A Pilgrimage Walk from Le Puy-en-Velay to Santiago de Compostela, 2003. 3: First week (25 April-1 May)
Here follows the daily journal I kept during the trip, edited for clarity, with illustrations added (my photos + pictures taken from the internet), with mile and pound equivalents added to metric measurements, and with the benefit of hindsight. I should note that we had neither cell phones nor digital cameras -- technological developments just coming in, but which hadn't yet reached us.
Friday, 25 April 2003. Night spent in Le Puy-en-Velay. [Day 1]
8:15 a.m. Caroline and I are en route from Paris to Le Puy-en-Velay via St. Etienne, in a train (TGV) that left Paris at 7:00 a.m.
Not many people are in this train. The weather is cloudy, with a bit of clearing as we head south, but not cold. Wednesday we both arrived in Paris, where we stayed with Claude and Suzanne, my wife Marie-Henriette’s maternal uncle and aunt (Caroline’s great-uncle and great-aunt). Almost 79 years old, they both seem fine, Claude now recovered from his collapsed lungs of a year ago. He has given up smoking, so for the first time ever their apartment didn’t reek of cigarettes. Yesterday Caroline and I did errands in the afternoon, such as buying notebooks at Gibert (Place St. Michel) for the Kinet Höyük excavations and mailing them to Marie-Henriette in Ankara. Paris is beautiful at the beginning of spring, and the days are already long. Last night for dinner, Claude and Suzanne had invited Sharon (an Episcopalian priest) and her husband, Robert. I had met them a year ago January. Sharon was formerly married to a son of the Schlosser family of Indiana, whom Claude and Suzanne met years ago when their car hit a cow in the middle of Indiana, wrecking both car and cow and leaving them stranded. Yesterday she was tired, after the Easter celebrations, and because of the emotion of conducting the funeral for an American friend who dropped dead last Friday of a heart attack, age 55.
I have been wanting to do this pilgrimage for a long time – a calling, looked forward to with longing. Why? Thanksgiving to God for the many blessings He has showered upon me. An opening up of the heart and soul, to let in the Holy Spirit, open the shutters, throw open the windows, let light and air into the soul, an airing out now at age 53, a way to prepare for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be. I also seek direction, or inspiration, about what projects to undertake in the future. Of the many things I could do for myself, my family and friends, and the world, which would be fruitful and rewarding? The pilgrimage is also a hike, and with the backpack of nearly 13 kg/28 ½ lb. (including guidebooks and camera), it will be physically demanding. It’s also a financial sacrifice: I’m taking leave without pay for two months. But there will be many interesting monuments and wonderful scenery to see, and I am very happy that Caroline is with me.
Saturday, 26 April 2003. Montbonnet. [Day 2]
6 p.m. We’re in the Gîte d’étape (= hostel) L’Escole in Montbonnet. Fortunately we telephoned yesterday for reservations, for the gîte is full. We’re in a room for three, sharing it with Robert, a friendly older man from Brittany. Robert tells us he will be walking for three weeks, his doctor having pronounced him fit after a recent heart operation.
This morning, we attended Mass at 7:00 a.m. in the Cathedral of Le Puy, with, afterward, a blessing of pilgrims – all led by the Bishop of Le Puy.
A good 50 people were present, of whom about half were pilgrims, the others sisters and miscellaneous. The Bishop gave an excellent sermon. After the Mass, for the blessing, the pilgrims gathered in a circle. The Bishop asked each of us, one after the other, where he or she came from, and he had a kind word for each. His sister lives in Manhattan, he told us after he heard Caroline was coming from New York, the wife of a professor of Comparative Literature at Barnard. We were each given a little medal of Notre Dame of Le Puy. A moving and heartfelt send-off, and dignified, too.
We returned to our hostel for breakfast, for a do-it-yourself café au lait and bread with butter and excellent plum jam.
We hoisted on our packs and off we went, with a first stop in the weekly outdoor market, in the Place Plot, the square where the Via Podiensis, the trail to Santiago, officially begins, to buy bread, local cheese, tomatoes, and apples for a picnic lunch.
At 9:30 we left the city center, on a street that headed slowly uphill. It turned out to be an uphill day, for Le Puy lies at an altitude of 650 m/2130 ft., Montbonnet at 1100 m/3600 ft. We reached the hostel at 3:30 p.m. The distance was 15 km/9 mi., but it seemed much longer to me, and now I feel it in my legs and hips. My backpack is comfortable, but I’m carrying almost 13 kg/28 lb. – this will take getting used to. Weather: cloudy this morning, with some strong wind. After lunch (picnic at 1 p.m. in St. Christophe), rain started, and eventually became moderately heavy lasting until an hour or so ago. Our American ponchos are flimsy, and have already (a) torn, or (b) the snaps have ripped out. Others at the gîte here are much better equipped, as I noted when we hung up our dripping ponchos at the coat rack by the entrance. Otherwise, my boots and socks are fine, and I was warm enough. People encountered on the way have been extremely friendly and helpful.
