pocket-full-of-seaglass

-Cajarc-

I was up vaguely early – not that it came naturally. I had been planning to leave by 8.00am, and got up at a prompt 8.15am. Aahhh well. I packed my (very wet) tent up, got myself clean and sorted, did my morning chores. Cajarc is in a valley, so the sun wasn’t fully up yet, and the clouds had yet to catch it so it lifted bright orange fingers and traced the spines of the mountains.

Finally on my way at 8.40am, I stopped in to Intermarche again for some pain – to find it opened at nine. Fuck. Okay, a wait it was; this would be my last chance for nineteen odd kilometres to get food, and even then it was veering on the épicerie side, rather than my beloved cheap mass-produced supermarkets of the bigger towns. And I was not looking to repeat my mistakes today.

I whiled away the minutes writing and posting – who am I ?? – and gradually trying to figure out where to stay. My aim was to make it to Bach, a good thirty odd kilometres away – completing two days stages in one – and catching up with some of my regulars who might be following the stages more clearly. Only problem; no campsite in Bach. Only expensive gîtes I can’t afford. So my two options are walk less or walk more – a call I’d make when I got close.

More and more people were lining up outside the doors, and at 8.55am they opened them, and not a single person moved a muscle. Everyone waited, with open doors, until exactly 9.00am, then starting walking forward in almost-unison. I shook my head; French people. I loved them a little bit.

I grabbed some (French) pain, a few punnets of tomatoes and some pesto (only the essentials), then some peach iced tea and some kiddy textas – why? No idea. Just saw them and my brain went ‘maybe we’ll Learn Art’ which sounds both completely feasible and also how you do it so !! I’ve got textas now :]

Returning to the freezing outside air, I decided to dawdle a little. Eat a sandwich, slowly repack my bag, no biggie. What’s the rush? Soon, I set off, full and motivated and ready to go. I passed a few pilgrims who also slept a little late – it was nearing 10.00am – overtook them by the river. Saw a group of four in the distance, wished they were the Fantastic Four but knowing they weren’t. One of them was a little behind because she kept stomping on the chestnuts (I think?) on the ground and then picking them open and eating them. She’s German, had a green shirt on, and is about to make me regret ever setting off at the time I did.

It started off innocent enough – ‘Where are you from? Woow Australia. Long way away!’ – with her even asking how many Merino sheep I had on my farm; y’know, the one every person living in Australia has. Then – ‘What are you going to study?’ – a classic. Upon hearing Marine Biology (sort of), she had an ‘aaah!’ look on her face, and segued incredibly smoothly into ‘So you’re vegan, right?’.

Not the bad part, yet. Calm the vegan hatred. They’re fine – unless they’re German and they have green shirts and are about to keep talking to you. She sort of rambles about veganism, and fish not being exposed to pesticides (?) so they’re better to eat than vegetables (??) and really, what was cheese in the scheme of things (???) and hey, she was in France !! Okaaay. Very dedicated set of principles, clearly. Anyway, we’ve just finished the mini climb I did yesterday, and she turns to me and hits me with a killer question.

“So, I’m guessing you didn’t get the vaccine?”

Ohhh boy, it’s like I can smell Mullum, anti-vaxx epicentre and all that. Luckily, that at least gives me major life experiences in talking to absolute morons

“Yep!” I reply, “Definitely did get them, actually!”

“Aaah,” She responds, “You were forced too?”

“Nope – actively chose to get them. Three, actually.”

And she looks at me with the most patronising eyes and goes,

“Ohh. So you believed it?”

Jesus Christ.

We go back and forth a little, me desperately attempting to weasel out of the conversation, her far too happy to continue talking. She tells me that Germany is entering an “age of revolution” because they refuse to get the thing scientifically proven to keep people safe. Wow, what heroes of freedom. I mean, really, what is the basis of a revolution if not active disregard for the most disadvantaged people in a society? She branches off into the complete plot of every camino-based movie she’s seen, for some reason, then rounds it off with a nice, “Actually, none of us four are vaccinated!!”

Righty roo let’s get the hell out of here !!

We have the same pace, but unlike the American from the other day, I definitely do not want to have it. I pause, fake fiddle with something so she’ll keep walking, but she pauses too. Fuck. I take my chance the second I could; she stops to look at a dog and I’m gone. Headphones in, speedwalking away. It’s been awhile since I’ve heard shit like that – you could almost forget it existed.

It was the same with the classic old transphobic homophobic bile that gets spewed everywhere – I’d managed to forget it was a problem until my peace had been disturbed by the Mullum crystal-creeps. It was interesting, the whole desire-to-be-ignorant thing; I couldn’t understand it to save my life. That even in the face of evidence, people would still stand by their antiquated bullshit and pretend it makes sense. Jesus. Idiocy was one hell of a drug!

Anyway, I sped on past her, over the Lot and to the right, winding up the road to the first little village of the day, Pech d’Andressac, whose church stood all cool and towering over the cliffs. I brushed past her again – they’d walked the wrong way – and skipped out of there. It was up, and up, and up, but I was so distracted by conversations about vampires and video games I barely noticed.

That is, until the conversation stopped. Then I definitely noticed the sweat dripping down the sides of my nose (ew). Once again, I was fuming at genetics – what was it that made Germans either the driest people on earth who never broke a sweat or just the most disgusting damp hairy sweaty behemoths designed to survive the Ice Age ?? And what bastard God had given me the sweat and hair with no cold tolerance ?? It was a cruel world.

I laboured on uphill, gaining 200m in elevation as I did, passing a few equally exhausted pilgrims gasping for air on the side of the track. I don’t know what it is about the climbs in the Podiensis, but they fucking sucked. I almost missed the vertical nature of the Gebennensis, these gradual ones killed me. Slow and steady was still the motto, so like a,,, three legged turtle I continued shucking uphill. That just feels like the right word – shucking. I felt,, shucked. Shuck me! That’s quite fun actually.

