Short, but Sticky
The 5th of May dawned with mixed promises. There was blue sky, but lots of clouds as well. I spotted a newspaper that had a headline with the words: “neige, le vent et la pluie.”(snow, wind, and rain). Well, I had experienced the wind and rain, and it had been cold enough that I was not surprised to see that there had been snow somewhere in the region.
I was optimistic enough to dress for clear weather, but kept the pack cover and raincoat readily accessible just in case. I had limited aspirations that day. I had the directions for the tram to the edge of the city and a local bus on to Grabels – about 9km of cheating and then another 9km of walking on to Montarnaud. The tram station was conveniently close to the hotel and the only problem was fending off all the street urchins who insist on trying to push the ticket vending machine buttons for you in hopes of getting the 60 centimes of change that there would be if you use a 2euro piece. I had experienced that the day before and had been foolish enough to leave the 50centime piece, only to have the kid grumble because I kept the 10. If I had had my wits about me, it would have been the other way around. I didn’t need the help. This time I just kept up a steady stream of “non, non, non…”. Even without the pack and odd clothes, I was easily distinguished as a tourist. The locals don’t have to use the vending machines for single tickets; they buy longer-term passes. I took the tram to the end of the line, wondering if any of the streets I was seeing were part of the pilgrim route.
At the transfer point I wasn’t sure where the bus would be stopping. The only open business I could see was a car wash. The owner knew a little English and seemed happy to be of help. I have a hunch that he has had this question before. He pointed to a corner across the wide boulevard. There was actually a covered bus stand there, but it wasn’t obvious, looking at it on end. It turned out to have a schedule posted and it looked like I had a fairly long wait.
The shelter had a seat, so I took off the packs and relaxed, ate a little, read the novel a bit and did a little work on the diary. There was still about 20 minutes to go and I decided to do a little pack reorganization. Mistake! A bus showed up off schedule and the driver said that he was going to Grabels. I got on with my gear rather loosely thrown together and tried to find the ticket. I had failed to get rid of the old tickets from the day before, so naturally the first one I came up with produced a red light indicating that it was invalid. Rather than waste anymore of the driver’s time, I dug out the necessary one-forty, bought another ticket, ran it through the ticket reader and headed for the back of the bus.
Once in Grabels, I wasn’t sure where to get off. I thought that it would be the end of the line, but after we passed through what appeared to be the center of the town, I got apprehensive and got off at the next stop. The bus continued on and I looked around for way-marks. There was some sort of arrow that looked like a possibility, but it led to a section of road that looked like it was heading well away from the town and angled too much to the north to suit me. It also looked dangerous and had signs that suggested that bicycles and pedestrians were not encouraged to use it. The only alternative road at that point appeared to lead down into a fairly exclusive residential area – not likely the pilgrim route.
It was getting late in the morning and time to get something to eat, so I took the only sensible choice and headed back to the city center, where I should have got off the bus in the first place. It was only a few blocks and I came to an open restaurant soon enough. It was also an opportunity to get my gear squared away and to ask for directions to the proper route.
After lunch I found the way-marks and got started on the way, which initially followed a pleasant city park type path along the bank of a small stream. Outside of the town, it was a well-marked dirt trail and easy going for quite awhile. Then I hit the MUD. Thick, gooey, reddish-brown stuff that builds up on your shoes until you are lifting several extra pounds with each step. Not only did it collect in a 2-3 inch pad on the bottoms of the shoes, but also in an inch thick roll around the rim of the shoe. It made for very strenuous, very slow walking. There were occasional large chunks of limestone lying around and I would try to scrape some of the mud off and I also used a cane to push off some of the rolls of mud around the sides. But in four or five steps, it would all be built back up again. It was faster to just slog it out than to waste time trying to lighten the load. It seemed like forever, but eventually the mud gave way to coarse limestone gravel and I could clean the worst of it off.
The clouds were thickening up again and, with the slow going in the mud, I was concerned that it might be raining and/or dark before I made it to Montarnaud. The fact that I had neither a reservation nor a map of the village was also a matter of concern. The way-marks were few and far between, but I was seeing them and they were very reassuring. At one point I was going down a fairly steep decline (very slowly, as usual), and I met a young hiker going the other way. I asked him how many kilometers it was to Montarnaud and he indicated two, but pointed to his watch. When I asked if he meant 2 hours, he nodded. I said something about 8 kilometers and he agreed. Whoa! The whole route from Grabels to Montarnaud was supposed to be only about 9 km and I had been on the trail for 3 or more hours. He took off up the hill and I continued on down, feeling very lost indeed. I came to a construction area with heavy equipment and it wasn’t clear where the path was supposed to go. I think that it was for serving a large power line that the dirt road had been following. I opted to stick to following the road down and eventually did find a confirming way-mark.
By now the rain was definitely a threat, so I stopped, doffed the packs, made a short trip to some thick bushes, had a drink and a bit of food. I was starting to rig the cover around the two packs when a small sedan, which was coming down the road, stopped nearby. The young woman driving rolled down the window and called out something. I didn’t understand, but she got out and opened the trunk and I got the idea that I was supposed to put my stuff in it – which I was happy to do. She did speak a little English, but not much. I did understand some of her French, but not much. I caught words like garden, key, husband, and mother. After I got in, she continued down the road a way and made a couple of calls on her cell phone. We rode for less than a km and she mentioned garden again – family garden – and husband. Sure enough, there was a man standing out under the trees on the left side of the road and a fenced area with a gate on the right. He came over and she handed him a key, which he took over to the gate. I couldn’t see that there was a garden behind it. The area was mostly scrubby trees, just growing wild. At that point she turned the car around and headed back up the road. We passed the spot where she picked me up and took a right turn a few hundred meters after that. This led to a better road and came to a spot where she told me that I would have come of out the woods on that other path, but that the last part of it was too rough to drive her little sedan on it.
