Maubourguet to Anoye – 22 kms
I awoke to Christian’s alarm. I didn’t get up until about 6:30am though. I half packed and took my pack out on the tiny verandah and wrote my pages from 7am – 7:45am. I said goodbye to Christian when he left. I found this intriguing. He arrived before the others the day before, and he left before the others. I admired this independence. I wonder whether men can tolerate it of each other more than women can. Maybe I will evolve into someone who will really be at ease with ‘going my own way’, because I certainly can’t feel it quite yet. If I had come on a long ride with my friends, I would feel that invisible pressure to go with them, not go my own way. Is this how we are socialised as women and men, or is there something more primal about the difference between testosterone and oestrogen and it’s effects on our relating?
I got my pages finished and then Patrice appeared, and later still Laurent. Patrice rode to find out whether Casino (supermarket) was open, and it was. So I gathered up the final few things into my pack and said goodbye to the guys. It had been a great night. Off I went with my pack, after taking a photo of them in front of our cute chalet. Seeing people on bikes took me back to my Vezelay route ride. It is still a taxing way to travel, but riding another 5 kilometres to find a place to stay at night is less arduous than walking it. I envied their mobility.
I walked back into town to Casino also for today’s lunch, tonight’s dinner and the next day’s lunch. In some parts of the walk, it really does require that much forward planning, if your next stop is not in a town with an epicerie/boulangerie. You also have to consider that everything you carry is weighty, and after 20 kilometres, it can make a huge difference to how tired you get. I bought pain at the boulangerie. All set. It was 9:00am already – a late start. On the way out of town I passed my favourites, the Gendarmerie. Matthieu said there would be a lot of corn from now on, and there was. All day, right to the end. There were also great views again of the Pyrenees, although this time it felt like instead of looking across hills at them, you were starting to look up at them from the plains. It was a flat walk to start with, then a gentle hill took me upwards towards Lahitte-Toupiere.
The gazelle may have bounded away in the flesh, but I walked with him most of the day, thinking about the things he said and did, carrying some faint hope that I might, by some weird coincidence, catch him again. Blackberries reminded me of our slim pickings, and his concern for other pilgrims and I said to myself, no, toujours beaucoup (no, always plenty) for everyone when you take only what you need.
I feel like a walking smell. I stink, my pack stinks, my t-shirts are manky and even after washing, they still reek. Yuk!
I came to a big road, the D943, and observed that the GR101 crossed heading south towards Lourdes. It was well-signposted. Perhaps this is where the guy in St Gervais sur Mare was heading. If I’d had more time, maybe this is the way I would have reached Lourdes. As it was I preferred my detour-by-train plan.
10:10 when I next checked my phone. Loud helicopters made their presence felt overhead as I was getting to Lahitte-Toupière, where Matthieu was planning to stay the night. The gite advertised yoga. I thought that was a lovely coincidence as he had said he’d like to take it up, and I was encouraging him to, given I had got so much out of yoga at various times in my life.
Just past the gite, thoughts a little diverted by a beret, I neglected to take the right fork in the road, and continued along a road – distracted also by the La Poste van that met me. So when I got to the main road, I decided instead of just taking it into town, to re-trace my steps so as to walk the marked way. It rewarded me with the most beautiful little paddock of sheep, some with big bells around their necks which tinkled and clanged in time with their tugging at the grass. After some minutes recording this and photographing them, one walked up to me. I wondered if they’d also chatted to the gazelle this morning. (I might add, that I hadn’t realised that a possible reason for Matthieu’s sporting of a beret was a very good one. They had been produced in the town in which he lived since 1840 – I only found this out months after the walk. If I’d noted out loud his unusual head gear, I might have found this out yesterday!).
Another four kilometres on and I rested for a while under the verandah of a church in Vidouze to eat a peach. There was a fantastically signposted water tap also, especially for pilgrims. Just as I was going to leave, along rode Patrice and Laurent – they hadn’t left Maubourguet until 10am. We chatted and joked again and then they rode off down the hill that I was to walk down. What lovely men. What a happy meeting.
I left the road again, and was walking in fields of high corn, with sprinklers just starting up. I crossed a small creek on a footbridge that had a hidden approach, and then walked onto farm tracks made of orange clay and small rocks. The tracks were wet, and I realised this was where I play Donkey Kong Junior for real, and dodge sprinklers. I made one attempt, between two circulating pivots, and realised I wouldn’t make it through so I retreated. Maybe those 24 hours playing these little beeping games high in the skies between Melbourne, Bangkok and Dhaka when I was twelve paid off. Thanks Nintendo 1982, I managed to make it through without getting soaked. Thanks Paul for the heads up about the sprinklers.
