grab some but the beetroot. My god I was salivating at the thought.

I grab some other essentials; a 66¢ chocolate bar definitely harvested with child labour or made with actual sawdust or both, some more pesto, orangina, bread, and a little mini foccacia thing for lunch :] Pretty good haul for barely anything; Netto definitely had its upsides. The walk back towards the wonky church is much prettier than the walk to, mainly because the way I was meant go to is through gorgeous romantic classical style buildings, not the side of the D978.

Ignoring that, I followed my lovely lovely stripes while I ate my focaccia, down beautiful street after beautiful street. It felt like something out of a storybook, tall cobble towers and squat houses covered in flowering vines. I felt that heroic princes would soon arrive on noble steeds to rescue their vaguely useless heroines – they felt so close I could reach out and grab the reigns.

And then, as I cleared the river Lot, over an old gray bridge that brushed the sides of weeping willows, and I watched fish dart against the rocky bottom, I turned for one final look at the beauty of the town and – there’s camping directly on the river. For €9. Breathe, breathe, you have to make it to Estaing. But why?I entered a lengthy debate on the side of the bridge, which finally culminated in my love for swimming absolutely thrashing my competitive blokey bloke distance-based enthusiasm into a pulp.

I turned back, got halfway in and spied a tiny little sign; no swimming. Fuck. I turned tail and went back across the bridge. Frugality was back, bruised and bloody and all. €9 to not swim, not a chance. The way out, cruelly, follows the Lot. And it’s so pretty and clear and why would they ever ban swimming in it – yeah sure the industrial dam could flood it in a second, but who cares?!

I wandered on asphalt, following the curves of the water, the gentle sweep of the willow leaves in the wind, the fish weaving along beside me. The asphalt leads me to a bridge, which I veer left of, to begin my climb for the day. For every down, there is an up and all that. For some reason, this climb felt fucking brutal. You gain 250-odd meters in a kilometre, and your calves burn. Maybe it was just because I’d already done a days walk, and was just convinced I could do another few hours, or maybe there was a reason this stretch had it’s own entire walking day, despite only being 7.8km long.

Either way, I was pooped. Sweaty, gross, ready to go back (never). I went past a cool old abandoned farmhouse, which greatly improved my mood, as did shitty Supernatural-soundtrack rock, but I was just so drained. At every bend, I felt so sure this would be the last one, and it just never w a s. Tricky spot, because I definitely could not sleep anywhere here – woods, and all that. The trees were too close together, no real kipping opportunity.

But then, I cleared the trees and found myself in.,,. a quarry? The hill-mountain (where does the split happen?) I was climbing was a shell – it’s insides spilling out over itself. The rocks towered, and far below me the crumbs of a time past lay in the gravel. And up to my right was,,, Mary??

-Espalion-

To be honest, my grasp on biblical figures is close from tight, and any woman I assumed was Mary, purely because she’s the only woman I ever hear mentioned. Unless I’m missing some cool Goliath-style women, which would be a shame. Anyway, maybe-Mary is a big old statue overlooking the valley, and she’s,, a little creepy to see from far away because she really looks person sized before you actually get to her.

Oh and Espalion? Fucking massive. For the first time since Le Puy, a place on the map takes up my full line of sight, which feels crazy after so long without. It’s pretty – I can see the massive church from here – but fills me with stress. But, at the very least, I could see benches already; right by the river :]

I’d given up on getting to Estaing around the time I finished the climb, it just wouldn’t happen in time tonight, and I wanted a nice place to eat – the shores of the river Lot sounded perfect! I wandered on down the final decline of the day, stumbling a little in the cold, before eventually emerging at the start of a massive tennis training centre. The French could not get enough of tennis; I saw big courts and centres everywhere!

One final asphalt path, this time along the banks of the Lot, and finally, I was here. Public park benches, oh how I’ve missed you <33 And with toilets right nearby – Espalion was shaping up to be quite perfect already. I set my things down, went to the bathroom, got changed into my less rank shirt, hung it off the back of the bench to dry.

I was passed by a man and managed to have an entire little small talk thing without needing to give up and resort to miming, which was cool :] Granted, it was just the standard ‘how long did you walk?’/’what’s your name?’/’where are you staying tonight?’ but hey. The last one was a little dicey, so I said I’d probably keep walking or find somewhere, seeing as the campsite was closed. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him!