On into the town, she explained that she was taking me to her mother’s place, which apparently had accommodations for pilgrims. As it turned out, it is the first one listed for Montarnaud in MM-dd, the French guidebook to accommodations on the route. She parked in front, led me around to the back and opened a door to a *** DELETE - SPAM ***. She showed me a couple of rooms and told me to take my choice – there were no other guests. She showed me the bathroom, which had a shower and took off, saying that her mother would show up sometime later.
What are the odds of such an extraordinary coincidence - that she would come down that road, bringing the key to her husband, just at the time when I could use help the most? It was certainly one of those times that many members of the Santiago groups would call a “Santiago moment.” The hiker, the woman in the car, and her husband were the only people I saw on the trail that day.
I didn’t see any laundry washer or drier, so got busy on the shower and hand-wash laundry routine to get it out of the way as early as possible. It seemed like a long wait, but the mother showed up eventually, bearing a couple of fresh eggs that I cook for my dinner. She made a big point of showing me where all the cooking gear was, but what I really wanted to know was the location of the nearest restaurant and what key I should use when I got back from the restaurant. Unfortunately, I was unable to get the point across. I was left with a couple of uncooked eggs, a *** DELETE - SPAM *** full of all the necessary appliances and a few skimpy items in my pack larder. I didn’t feel like doing any pot washing, so I did a hard boil on the eggs and settled for part of the pack food supply for the rest. I still needed that 3 hours of waiting before I could go to bed after eating, but among the many books in the gîte, I found one in English, so that (plus diary writing) helped to pass the time.
Bob S.
a sorry, soggy saga
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
A Couple of Good'uns
May 6th and 7th presented a welcome change. The weather was fine and the scenery was magnificent. Thursday, the 6th, was short, only 12 km from Montarnaud to Aniane, but I probably did another 4-5km after getting to Aniane. The route has some ups and downs, but a lot of it is along an old railroad track bed, so the curves and grades are held to a minimum. It was cut by ravines, which would have required a lot of contouring and/or dips and climbs if it were the usual walking trail. Some of the old road rails had been used to fashion guardrails alongside the bridges over the ravines to make it safer walking – a great conversion job. Much of the route was through wooded hills, which later gave way to pastures and vineyards.
A small group of French pilgrims gradually overtook and eventually passed me. Some of them spoke passable English and I learned that they were going on to Saint Guilhelm the same day. I caught up with them a bit later when they stopped for a snack at a café in Aniane. I was invited to join them, but my first priority was to find accommodations in Aniane. One of them noticed a chambres d’hôte sign just across the street from the café and looked around for an entrance to help me out. Unfortunately, there was no answer to his knock. It was just about noon, so it was probably too early for them to be admitting guests. The French pilgrim asked at the café about hotels and passed the word to me that I could find one on down the pilgrim road that led to the northwest. He told me the name of the hotel, but I never did find one with that name. Instead, I found the Hotel Benoit, which is the only place mentioned for Aniane in the 2007 edition of the UK published guide for the Arles route. I had stayed there on the trip 10 years before and, although I knew that it was going to be rather expensive, I was happy to book a room there again and signed up for the demi-pension, so dinner and breakfast were taken care of.
I had remembered the hotel as being quite a way out of the town, but it turned out to be only about one kilometer. I also remembered it as not particularly friendly, but that was not all the case on this trip. The owner (and chef with diplomas and awards on the walls) was very friendly and helpful to me. They were still serving lunch, so that was the next order of business. After lunch, I had time for the shower/ laundry routine and still had time to head back into Aniane to find a shop to replenish my pack food supply. Nothing open until 16:00, but there was no rush, just a lot of wandering around hunting for the place – at least I wasn’t lugging the pack at this point.
Back at the hotel, I took a long nap, followed by a delicious dinner. No pilgrims there, so it was a bust socially, but the meal made up for it.
Friday was even shorter - a measly 8km to Saint-Guilhelm-le-Desert, but there was considerable elevation gain in the last half of it. The scenery there is spectacular, with the route following along a steep gorge and the weather was again cooperative. With the help of the owner of the hotel back in Aniane, I had a reservation for a hotel in St. G., but nothing beyond there. St. G. is a significant tourist destination, so the tourist office (T.O.) is very easy to find. That was my first stop. I was provided with a map of the town, with the T.O. and my hotel Xed in for my convenience. I asked about reservations for Saint-Jean-de-la-Blaquière and the clerk made a call for me. She told me that a machine message said to call back at 14:00 and that I could return then.
I headed on up the steep streets, map in hand, until I located the hotel. This was another one, where the owner was the chef as well. Again, I booked the demi-pension and had lunch there as well. Not quite up to the high quality of the day before, but it was convenient and I was happy with it. After lunch, shower and laundry, I did some map and guide study, as well as checking out some literature from the T.O. St. Jean was going to be a long stretch, 24km and the route starts out with on of the toughest elevation gains of all the routes that I have been on. The guidebooks don’t even mention Montpeyroux, but it is about 16km from St. G. and a brochure from the T.O. named a chambers d’hôte there. I asked the hotel owner about it and he called to make a reservation there for me. While we were at it, I asked if he could make a reservation for the next night at Saint Jean as well. It was still not too late in the afternoon, so I went looking for a patisserie that I remembered from the earlier trip. I didn’t find it, but dropped into the T.O. to let the clerk know that I had made other arrangements and to check out some of the items on display there. Note: "Dropped in" is not quite the way to express that. The way to the T.O. is up a long set of very steep steps leading to the door.
