Lodeve to Lunas 22 kms
Last night I think I got sleep. I can’t really tell.
We were up at 5.00am to get ready to walk another big day as we were intending to get to Joncels. Jacques I and I left at 6am. It was cool and a good time to start. We ate a sunrise for breakfast. Pink sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning, as it turns out, was correct.
We first left by road, and wound our way up to meet the chemin (our gite was on an alternate, parallel route out to the west of Lodeve) so we needed to turn left to find the GR653 again. We left the road to the right and followed a fire track circling slowly upwards around a hill for about an hour an a half.
Once again we had gorgeous views; a patchwork of cropped fields, forests and even the large lake we could see yesterday from the table d’orientation. We continue to cover so much ground.
At the top of one section large rounds of hay confronted us and we turned right. Heading towards the summit Jacques commented on how he thought I was strong to carry such a heavy backpack. I knew it was heavier than it needed to be, but was not thinking I could get rid of very much. Plus we were never in a town at the right time to post anything. We left well before 9am, and never reached a town with La Poste before 12pm and they rarely opened in the afternoons. He hadn’t suggested we stop for a day so I could post my excess. I wasn’t using my sleeping bag, and my Keen sandals were far too heavy for this exercise. I also took the comment metaphorically and I told him, I’ve had to be strong in my life as I was taken advantage of as a young child. I said I’m only just becoming comfortable with letting down my guard and showing my sensitive and vulnerable side. I’m learning how to use something different to sheer brute strength to keep myself strong, and sane. Reflecting on this conversation I am realising that it also takes constant attention and skill working out who to safely surround myself with, in order that I don’t experience overload. Working this out now, gives me more power and strength than anything else. Sometimes however, it takes a while to sink in, 10 days perhaps.
When I was leaving the monastery at Bouchard, one of the sweet, yet simple monks who had showed me the little chapel the day before when I was wandering around the grounds returned to the breakfast dining room and brought me a small heart locket on a leather cord. I was very touched, and in addition to the little pendant I have worn every day from my friend Jo, I put it on and had worn it religiously. In Gallargues I nearly lost it – I left it hanging in the shower, but remembered it in time. Today I found myself without my heart-shaped locket and I knew now I was really lost. I still had the leather cord, so I might replace the locket when I get back, but I realised now, something really had to change.
Just like an Australian walk, the familiar fronds of bracken appeared. Blue berries that looked edible, but apparently are not started clumping along the grassy track. Achy foot arches and achy right knee, my ACL knee (drat).
As I was walking up the side of the bitumen road, I thought about the speed of walking as opposed to riding. As I’d found when riding the Vezelay route, the dashed lines along the side of the road are actually joined by a very fine white line, just like you make when you’re patching squares together en masse and you don’t break the cotton (for my quilting relatives). You can only see it when you’re riding or walking. Car drivers wouldn’t be let into the secret, that line markers all know, there is one continuous line, even for dashes.
Pilgrimage appeals to many, but the many variants of the Chemin St Jacques are not the only form of long-distance walking you can do. The Grande Randonnée network spreads like crisscrossed stitching on a quilt across France and Europe, and many people do different parts of it each holiday.
Later wind turbines debuted. They are called éoliennes here. Yes Tony Abbott, Europe has loads of them! They are not without their dissenters though. Some locals obviously believe they are messing with the local Royal eagle population. Controversial, wherever you are! I might have thought that eagles would be a little too clever to get caught up in wind turbines, but maybe not, and they are dying in their 100s. Who would know? I’m wondering whether the energy companies would let environmental scientists even close. Maybe I’m just being cynical. When I spoke of them later to Jacques I & II, they said éoliennes are named for the God of Wind, Aeolius. I said in Australia we just call them wind turbines – maybe we prefer to keep the Gods out of it.
(I know of him from the Aeolian mode in music which according to wiki is the natural minor mode of the Bob Dylan song, All Along the Watchtower and the R.E.M. song, Losing my Religion. I spent 6 years “prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper and I was” … none the wiser about those facts! Prizes for anyone who knows who wrote those words).
Jacques II caught us up where we’d stopped for our second break, just past the Col de la Baraque de Bral corner and the turbine protest. We’d been walking for 45 minutes on bitumen, and a total of four hours already, so my legs were dead. Even the sound of cowbells in the valley was not enough to amuse me and distract from my leg tiredness.
From our resting place we tried ringing to book beds for the night. Somewhere, somehow, someone decided that we should walk further than Joncels, to Lunas. We were going to pass through Joncels on the way, but then Jacques II thought better of the idea. I think both Jacques were trying to make it easier for me so they suggested we go straight down the valley to Lunas, cutting off several kilometres. Here again we were skipping bits, but I was now resigned to it. I just had to walk at their pace. Both Jacques tried ringing our intended place of abode for the night, but couldn’t seem to get through. We joked that we must indeed be in ‘deep’ France as there was no mobile reception. So we took the most direct route down, continuing straight through the little hamlet of Bernagues instead of veering right. There was only one house there that we could see and a little further down the track a big abandoned house, well maybe half-abandoned. This ended up being a very difficult 5km track down into Lunas and quite hot and exposed in the post midday sun (as usual). We stopped a little way along to eat lunch on the shady side of the hill (thankfully). It was nice because it was the first time all three of us had stopped together. The Jacques continued to try the accommodation to no avail. I just enjoyed the peace of the present location.