Yesterday, after we arrived in Le Puy at 11:30 a.m. with the local train from St. Etienne, we stopped first at the Tourism Office for a city map. We trudged uphill (this town has steep hills, including some sharply vertical rock formations)
to the Accueil St. François, a hostel for pilgrims and hikers located near the Cathedral not far below the summit of the city’s main hill, on which stands a colossal metal statue of the Virgin Mary made from 213 cannons captured from the Russians in the Crimean War.
Fortunately, there was a room for two that was free: very nice, spotless, and with a beautiful view toward the west. In the afternoon, after lunch in the Place Plot, we climbed up the hill again to the Cathedral to obtain our créanciales, our pilgrim’s passports, in the sacristy. The Cathedral, mostly Romanesque in style, early 12th century, is artfully wedged into the upper slope of the city’s most prominent hill. An immense staircase leads up to its west entrance. We wandered around inside. One side chapel contains a large stone slab said to have healing powers for anyone who lies on it. By this time naps were in order, especially for Caroline still suffering from lack of sleep from her trip from New York. In the later afternoon we walked down into the city, and made a stop at a bar/café with internet service. Dinner at “Au Nom de la Rose” – small brown lentils are a local specialty, so I ordered sausage and lentils. Another local specialty is a verveine (verbena) liqueur, but we settled for dessert of verveine ice cream. Then off to sleep at the end of this long day – but waking up at 6:20 a.m. in order to get to the Mass.
Sunday, 27 April 2003. Monistrol. [Day 3]
5 p.m. We are in the Gîte d’étape “La Tsabone,” in Monistrol d’Allier, after a second warm-up day, this one of 12.5 km/7.75 mi. The weather was sunny all day, a welcome change from yesterday’s rain.
Dinner last night with seven other people, all French, staying in the gîte, and the cheerful owners, a young couple (expecting a baby) from Marseille, who took over the gîte three years ago. Dinner: sliced tomatoes and a few anchovy fillets, with dressing. Main course: chicken legs and thighs with potatoes and carrots, a sort of stew. Dessert: local cheeses (excellent) and fruit. Wine: in a pitcher, Côtes du Ventoux (extra charge). Total price at this gîte, for us two (room and half board + wine): €43.
This morning I awoke at 7:20. We had breakfast after 8, café au lait, bread, homemade jam, and orange juice. We left at 9:10 a.m., arriving at 2:00 p.m. Our pace today was thus slightly under 3 km per hour.
Beautiful scenery: hills, green pastures, some sections of evergreen forests. We picnicked by a ruined tower and old chapel of rough stone perched on an outcropping at Rochegude, then ended the day’s walk with a long, steep descent into Monistrol – very glad it was not raining, for the path would have been muddy, slippery, and treacherous.
This town is deep down in the valley of the Allier River.
Lead and silver mines were active once, and some big civic construction projects indicated prosperity, but now the town seems sleepy. It is Sunday afternoon, though. The name of the gîte, “Tsabone,” is a local word meaning a sort of old-fashioned trailer, a little house on wheels pulled by oxen, used by shepherds as they moved around with their flocks. But this “tsabone,” although an old rustic house, is modern inside, nicely kept and very attractive. We’re assigned to an attic area with six beds on the floor; toilets and showers are downstairs. As seems to be standard, the bed is a mattress and a pillow. We provide the sleeping bag (or sleeping sack, if it’s hot, which it hasn’t been so far) and some covering for the pillow. Caroline and I are well equipped for this, with light-weight sleeping bags effective for cool (but not glacial) nights.
Outside, in front, the couple who own the gîte have a vegetable garden and are working there this afternoon, tilling away. The clothesline is on the front side of the property, looking out toward the valley below. Washing socks and underwear is clearly going to be a daily chore.
I am low on cash euros, which is what these places want to be paid. No ATM in St. Privat d’Allier (a larger town that we walked through today) or here in Monistrol, so the owner has agreed to take my cash dollars, although with a certain reluctance, not being familiar with cash dollars (it seems hard to believe). Tomorrow, at Saugues, the next town of any size, we will have to load up with cash euros.
Another practicality: Much discussion last night at dinner of the need to reserve gîte beds in advance. Two at the table had walked to Santiago before, so confirmed what the owners were emphasizing. And coming up is the May 1st holiday weekend, and one week later, the May 8th holiday weekend (celebrating the end of World War II), when French hikers will hit the trails. Everyone agreed: reservations will be essential! But I can’t imagine where we will be. I have called (from a public telephone) to reserve the next two nights, at Chanaleilles and at Les Estrets. Each day will thus be about 25 km/15.5 mi., longer than these past two days, virtually double the distance. Can we manage it? Caroline is up for it, but we’ll have to get an early start.