There had been no pilgrims to be seen during the walk. I did spot a few in the plaza in front of the hotel, but it was another solitary dinner that evening at the hotel.
I wasn’t making much progress, but had a couple of great days on the route.
Bob S.
May 6th and 7th presented a welcome change. The weather was fine and the scenery was magnificent. Thursday, the 6th, was short, only 12 km from Montarnaud to Aniane, but I probably did another 4-5km after getting to Aniane. The route has some ups and downs, but a lot of it is along an old railroad track bed, so the curves and grades are held to a minimum. It was cut by ravines, which would have required a lot of contouring and/or dips and climbs if it were the usual walking trail. Some of the old road rails had been used to fashion guardrails alongside the bridges over the ravines to make it safer walking – a great conversion job. Much of the route was through wooded hills, which later gave way to pastures and vineyards.
A small group of French pilgrims gradually overtook and eventually passed me. Some of them spoke passable English and I learned that they were going on to Saint Guilhelm the same day. I caught up with them a bit later when they stopped for a snack at a café in Aniane. I was invited to join them, but my first priority was to find accommodations in Aniane. One of them noticed a chambres d’hôte sign just across the street from the café and looked around for an entrance to help me out. Unfortunately, there was no answer to his knock. It was just about noon, so it was probably too early for them to be admitting guests. The French pilgrim asked at the café about hotels and passed the word to me that I could find one on down the pilgrim road that led to the northwest. He told me the name of the hotel, but I never did find one with that name. Instead, I found the Hotel Benoit, which is the only place mentioned for Aniane in the 2007 edition of the UK published guide for the Arles route. I had stayed there on the trip 10 years before and, although I knew that it was going to be rather expensive, I was happy to book a room there again and signed up for the demi-pension, so dinner and breakfast were taken care of.
I had remembered the hotel as being quite a way out of the town, but it turned out to be only about one kilometer. I also remembered it as not particularly friendly, but that was not all the case on this trip. The owner (and chef with diplomas and awards on the walls) was very friendly and helpful to me. They were still serving lunch, so that was the next order of business. After lunch, I had time for the shower/ laundry routine and still had time to head back into Aniane to find a shop to replenish my pack food supply. Nothing open until 16:00, but there was no rush, just a lot of wandering around hunting for the place – at least I wasn’t lugging the pack at this point.
Back at the hotel, I took a long nap, followed by a delicious dinner. No pilgrims there, so it was a bust socially, but the meal made up for it.
Friday was even shorter - a measly 8km to Saint-Guilhelm-le-Desert, but there was considerable elevation gain in the last half of it. The scenery there is spectacular, with the route following along a steep gorge and the weather was again cooperative. With the help of the owner of the hotel back in Aniane, I had a reservation for a hotel in St. G., but nothing beyond there. St. G. is a significant tourist destination, so the tourist office (T.O.) is very easy to find. That was my first stop. I was provided with a map of the town, with the T.O. and my hotel Xed in for my convenience. I asked about reservations for Saint-Jean-de-la-Blaquière and the clerk made a call for me. She told me that a machine message said to call back at 14:00 and that I could return then.
I headed on up the steep streets, map in hand, until I located the hotel. This was another one, where the owner was the chef as well. Again, I booked the demi-pension and had lunch there as well. Not quite up to the high quality of the day before, but it was convenient and I was happy with it. After lunch, shower and laundry, I did some map and guide study, as well as checking out some literature from the T.O. St. Jean was going to be a long stretch, 24km and the route starts out with on of the toughest elevation gains of all the routes that I have been on. The guidebooks don’t even mention Montpeyroux, but it is about 16km from St. G. and a brochure from the T.O. named a chambers d’hôte there. I asked the hotel owner about it and he called to make a reservation there for me. While we were at it, I asked if he could make a reservation for the next night at Saint Jean as well. It was still not too late in the afternoon, so I went looking for a patisserie that I remembered from the earlier trip. I didn’t find it, but dropped into the T.O. to let the clerk know that I had made other arrangements and to check out some of the items on display there. Note: "Dropped in" is not quite the way to express that. The way to the T.O. is up a long set of very steep steps leading to the door.
There had been no pilgrims to be seen during the walk. I did spot a few in the plaza in front of the hotel, but it was another solitary dinner that evening at the hotel.
I wasn’t making much progress, but had a couple of great days on the route.
Bob S.
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
A Day of Ups and Downs
There are a couple of loose ends to tie up first. I reported that on the way into Montarnaud I met an eastbound hiker who claimed that the town was another couple of hours, which would be about 8km. That was not the case at all. It was more like just a couple of km. I can’t tell exactly, since I did part of it in a car and the driver could not follow the more direct walking path. I don’t know whether I misunderstood the other hiker or if he had Montarnaud confused with another place. In any case, I think that he got the worst of it. The rain started up shortly after we met, so it probably caught him when he reached that stretch that had all the sticky mud.