I looked down at the path I was walking along after this, and realised the set of tyre tracks differed. Sometimes there was water pooled on one side, and not the other. Sometimes it was dry and rocky on one side and not the other. Some sides were tricky, and the other you could navigate without watching your step. I realised that you may be walking in the same direction, on the same track as someone else, but still experience different terrain. Everyone’s path is absolutely unique. I heard the helicopter overhead again. Out in the open for a while and I came across a large dry paddock of pigs. They had some mud, and seemed happy in it.
It was getting on to lunch time, and I had continued on in the cornfields for some time past Dexpers (nice name for a settlement), when up ahead, who do I see but my cheeky friends, Sophie et Virginie sitting down to have lunch on some big wooden crates on the edge of the track. How lovely. I joined them for lunch and for the next few hours of walking. There were a few big hills to ascend and descend today, but thankfully the destination, Anoye, was in a valley.
In one part that was more dense trees, there were these strange contraptions in the forest. It looked like there were platforms suspended high up, with ropes and pulleys to bring things up and down. They were a little more sophisticated than what could be made by children, but it certainly looked like someone liked playing up high.
Today I saw espaliered plane trees, signs that said Arles was 560 kms away (which didn’t seem quite right), more orange slugs and road signs that now say ‘Cami’ rather than ‘Chemin’. I spotted Chinese lantern plants again and a new occurrence that would last for many kilometres and the final days of my walk, ancient fruit varieties.
Planted by friends of the way, partly I suppose in commemoration of the trail, and partly to feed the pilgrims that traverse it, they were a sweet reminder that the path is cared for by a whole army of unseen caretakers. It was nice to see these ancient varieties being resurrected, and the signs on the plants gave great information about them.
Just past Lucarré, there is a big lake, and the girls wanted to take their time and stop by it, so I walked back up another hill, on through Momy, stopping to look in the beautiful l’eglise with another rendition of St Roch with his sore leg, chuckling at a place called ‘Samson’s Lion’ and finally getting back on the road down the hill into Anoye. It was a hot day on the road today, so I wanted to make sure to leave earlier tomorrow. I will have more sleep and less wine!
I arrived in the small town, once again being welcomed by fast-running water and found the communal gite which was a beautiful two story house. The large front door was open and I went in, left my shoes downstairs and then climbed (with difficulty), the creaking wooden stairs, opened the tight door at the top and got acquainted with the sleeping quarters. Around 15 minutes later so did the girls. And then who should show up, but Francois and Cloudine. It is strange isn’t it? You could hold on to make the good times last longer, clinging and desperately orchestrating your travel to stay with nice people, or you could continue in your own way, never knowing if you might come into contact with your lovely friends again, but in the intervening times, experiencing the lessons that are just for you to learn. The posse was back together again. The way is a great teacher about letting go and having faith in your own time and pace. And of course, F & C had spent the night in the same place as the gazelle, so it was nice to share my excitement at having met him.
Even though it was upstairs, it was cool, and comfortable. The bunk beds were nice and the bathroom was good, and appropriately decorated with shell motifs. What none of us realised was that there was also a little epicerie downstairs, that is magically opened when the clock strikes 6pm by local volunteers who look after this communal gite. All kinds of supplies can be purchased. Nice supplies, like chocolate! The kitchen upstairs is small and basic, but well stocked with cooking utensils for preparing food. I needn’t have hung around for Casino and the boulangerie this morning, but who would have known. The table was large, and would easily fit us all around it when we’d prepared our food.
After showering I tried writing my journal, outside on the picnic bench but couldn’t seem to get into the mood. That and les bothersome moustiques. I went for a small walk around the town: past donkeys that were well on heat (what, is this spring or something??), to the little church – which was shut, and to the fontaine (fountain) – a pure spring, said to have healing qualities, made in 1652 according to the plaque. It was close to the gite, just around the back, luckily for my tired and aching legs. A few of us cooperated and chipped in for the 3Euro washing machine fee and got our clothes washed. We were really late, so they didn’t quite dry, but that’s what all the spare bunk beds are for – drying washing while you sleep.
I’d bought some nice bio rice with salmon and I heated in the microwave for dinner. We all ate together at the kitchen table. I finished writing my journal, and went to bed.