Anyway, the further I walked, the darker the clouds became. The storm and I had switched; it was right on my heels today. Every pause for breath would bring with it the sharp bite of rain, an icy wind, a warning. Keep fucking going. Alright, big man – on I went. I brushed shoulders with a few settlements, saw coloured shutters and red roofs through the leaves, moved on.

-Brunnen-

At some point or the other, I rounded a curve to find Brunnen’s rest stop – quite impressive actually. Y’know those bead curtains? Think that but a Solid Wall sized curtain of shells painted in some truly eye-burning shades of yellow, blue and green. It’s chockers, and you can see why – it’s a triple threat; bathrooms, water, and food. I press on though – I’m trying to hit 32km, and that doesn’t quite allow for breaks with others. It’s the problem with being an introvert on the Camino; yeah it’s all about camaraderie, but if I dabble in said camaraderie on a break, I need a second break to recover from the first!

It’s pretty, but it’s dragging on a little. I’ve been spoilt by the last month of walking; scenery that stays the same for more than a few days starts to drag. I try to play I Spy with myself, see if I can find new little details I haven’t before, but I don’t have much luck. Stacked chalk rock covered in a film of thick, spongy moss. Dark gray clouds are interesting, but uniform at the moment, which makes me think it won’t break tonight – usually it’s the mottled ones that mean trouble. I pass by stone huts, and fields, and stone huts in fields, and not much else that catches my eye and then hey !

-Limogne-en-Quercy-

I don’t quite remember the specifics of arriving in Limogne-en-Quercy, almost purely because I was so focused on getting to a toilet. I should’ve stopped at Brunnen, my god, the last nine kilometres have been positively Dangerous. Mostly I remember the first view of the town being the one in the photo in the guidebook, and then very douchebaggedly thinking that it’s probably because that’s about the only thing it has going on.

They do have toilets though, even if you have to go way off course and they’re next to a bunch of truckie blokey blokes and their Big Trucks that you have to manoeuvre and there’s no toilet paper or soap nor, you realise far too late, a flushing function. As I get out, it immediately starts sprinkling. Awesome. All I need to do is find a spot undercover for a break, and I’ll be fine. Only problem – there doesn’t seem to be one. Churches don’t have overhangs here for some goddamn reason, and the benches have no roofs (I miss the ones from the last Étang). I wander out of town, find a half-intact bus stop with a flimsy sheet of plastic that covers just about half of me and my pack. Perfect.

I take my shoes off, get situated; it’s time for my least favourite task – calling places. I’ve really been spoilt, always staying in actual campsites over wildcamping, but that’s just not enough for me I guess, and with no campsite in Bach, I want a gîte. I miss the feeling of a bed – right now my spine is just indented with rocks and hard ground. Wouldn’t be so bad with a good mat, but that’s a problem for a bigger town.

Not a single place has space. Well, there’s one single room that costs more than €175, according to Hartmut, which is never happening, but other than that they’re all full. To reiterate, I’ve become a princess, and I don’t want to walk in the rain, so I start calling backwards, all the way back to a few kilometres from here. Nada. Fuuuck. If only the world could give me some sort of indication of what to do – oh hey Limogne has a campsite!

As I walk up the side street, I make a deal with God. A new version of chicken; I’ll take the campsite if it’s less than €10. If not, it’s into the storm I go, braving rain and cold and – yeah okay it’s €8 get me in. They’re not quite open yet, so I sit outside with a Canadian couple who are very friendly, and we joke about the walk, and are briefly greeted by a British couple with the most incredible Yorkshire accents ever. It’s the most English I’ve heard in a while! As they pay, I check Whatsapp (free wifi that works??) and oh yeah, family update! A new cousin, with the most crazy intense German name ever – good for her.

I go to check in, but the lady is busy with something, and just tells me to go, set up before the rain, get showered and warm, and then I can pay. I capital l Love her. Just about the second I get the last peg in, the latest shower starts, and I huddle inside with my damp things, rifling to get clean(ish) clothes. A run to the showers, a strip, an “oh shit!”, a re-dressing, a run back to the tent, a first aid kit moment for the first time, a run back to the showers, a strip, a shower. It’s actually hot, and it’s got a handle, and I really struggle to get out. Sure, it’s got zero water pressure whatsoever, but you can’t have it all! And the first aid kit moment was very lame; I had a tick. Grotty little bugger right above my hip – not a clue in the fucking world how he got there, but he’s very dead now.

I get out, and immediately start wincing. I have no fucking idea how people do this every year – I start freezing every time I stop moving. My hands are turning white !! It is 5.00pm !! It is not even winter yet !! This is my hell !! Y’know, I’m starting to think I won’t survive in Canada,,,

I don every item of clean clothing I have, and shiver well into the evening regardless, even huddled up in my sleeping bag – which, because I realise I’ve never described it, is far more adjacent to a mummy, or a baby sleepsack than a bag – and take advantage of the wifi to stay up way too late looking at university potentials and writing. Not enough that I’m caught up or have made a decision, because who would I be if I did that ;]

Oh, and the storm never broke. I was right – uniform gray, I’m telling you !! I went to pay, and she laughed and said she called it too. It’s been a weirdly exhausting day, so I’ll dip now – I hope you’re a little more comfortable than I am :] Meet you back here tomorrow?

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Day 32 – September 21st

Cajarc to Limogne-en-Quercy

19.1km

~ 311.2km total

€17.19

~ €438.14 total

(675.9km combined)

(€967.37 combined)