Re reservations for the last three stops: I was booked at the chambes d’hôte “L’Hostal del Poeta” in Montpeyroux, courtesy of the hotelkeeper in Saint Guilhem. For the location of that one, I was carrying an ad from a glossy Tourist Office (TO) brochure. At the TO itself, the clerk made reservation calls for me to Saint Jean de la Blaquièr and to Lodève. At Saint Jean facility is a municipal gîte and the key is usually available from the Mairie (i.e. the city hall), but it was going to be on a Sunday, so the Mairie would be closed and the key would be at a nearby snack shop, La Petite Fringale. In Lodève, it was at a privately owned gîte, “Gîte La Mégisserie.” Like the place in Montpeyroux, it had an ad in the TO brochure, so I had a copy of that on hand.
I had hoped to get away from Saint Guihelm early on Saturday, the 8th of May. The distance was moderate, 16km, but the trail starts out with a steady, steep climb for an elevation gain of about a thousand feet. The night before, the hotel owner had asked me if 8:00 in the morning was early enough for breakfast. I said that I would like to get started earlier if possible, hoping for a 7:00 breakfast, but I agreed that 7:30 would be O.K.
I was up early and had all the morning chores done in plenty of time to be down in the restaurant by 7:30. No one was around. The weather did not look promising, but I was itching to get on the way. I could do without the breakfast, but I hadn’t yet paid the bill. The owner finally showed up a bit after 8:00 and brought out the breakfast items. He was very apologetic, saying something about having a problem with his phone not working (as his alarm perhaps?) and that it was the first time in 58 years that he had been late, Well – whatever. As recompense, he did make the breakfast gratis. Another problem came up when I tried to pay with a credit card. He didn’t accept credit cards, which surprised me, since Saint Guilhelm, although small, is a heavily visited tourist stop. I had also had this problem at the hotel in Montpellier. I expected this in ordinary small villages, but Montpellier is fair sized city and that hotel was right across from the railroad station, so I thought that a lot of its clientele would be business travelers. Well, as I said before, the hotel clerk in Montpellier was not all that friendly, so he may have sized me up as being a poor credit risk. I certainly must have looked mighty scruffy after the long hike in the rain the day that I got to Montpellier.
The hotel owner in Saint Guilhem was friendly enough. He just didn’t accept credit cards. He told me that there was an ATM just around the corner, a couple of hundred meters away. In fact he took me outside to point it out to me. I said that I had the cash to pay him, but thanked him for showing me, since I would need to restock after that. By now it was raining, so we hurried back into the restaurant and I got busy rigging up my packs with the cover.
I was soon on my way, made a stop at the ATM, and took off in the direction that I had been told would lead me to the marked route. The rain was neither heavy nor cold, but it was persistent. Fortunately there was no wind. The Gorge d’Hérault was as spectacular as I remembered, even though the view was partially obscured by the weather. The trail is well maintained here, so the only challenge is the climb. I didn’t see any one else on the climb, but occasionally I thought that I could here voices below me. Eventually, long after I had gained the summit and was walking on the more or less level upper plateau, I heard the voices more clearly. Once in a while I had glimpses of a small party behind, slowly catching up to me. They caught up to me at a point where I felt that there was some ambiguity in the way-marks. The group consisted of two French couples and some of them spoke English. One of them had a GPS with a map of the route, so I was assured that they had the problem worked out, What had confused me was that the path made a hairpin turn and I was trying to follow a way-mark that was intended for those going the other way on the upper curve of the hairpin.
We all continued at our own paces, so the group gradually pulled ahead until they disappeared around a bend a long way ahead of me. Everyone had hooded raincoats or ponchos and the view of the group ahead of me somehow reminded me of the famous scene from “the Seventh Seal.”
There is a marvelous view from the plateau and, after a while, the rain diminished enough that I could actually see it. I could see what I figured must be the town of Montpeyroux in the valley below me long before I got down to the valley floor. Along the way, I passed some rough stonewalls, labeled as a Neolithic enclosure. After another kilometer or so there was another walled area labeled “Castellas de Montpeyroux.” This too was all of stone, but they were well shaped and fitted. Still ancient, but centuries old instead of millennia. At this point, I was surprised to find a series of mounted placards with descriptions of some of the flora of the area. Naturally I took a lot of photos of these to show to my wife, Connie, since she has a special interest in botany.
It was not far now into Montpeyroux, but I had to leave the marked route and try to find the chambers d’hôte. The address was on Rue de Eglise, so I was looking for a church but didn’t spot anything. The streets where practically deserted, but I managed to flag a car and show the driver the ad for the chambers d’hôte. After looking it over, he waved for me to put my gear in the car and join him and his passenger. He took me right to the gate and pushed the intercom button. After he got a response, he indicated that all I had to do was open the gate and go in. The hostess would meet me inside. The facility was quite nice. A little on the expensive side, but I had a large room and bath all to myself opening on to the *** DELETE - SPAM ***. She even had the heaters turned on in the room and the bathroom. She told me to wait a bit and that her English speaking friend would be by shortly. In the meantime, other guests arrived, a couple that had another room that was open to the *** DELETE - SPAM ***.
When the friend arrived, she told me that the price included breakfast, and that the *** DELETE - SPAM *** was available if I wanted to do my own cooking. She also told me that there were a couple of restaurants in the town, as well as a grocery store, and gave me the directions. There was no problem finding the restaurants, but it turned out that the épecerie was closed. Duh! May 8th – it was V-E day again and, of course, most things were closed. Fortunately, this did not apply to restaurants, so I had a nice dinner at a reasonable price. I had already done the afternoon chores before checking out the town, so after dinner it was back to the room to read for awhile. All in all, a pretty good day, despite the rain and the awkward beginning.
Bob S.