When we were nearly there, Jacques I took a big fall, but luckily only skinned his knees. Tiny blue, orange and yellow butterflies mimicked the colours of the flowers next to the road, and flitted around at our feet. As yesterday, there were sand-coloured crickets which when disturbed, jumped away, revealing their amazingly bright orange underbellies.
I hung back a little again, preferring to walk on my own, keeping my pain to myself. I’ve worked out a few logistical realities from walking with others. For instance, the pee stop, usually sets one back at least 100 metres from one’s colleagues. Jacques called these stops escales, like the stops a ship takes at different ports.
When we got to the bottom of the hill, it was only 500 metres into Lunas along the jean-seam of a road, but it felt like another 5 kms. The bitumen was a new form of torture for my feet. Passing Roland Garros (I didn’t think it was this far south), I once again hobbled to the finish line and the Office de Tourisme.
Lunas is yet another town made beautiful by the river running through it and people had clearly built to take in the view. A large château/hotel/restaurant was perched right on its banks. It took a gorgeous picture and looked really popular with the lunchtime crowd. It was nearly 2pm, and we camped outside our favourite place until it opened. I was desperate, in a messy way, for the toilet, so took my toilet paper with me around the back of the building. Luckily where there are tourists, there are toilets. My feet were killing me and I couldn’t bear to walk a moment longer. The Jacques were contemplating walking to the next town, Le Bousquet d’Orb, another 3.5kms but I said no way. The woman gave them all the options, in French at first, then Jacques I explained to me an abbreviated form in English. They were struggling to find cheap options. I indicated once again my strong preference for staying in this town, as I really couldn’t go any further physically.
I took the opportunity, while they were exploring options, to have a brief sojourn with Jeanne d’Arc (Joan of Arc) in the chapel next door without my pack on. L’église Saint-Pancrace was cool, calm, and literally 10 steps from the office. I am always quite fascinated by Jeanne in chapels. She seems somewhat out-of-place, and I never think of her as a saint, I suppose because she was a martyr first. I try to forget that if she had lived just two hundred years later, she would have been one of the opponents of my Huguenot ancestors, waging war against protestant English sympathisers. I try not to like her, because clearly she was a violent young woman, but there is something in this portrayal of her: innocent childlike demeanour (she possibly was only 19 when she was burnt), peasant clothes, and battle garb in such a sacred place that screams of an attitude that women just aren’t meant to have. You have to admire that! For audacity alone. The West has certainly had its share of ‘holy warriors’ and now I notice there is even a tactical role-playing Play-Station game named in her honour. She is clearly breaking down traditional roles of women even in the 21st century, over five hundred years later.
While I was absent, there was a little to-ing and fro-ing between the two Jacques and the woman at the office, then the unimaginable happened. I still don’t know how. The reason the two Jacques couldn’t get through to the L’Auberge Gourmande where we had wanted to stay, was because the new owners had closed it for renovations. I don’t know whether it was pressure from Jacques I (I’ve noticed he can be very insistent), or just happenstance, but the woman ended up having the owners on the phone, and asked them whether it would be possible to put 3 pilgrims up. They agreed, and they were fantastic. We thanked her for her assistance and went to wait for the owner just across the river on some little benches across the road from the accommodation. An old man was sitting there and we said our bon jours. As it often does, the conversation turned quickly to the weather, and he told us that they did have rain earlier in the week, and made us laugh when he said it wasn’t enough to fill a glass. He was later joined by what looked like all of the old men of the town who only disbanded at the threat of the storm that was forecast.
We stayed in a building site basically (don’t tell anyone!), but there was one room with three beds in it that they hadn’t been working on. They were also living there upstairs, so it was well habitable, and our hosts were quick to point out the hazards (most of which were probably there well before the building work anyway). It was cool and there was lovely coir matting on the floor which gave excellent relief when I rubbed my tired feet on it. We were given towels (luxury – with shoe box in middle of road accent), bath mats and guest soaps. Plus they allowed us to use their washing machine and makeshift kitchen out back. The Hilton!
As we were settling in to our accommodation, Jacques II had a search through his pack, and realised he had left his medications in Lodeve, so he disappeared to try to ring the madame from the gite. We said we’d organise dinner so he could concentrate on getting his medications back. Madame wasn’t answering her telephone and he came back looking a little dejected. Luckily, I had kept both of her phone numbers on my Lodeve map, and he was able to ring her. Fortuitously, she had cousins who were visiting Lodeve from Lunas that night, and they agreed to deliver his medicines back to him. We shared pizza, tomato/mozzarella salad and crusty bread, and part-way through, our hostess came to tell us the medications had been dropped off. Voila!
Still persevering with my blog attempts, after dinner I sat downstairs in the lounge room and used wi-fi! Yay! Only 53 unread emails. I didn’t get very far again with the blog, so I snuck upstairs and went to bed.