Monday, 28 April 2003. Chanaleilles. [Day 4]
Today we took on a long distance: 26 km/16 mi. It was tough, but we made it (and thanks to a shower and a yoga routine, I feel better). This gîte is a rather odd building, perhaps originally a farmhouse on the outskirts of town that has been pressed into service as a hostel. Our floor (second) has many rooms but only one shower and toilet. A boisterous group of nine arrived just after we did, occupied the remaining rooms, and promptly monopolized the bathroom. By watching vigilantly I was able to pop into the bathroom just as it was vacated, letting in Caroline right after I finished. Since the hostel does not serve meals, we will head off shortly to a restaurant in the nearby village.
We left Monistrol this morning at 8:10 a.m. and arrived at 5 pm. – so again we kept our same pace, including stops, of 3 km per hour. The day’s hike began with a relentless ascent of 450 m/1475 ft. After that grueling start, the terrain leveled out and we picked up speed.
The trail is well marked. This pilgrimage route also happens to be the GR65, one of the many long-distance hiking trails, the grandes randonnées, in the well-organized French national system of footpaths. Markers are two short parallel, horizontal stripes or bars, one red, one white, placed regularly enough that we never feel lost. They can be wood, nailed onto trees, or painted on rocks. Turns are indicated, as is a “wrong way” (with an “X”). We’re also following the route description in Alison Raju, The Way of St James, Le Puy to Santiago: A Walker’s Guide (1999, reprinted 2000). Every twist and turn is scrupulously and accurately described in this wonderful little book, with information on the villages, churches, and other monuments we pass.
We reached Saugues at noon, only to find the whole town shut down for lunch time, except bars.
Nonetheless, we managed to send an e-mail message to Marie-Henriette (from the Tourism office, with one computer available to tourists), get cash from an ATM (we are now well stocked with euros), and see the Cathedral from the outside. We just missed the post office and a stationery/newspaper seller. I have no idea what has been happening in the outside world.
Scenery today: as before, rolling hills, some dramatic valleys and crests, green pastures, farms (cows, some sheep), some forests.
Just before entering Saugues we admired an outdoor installation of large, wooden, humorous sculptures of animals. Weather: sunny, later partly cloudy – nice temperature.
Dinner last night at Monistrol: very cheery. Our hosts served us shredded carrots and mushrooms with mayonnaise; sausages and lentils; a dessert from “coucou” (a bluebell-like flower yellow in color); and cheese. At table were, among others, Fanny and Françoise (50-ish and older, respectively): Fanny comes from Perpignan; Françoise has walked the pilgrimage route once before. François: from Paris and the Vosges, 45-50-ish, doing the pilgrimage for “a very personal reason,” but wiped out and afflicted with bad blisters by the long walk that day from Le Puy all the way to Monistrol. And two Germans, one super fit, walking at least 30 km per day from Bavaria, the other a young mystic (or intellectual) suffering from diarrhea. This last has also done the pilgrimage before, like Françoise, and described the stretch in Castille between Burgos and León as desolate and barren – no trees, not a blade of grass. It sounds like a penance, a trial the pilgrim must undergo before reaching the green paradise of Galicia and Santiago.
Tuesday, 29 April 2003. Les Estrets. [Day 5]
9:40 p.m. We’re at a nice gîte, run by a young man, very handsome, whose mother started the place long ago. They’re from here; otherwise I can’t imagine what he would be doing in this very small out-of-the way village. Dinner: food only OK, but the table was lively – one couple from our first night (French), two Swiss, two Austrians, and another Frenchman from Bordeaux, and Bonnie, from Redondo Beach, California. Not at table was Bonnie’s 67-year-old friend Bob, from Bisbee, Arizona, who hauls around his own vegetarian food in one of those shopping carts on wheels used here in France especially by the elderly. Bob, Bonnie tells us, is a mathematician determined to live a long life, a goal he furthers by eating only food of precisely calculated nutritive value. His cart prevents him from using hiking trails, though. He has to stick to paved roads.
Yesterday’s walk was difficult. Today’s, although the same distance, was easier, but Caroline’s feet are sore, somewhat swollen, for unclear reasons. The young Austrians have given her some cream made from deer fat, an ointment beloved by Austrian hikers. Bonnie (who has walked the entire Camino once, and the French section an additional four times) has given her cushioning gel pads and advice: lace the boots less tightly; wear the thin inner sock as the outer sock, the thick outer sock as the inner.