There are a couple of loose ends to tie up first. I reported that on the way into Montarnaud I met an eastbound hiker who claimed that the town was another couple of hours, which would be about 8km. That was not the case at all. It was more like just a couple of km. I can’t tell exactly, since I did part of it in a car and the driver could not follow the more direct walking path. I don’t know whether I misunderstood the other hiker or if he had Montarnaud confused with another place. In any case, I think that he got the worst of it. The rain started up shortly after we met, so it probably caught him when he reached that stretch that had all the sticky mud.
Re reservations for the last three stops: I was booked at the chambes d’hôte “L’Hostal del Poeta” in Montpeyroux, courtesy of the hotelkeeper in Saint Guilhem. For the location of that one, I was carrying an ad from a glossy Tourist Office (TO) brochure. At the TO itself, the clerk made reservation calls for me to Saint Jean de la Blaquièr and to Lodève. At Saint Jean facility is a municipal gîte and the key is usually available from the Mairie (i.e. the city hall), but it was going to be on a Sunday, so the Mairie would be closed and the key would be at a nearby snack shop, La Petite Fringale. In Lodève, it was at a privately owned gîte, “Gîte La Mégisserie.” Like the place in Montpeyroux, it had an ad in the TO brochure, so I had a copy of that on hand.
I had hoped to get away from Saint Guihelm early on Saturday, the 8th of May. The distance was moderate, 16km, but the trail starts out with a steady, steep climb for an elevation gain of about a thousand feet. The night before, the hotel owner had asked me if 8:00 in the morning was early enough for breakfast. I said that I would like to get started earlier if possible, hoping for a 7:00 breakfast, but I agreed that 7:30 would be O.K.
I was up early and had all the morning chores done in plenty of time to be down in the restaurant by 7:30. No one was around. The weather did not look promising, but I was itching to get on the way. I could do without the breakfast, but I hadn’t yet paid the bill. The owner finally showed up a bit after 8:00 and brought out the breakfast items. He was very apologetic, saying something about having a problem with his phone not working (as his alarm perhaps?) and that it was the first time in 58 years that he had been late, Well – whatever. As recompense, he did make the breakfast gratis. Another problem came up when I tried to pay with a credit card. He didn’t accept credit cards, which surprised me, since Saint Guilhelm, although small, is a heavily visited tourist stop. I had also had this problem at the hotel in Montpellier. I expected this in ordinary small villages, but Montpellier is fair sized city and that hotel was right across from the railroad station, so I thought that a lot of its clientele would be business travelers. Well, as I said before, the hotel clerk in Montpellier was not all that friendly, so he may have sized me up as being a poor credit risk. I certainly must have looked mighty scruffy after the long hike in the rain the day that I got to Montpellier.
The hotel owner in Saint Guilhem was friendly enough. He just didn’t accept credit cards. He told me that there was an ATM just around the corner, a couple of hundred meters away. In fact he took me outside to point it out to me. I said that I had the cash to pay him, but thanked him for showing me, since I would need to restock after that. By now it was raining, so we hurried back into the restaurant and I got busy rigging up my packs with the cover.
I was soon on my way, made a stop at the ATM, and took off in the direction that I had been told would lead me to the marked route. The rain was neither heavy nor cold, but it was persistent. Fortunately there was no wind. The Gorge d’Hérault was as spectacular as I remembered, even though the view was partially obscured by the weather. The trail is well maintained here, so the only challenge is the climb. I didn’t see any one else on the climb, but occasionally I thought that I could here voices below me. Eventually, long after I had gained the summit and was walking on the more or less level upper plateau, I heard the voices more clearly. Once in a while I had glimpses of a small party behind, slowly catching up to me. They caught up to me at a point where I felt that there was some ambiguity in the way-marks. The group consisted of two French couples and some of them spoke English. One of them had a GPS with a map of the route, so I was assured that they had the problem worked out, What had confused me was that the path made a hairpin turn and I was trying to follow a way-mark that was intended for those going the other way on the upper curve of the hairpin.
We all continued at our own paces, so the group gradually pulled ahead until they disappeared around a bend a long way ahead of me. Everyone had hooded raincoats or ponchos and the view of the group ahead of me somehow reminded me of the famous scene from “the Seventh Seal.”
There is a marvelous view from the plateau and, after a while, the rain diminished enough that I could actually see it. I could see what I figured must be the town of Montpeyroux in the valley below me long before I got down to the valley floor. Along the way, I passed some rough stonewalls, labeled as a Neolithic enclosure. After another kilometer or so there was another walled area labeled “Castellas de Montpeyroux.” This too was all of stone, but they were well shaped and fitted. Still ancient, but centuries old instead of millennia. At this point, I was surprised to find a series of mounted placards with descriptions of some of the flora of the area. Naturally I took a lot of photos of these to show to my wife, Connie, since she has a special interest in botany.
It was not far now into Montpeyroux, but I had to leave the marked route and try to find the chambers d’hôte. The address was on Rue de Eglise, so I was looking for a church but didn’t spot anything. The streets where practically deserted, but I managed to flag a car and show the driver the ad for the chambers d’hôte. After looking it over, he waved for me to put my gear in the car and join him and his passenger. He took me right to the gate and pushed the intercom button. After he got a response, he indicated that all I had to do was open the gate and go in. The hostess would meet me inside. The facility was quite nice. A little on the expensive side, but I had a large room and bath all to myself opening on to the *** DELETE - SPAM ***. She even had the heaters turned on in the room and the bathroom. She told me to wait a bit and that her English speaking friend would be by shortly. In the meantime, other guests arrived, a couple that had another room that was open to the *** DELETE - SPAM ***.