He bid me goodnight and walked down the treelined path into the centre ville, so I took out my food. I was beyond excited for beetroot – I’d been looking forward to it all afternoon !! As I unpacked my little utensils and grabbed my pocketknife, a new couple arrived and sat at the table closest to me. A first date, if I understood correctly. They were very cute, and chose a great one – picnic by the river at sunset. Fucking nailing the dating thing <33

I was also passed by Closely Shaven again, on his way to a gîte, presumably, and he laughed as I waved, again. A new regular was definitely a positive :] And then, as I took the first bite of my beetroot – mentally screaming at how freakishly delicious it was – I was passed by another familiar face. It was a camper, this one from Saint-Chély last night. Another pace to match. His dog seemed to remember me too, and she was adorable – a puppy, despite her size, and he was attempting to train her as he walked. Mammoth task – good luck!

He asked me where I would sleep, and I told him I’d figure something out, and off he went. It was nippy now, as the sun began to dip below the buildings, and I tugged on some extra layers. Back to my beetroot and stale baguette, I cannot express in words how much I enjoyed them. I need to learn how to make it – it seems to just be beetroot, red onion and vinegar? And it tastes like Heaven.

Still just trying to eat, I’m passed again – this time from the opposite direction – by the first guy, now armed with paper grocery bags. He sees me, in different, warmer clothes, looking quite comfortable, and laughs, raises an eyebrow conspiratorially – “maybe,, you even sleep here?”.

I’m jokey, raising my hands, “Maybe, maybe.”

He seems to enjoy it, and tells me to “wait, wait!”

He rustles around in his bags, draws out a handful of,, loose black grapes?

Hell yeah.

I thank him, take them. Mmmm grapes. He laughs again, hands me another few, tells me he’ll check in on me in the morning, and he’s back through the campsite gates.

Grinning like an idiot, I put my earbuds back in to the part of Awake My Soul playing, and my grinning increased tenfold. Nothing like a bit of wrow-wrow-wrooow guitar and nostalgia to punch you in the face and remind you you’re happier than you’ve ever been at any other point in time.

Somewhere here, I clock that, for the first time since starting, a capital s italicised bold sunset is happening. One of the big ones. And so I grabbed my hat, newly full of grapes, and walked across the path to enjoy some dessert before my dinner. The separation and spacing of dessert and dinner seemed archaic, the principles old-fasioned; are we not stronger united? Do we not gain more from mixing and mingling despite our differences? Does this world need any more degrees of separation than it already does?

All that is to say that I’m sitting on the grass eating grapes and knock-off oreos, having a great time. Beat that.

And so I sat there, on the grass, music playing softly, as the clouds turned yellow, then orange, then deep, deep rosy pink, great big vibrant streaks in the watercolour sky. It was fucking beautiful – I got the Chaumont feeling again. Happy, and light, and alive. It wasn’t often I got the trifecta down; I wasn’t taking it for granted tonight. I waited until the pinks and reds began to turn to gray, then returned to my bench, which, as I now found out, was directly under the fluorescent lights. Sweet. I’d move when the couple left – for now, it gave me light to write.

After a time, once I’d finished my dinner and packed up again, dog guy came back. He seemed incredulous to see me, and asked if I found a gîte – I replied that tonight, the park would be my gîte. He laughed, asked me if I was sure; wouldn’t it be cold? Yes, so fucking cold.

“Nah, I’ll be fine :]”

Cocky prick !!

He said goodnight, and that he, too, would see me in the morning – towards town he went.

I moved to a bench out of the light, got comfortable and scribbled for awhile. Only so much you can write when your brain is liquid though – I just wanted to sleep. Finally, the couple left, his jacket around her shoulders. Very sappy, I unrolled the sleeping bag and got comfortable. It’s been awhile since we met on a bench under the stars – not since before Le Puy! Fingers crossed tonight goes a little better than that one, or we’ll see each other again far too early,,,

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Day 25 – September 14th

Saint-Chély-d’Aubrac to Espalion

27.1km

~ 157.2km total

€11.80

~ €174.38 total

(521.9km combined)

(€803.61 combined)