From St. Alban we sent to c/o Claude and Suzanne (in Paris) a box of clothes, books, and miscellaneous objects which no longer seemed as essential as they did when we first set out. This has lightened our backpacks, which is our aim. St. Alban is an attractive little town, with slate roofed buildings. A seventeenth-century Renaissance-Baroque chateau with details in a handsome local red sandstone overlooks the town center. It houses the tourism office but served principally – since 1760 in fact, until recently – as a psychiatric hospital. Several likely patients were strolling around in the gardens as we walked by.
On the way to St. Alban we encountered a sign, protected in a little shelter, that speculated on the pilgrimage to Santiago. The history of the pilgrimage was briefly sketched. Then came the questions: although the Church has, at different times, promised specific spiritual rewards for pilgrims, what, really, did a person gain by undertaking the journey? Would the pilgrim have a spiritual awakening? Did one become a better person? Impossible to say, the text concluded. Very wise, I thought, yet surprising to see this discussion placed before the eyes of people actually walking to Santiago. I wondered if I would ever be able to find a copy of this text, to contemplate these issues after I finish the journey.
Yesterday’s dinner at the restaurant in Chanaleilles was excellent, our best so far. We had soup, a salad of wild mâche (purslane), home-made sausages and mashed potatoes, a cheese plate, and fresh strawberries. The hyperactive group of nine from the hostel took up one table, while we shared a table with Piotr, a Ukrainian man who has lived in Belgium for a long time, a specialist in computer applications for medicine. His father was a militant Jew and was deported to Siberia. He himself was a UN refugee, sent to Belgium at age 17. His wife is French, from Gers, a province we will be crossing in the weeks ahead, in “la France profonde” he called it, “deep France,” a phrase that denotes rural France, but also true France, the traditional, most authentic France. They have five children, all extraordinary. He has converted to Catholicism, and spiritual reasons are important for his undertaking this pilgrimage (for the time being, only a 3-week trip).
Wednesday, 30 April 2003. Les Finieyrols. [Day 6]
We are spending the night at the gîte at the “Ferme les Gentianes,” a big, isolated farm complex on the Aubrac plateau that includes a separate building for the hostel. The hostel rooms are upstairs. Everyone has had to remove boots and stash them on the ground floor before going up. Since it rained most of the day, the gîte is full of clothing hung up to dry, but because it’s humid, nothing is drying. Even my special quick-dry T-shirt, underwear, and sock liners are having difficulties. We’re in a room for four, already staked out by a couple who eyed us warily as we claimed the two free beds. Caroline and I are now used to sharing a room with complete strangers, but it may be that this couple is not.
Yes, rain most of the day, and cold. My poor quality poncho has already torn. I have to clutch it close to keep the hood in place. It’s useless, really. Caroline’s feet held up, with kind help from Bonnie’s gift of gel pads and a pair of socks. We picnicked (with regional Cantal cheese and a “pain de campagne,” country bread, bought in Aumont) in La Chaze during an interval in the rain, while seated on the stepped base of a stone cross in the square in front of the church. In the afternoon, we walked with the very pleasant young Austrian couple, Michael and Nikki, met at Les Estrets, the couple who offered deer fat unguent for Caroline’s sore feet. They kept our spirits up despite the rain and they kept us on pace. They live in Vienna. Michael is a professional photographer and is carrying a Hasselblad camera, which he takes out from time to time to photograph some detail it would never occur to me to photograph.
We reached the gîte at 5:30 p.m. It’s surprisingly large: twenty-five were served at the dinner table in the main house, with many more making their own meals in the hostel kitchen. The proprietress (helped by her daughter) accepts credit cards, unlike the other places where we have stayed – this is a serious and cleverly run business. The menu: soup, a slice of roast beef and aligot (= a mix of mashed potatoes, melted local tomme cheese, and garlic – an aromatic and tasty but very filling regional specialty), served in large dollops by our hefty, energetic proprietress, dessert (a sort of custard), and red wine. The wine served in these hostels is always red, which is fine with Caroline and me. “Le sang des pelerins,” Piotr the Ukraino-Belgian told us, is what red wine is traditionally called on the route to Santiago, “pilgrims’ blood.”
Tomorrow we hope for sun (which is predicted), because we have a long road planned, to St. Chely: 28 km.
Scenery today: because of the rain, I didn’t pay much attention, but forests were frequent. At the end, in contrast, on the Aubrac plateau it looks like the Scottish highlands – few trees, pastures not as fertile as what we have seen in past days. Just before reaching the hostel, though, a vast tapestry of yellow daffodils covered the gently sloping hillside.
On the way today, we stopped with Michael and Nikki for coffee and hot chocolate at Chez Régine located at “les 4 chemins,” a crossroads in the middle of nowhere: a funky café/bar installed in the front rooms of a large ramshackle house filled with odds and ends. Régine herself, middle-aged, small, smoking a cigarette, presided at the bar next to the cash register.
Thursday, 1 May 2003. St. Chély-sur-Olt. [Day 7]
Arrived late; no time to write.
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