When the friend arrived, she told me that the price included breakfast, and that the *** DELETE - SPAM *** was available if I wanted to do my own cooking. She also told me that there were a couple of restaurants in the town, as well as a grocery store, and gave me the directions. There was no problem finding the restaurants, but it turned out that the épecerie was closed. Duh! May 8th – it was V-E day again and, of course, most things were closed. Fortunately, this did not apply to restaurants, so I had a nice dinner at a reasonable price. I had already done the afternoon chores before checking out the town, so after dinner it was back to the room to read for awhile. All in all, a pretty good day, despite the rain and the awkward beginning.
Bob S.
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
Reunion at the Rabbit Warren
Sunday, the 9th of May, saw me on the way to Saint Jean de la Blaquière. At this late date, my memory of that day’s walk has almost faded away. I checked in my diary and found nothing in it about that section. The night before, I had written a great deal, including a lot that didn’t get into my last report, but it is too late now to go over that again.
The day started with breakfast provided at the chambres d’hôte. I shared the meal with the French couple that had been in the other room, but conversation was limited to an exchange of “bon jours.” I got rough directions from the hostess for finding my way back to the marked trail and don’t remember having any special problems with it. It was cloudy again, but no rain developed until late in the day after I was settled in. It was only a short section, but I have conflicting data, so I don’t know the exact distance.
I arrived at Saint Jean a bit after 12:00 and had no problem finding what had been described as a “snack shop.” It is primarily a pizza parlor, so the timing was just right to have lunch first of all. Not great, but I was hungry and had no real complaint. They indeed had the key for the municipal gîte there and I was told that I was to return it to the mailbox at the Mairie (city hall) that was in view a short distance from the pizzeria.
I had an address for the gîte and there were also signposts showing the way, so I had no problem finding it. The layout is odd - a bit of a rabbit warren. The door opens to a short hall. To the left, a door opens to a room with a couple of double bunks by two walls and three singles in the middle of the room. There was a chair and a nightstand by one of the doubles. That looked like the best choice to me and, being the first on the scene, I took advantage of it, putting one pack on the chair and the other on the lower bunk.
The hall ended with a door to a large bathroom. The water checked out as plenty hot enough, but the commode was missing a seat. The was another door on the left side of the hall (left side as you enter, that is), It opened into what looked like a large storage area that was in the middle of being remodeled. It included a rough set of stairs that led up to another bathroom, this one with a seat on the commode. The shower stall was perched in a corner about halfway up the stairway.
Back to the hall, there was a open door on the other side, i.e. to the right as you entered. It led to a sort of dining room/lounge combo. A turn to the left took me to a *** DELETE - SPAM *** and beyond that there were a series of several more rooms, all equipped with bunks. I believe that there were a total of 14 regular beds, plus a sofa in the lounge that could serve as another.
There was still no one else there, but I decided to stick with my first choice. The next item on the agenda was to get my shower and figure out the best way to get my laundry done. About the time I finished showering and dressing, other hikers started to show up. One of the first was a French pilgrim, a friendly guy with a walrus mustache and a good command of English. He told me that there would be another American along shortly, as well as a couple from Canada. I got to work on my laundry right away to get it done before the rest of the crowd would arrive. It was a small one, just underwear, inner socks and my towel, but there was no drying area, so I hung it from various bed rails. We ended up with the place almost full, 11 or 12 total, but I lucked out in that no one took the bunk above me.
The American turned out to be a 70year old guy from Michigan and the Canadians were a forty-something man and wife from Montreal, both of them bilingual. I didn’t have a chance to get acquainted with others of the group until the last one showed up. He was a clean-shaven young man that greeted me enthusiastically. At first I couldn’t place him. He saw my blank look and said something about having shaved. Then it all came through to me – it was Stefan from Austria – one of my hiking companions on the cold, rainy day between Gallargues and Montpellier. I was very surprised to see him, as I thought that he was far ahead of me. As it turned out, he had spent an extra day in Montpellier and was not walking all that fast. I asked about Christian and was told that he was indeed quite far ahead. Stefan had kept in contact with him by cell phone.
I had hoped to restock my food supply, but the only market in town was closed that day. I also had hopes of a nice dinner somewhere, but the pizzeria was the only game in town. I think that a couple of the gîte guests made us of the *** DELETE - SPAM *** for supper, but most of us headed on down to the pizzeria. I would like to have tried something else, but it was the only game in town. Over half of their customers that evening were from our little group. The food was not inspiring, but it was a successful social event.
After dinner, I had a long wait for my bedtime, but the lounge was isolated from the bedrooms, so I was able to read in there to kill the time. I should have used it to do some diary writing, but I must have been feeling lazy.
Bob S.
Sunday, the 9th of May, saw me on the way to Saint Jean de la Blaquière. At this late date, my memory of that day’s walk has almost faded away. I checked in my diary and found nothing in it about that section. The night before, I had written a great deal, including a lot that didn’t get into my last report, but it is too late now to go over that again.
The day started with breakfast provided at the chambres d’hôte. I shared the meal with the French couple that had been in the other room, but conversation was limited to an exchange of “bon jours.” I got rough directions from the hostess for finding my way back to the marked trail and don’t remember having any special problems with it. It was cloudy again, but no rain developed until late in the day after I was settled in. It was only a short section, but I have conflicting data, so I don’t know the exact distance.
I arrived at Saint Jean a bit after 12:00 and had no problem finding what had been described as a “snack shop.” It is primarily a pizza parlor, so the timing was just right to have lunch first of all. Not great, but I was hungry and had no real complaint. They indeed had the key for the municipal gîte there and I was told that I was to return it to the mailbox at the Mairie (city hall) that was in view a short distance from the pizzeria.
I had an address for the gîte and there were also signposts showing the way, so I had no problem finding it. The layout is odd - a bit of a rabbit warren. The door opens to a short hall. To the left, a door opens to a room with a couple of double bunks by two walls and three singles in the middle of the room. There was a chair and a nightstand by one of the doubles. That looked like the best choice to me and, being the first on the scene, I took advantage of it, putting one pack on the chair and the other on the lower bunk.
The hall ended with a door to a large bathroom. The water checked out as plenty hot enough, but the commode was missing a seat. The was another door on the left side of the hall (left side as you enter, that is), It opened into what looked like a large storage area that was in the middle of being remodeled. It included a rough set of stairs that led up to another bathroom, this one with a seat on the commode. The shower stall was perched in a corner about halfway up the stairway.
Back to the hall, there was a open door on the other side, i.e. to the right as you entered. It led to a sort of dining room/lounge combo. A turn to the left took me to a *** DELETE - SPAM *** and beyond that there were a series of several more rooms, all equipped with bunks. I believe that there were a total of 14 regular beds, plus a sofa in the lounge that could serve as another.
There was still no one else there, but I decided to stick with my first choice. The next item on the agenda was to get my shower and figure out the best way to get my laundry done. About the time I finished showering and dressing, other hikers started to show up. One of the first was a French pilgrim, a friendly guy with a walrus mustache and a good command of English. He told me that there would be another American along shortly, as well as a couple from Canada. I got to work on my laundry right away to get it done before the rest of the crowd would arrive. It was a small one, just underwear, inner socks and my towel, but there was no drying area, so I hung it from various bed rails. We ended up with the place almost full, 11 or 12 total, but I lucked out in that no one took the bunk above me.
The American turned out to be a 70year old guy from Michigan and the Canadians were a forty-something man and wife from Montreal, both of them bilingual. I didn’t have a chance to get acquainted with others of the group until the last one showed up. He was a clean-shaven young man that greeted me enthusiastically. At first I couldn’t place him. He saw my blank look and said something about having shaved. Then it all came through to me – it was Stefan from Austria – one of my hiking companions on the cold, rainy day between Gallargues and Montpellier. I was very surprised to see him, as I thought that he was far ahead of me. As it turned out, he had spent an extra day in Montpellier and was not walking all that fast. I asked about Christian and was told that he was indeed quite far ahead. Stefan had kept in contact with him by cell phone.
I had hoped to restock my food supply, but the only market in town was closed that day. I also had hopes of a nice dinner somewhere, but the pizzeria was the only game in town. I think that a couple of the gîte guests made us of the *** DELETE - SPAM *** for supper, but most of us headed on down to the pizzeria. I would like to have tried something else, but it was the only game in town. Over half of their customers that evening were from our little group. The food was not inspiring, but it was a successful social event.
After dinner, I had a long wait for my bedtime, but the lounge was isolated from the bedrooms, so I was able to read in there to kill the time. I should have used it to do some diary writing, but I must have been feeling lazy.
Bob S.
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
Thanks for the continuing episodes of the saga Bob. Very interesting to follow your route on Google maps.
Regards,
Joe
Regards,
Joe
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
Trail’s End
Monday, May 10th, started as another day of overcast. It wasn’t raining at departure time, but I installed the pack cover just in case, and kept the raincoat handy. I was off to a fairly early start, but several hikers had already left. They must have gone first to the little snack shop for their morning coffee, because they caught up with me later on the trail. I wasn’t the last one to leave, so I had to give the key to one of the late risers to lock up and turn it in at the Mairie (town hall) mailbox. It appeared that Stefan was likely to be the last one out. That made it easy, since I could tell him about it in English.
Except for the threatening weather, the walk was pleasant enough. It promised to be a relatively short walk, 11-16km depending on what source you want to believe. There was one point along the way in a small town, Usclas-du-Bosc, where I lost the way marks. I saw an open doorway where it looked like there was construction going on. I peeked in and spotted a young man in paint-spattered work clothes. I asked about the route in mangled French and he replied in English that suggested to me that he had spent a lot of time in the U.K. or, perhaps, even came from there. With his directions I had no further trouble finding my way out of the little village. After the first hour or two of walking, I came to a handy bench and made myself at home. I was delighted to find such a good place for a foot check and a short snack. While I relaxed there, I heard voices and was soon greeted by many of my previous evening’s companions. Since I was a bit of a curiosity on the trail, there was a lot of picture taking, with various members of the group posing with me. They soon moved on ahead and that was the last I saw of them on the trail. As it turned out, all of them showed up at the gîte in Lodève. I had thought that they would be making a longer trip that day, but I guess that Lodève is the most convenient destination after St. Jean. One exception was Stefan. He wasn’t in the group that caught up to me on the trail and he didn’t stay at the gîte in Lodève.
After that interlude, I was on my own for the rest of the way. The scenery was interesting. Part of the trail was on the flat top of a limestone cliff. It dropped off vertically, but the path was wide and did not skirt the edge of the cliff. However, it was quite wet from a recent rain and slippery as a result. Some of the puddles blocked the path, making it necessary to detour around them. I was doing O.K. with that section, but on the descent from the plateau, there was one tricky steep drop. It was only about one meter, but the rocks were loose as well as very wet. I took it very gingerly, bracing with my canes, but my left foot slipped out and I came down hard on my hip, sustaining a deep bruise and minor lacerations. My first thought was. “Whoa, buddy - with your osteoporosis, you can’t afford to be taking spills like that. “
Fortunately, I was able to continue, but I was becoming increasingly concerned that I was not on the right trail. It just did not match the map. I had been in a wooded area, but as I came out into more open country, it looked like I was too far to the south. As I found out later, there had been some big changes in the route and the map was out-of-date. The way marks were few and far between, so I didn’t trust them all that well. I felt that I needed to head due north to get to a small highway that led to the town. I saw what promised to be a dirt road leading to the north, in hopes that it would intersect the paved road leading to the town. Big mistake! It led only to a series of horse trails winding around through a dense, forest of beech trees. After reaching three dead ends I gave up on it and went back to the broader westbound dirt road that I had been on before. Shortly after that, I did manage to spot another way mark that gave me a little assurance. Finally the dirt road ended at a paved road and a way mark showed a right turn, northbound on the paved road.
A highway road sign assured me that the paved road was the one that the map showed as approaching Lodève from the south. When I reached a point where a way mark indicated that the route left the road and cut across a field to the left, I ignored it and kept on the paved road. There was no vehicle traffic and the shoulder was fine for walking. The road went over a hill and there was a good view of the city spread below. I was high above it and the road gradually descended through a series of switchbacks. It took a long time, but I finally reached the A75/N9, an expressway that runs along the east side of the town. It was all fenced off, but there was an underpass that led to the northeast corner of the town. I followed a broad street that led south, between the expressway and a river. I found an open auto repair shop and showed the owner the ad for the gîte. He spoke a little English and I could understand a little of his French. I was to take the first bridge across the river (to my right), continue south along the west bank of the river and cross back over on the next available bridge. To make it even clearer, he was kind enough to sketch a simple map for me.
I couldn’t see the river from the street and there were several places where I could turn right, but they all appeared to lead to parking lots or cul-de-sacs. After what must have been about a kilometer along that street (which had a couple of interesting looking places of business), I found a turn that clearly led to a bridge. Once across, I was definitely in the main part of town. There was a sign with an arrow pointing out the direction to the tourist office, so I opted to head there first. It wasn’t far and they supplied me with a regular city map and marked the route to the gîte – about 4-5 short blocks.
Following the map, I crossed the bridge – probably the one mentioned by the garage man – and turned to the right. A short way up the street, I met a young man who asked me, in English, if I were looking for the gîte. As it turned out, he was the owner, so I was soon inside, doffing my packs and switching from walking shoes to crocs. I was in a bit of a hurry at this point because I was hoping to get back to the town before the 2:00 deadline at the cafés. That was not to be. Another hiker showed up about then and took forever to get his boots off (a requirement before going up to the dormitory area). Then we had to get the tour of the facility. It is well designed and constructed, with several rooms equipped with varying numbers of beds and a separate bath with shower for each room. It has a large combination lounge/dining room/*** DELETE - SPAM *** and a laundry room, with washer and dryer. The owner does the cooking and the laundry as well.
It was well after 2:00 before I got away, but the owner gave me directions for finding a cyber café and a food shop, both on the way back up toward the tourist office. In that area, I found a patisserie and was pleased to find that they had sandwiches all ready to go. They also had petite pan complete, loaves of whole wheat bread that are the shape of the ubiquitous baguettes, but only about half as long, so they are much easier to carry around – not to mention much more nutritious and longer lasting. The typical baguette is delicious at the first bite, but hard as a rock a few hours later. I am also convinced that they are just empty calories. The little loaf of whole wheat bread was probably just as heavy as a full size baguette, but far more dense. It was still good when I finally finished it off almost 60 hours later at the Mammoth Lakes airport. For all I know it was loaded with calcium propionate, the stuff that is often included in baked goods to keep them moist. But small bakeries don’t have to list the ingredients in their products, so I remain blissfully ignorant. It was raining by then, but the shop had some sheltered sidewalk tables, so I had my lunch right there.
I had left most of my gear in the room at the gîte, but brought my raincoat, so there was no problem. I found the cyber cafe and was fortunate enough to be assigned a computer that was programmed for an English keyboard. It still a little confusing, since the @ was mislabeled, but I worked it out with no problem. I even sent a brief message to the group from that station. The next stop was a call home and, luckily, my wife was home to answer. I told her that I was very likely to be coming home early, but neglected to mention that I had decided to leave the next day. I didn’t really have the return journey planned out, since there were a lot on unknown factors at that point. She told me that she might be gone for a while, on a trip “to the coast.” What she didn’t say was that she would be leaving that very day.
Back at the gîte, I found that most of the group that I had met the night before had showed up, plus a number of others, a total of 25-30 guests. I have a hunch that many of the new faces were tourists traveling by car. Unlike the refugios of Spain that are supposedly just for Santiago pilgrims (walking, cycling, or equestrian), the privately owned gîtes of France are open to anyone. Our host served a good dinner and it was a successful social event (translation: I had English-speaking table companions).
By now I had convinced myself that my best recourse was to return. I got information from the gîte owner about catching a bus to Montpellier and I knew that I could get a train from there to Toulouse. I had considered doing one more stage - to Joncels -especially since many of the group would be there, but I learned that there was no bus service available for the next three stops and the second and third were very long, as much as 28km. Also I learned that the coming weekend was a big local holiday and that reservations were advisable from Thursday night on through the weekend. I had already decided to give it up at this point, but this information confirmed it.
The questions still unanswered were about getting my departure times changed and getting from Mammoth Lakes to Big Pine if my wife wasn’t home when I got there. I did tell her to be sure to leave a house key with the neighbors, since I had not brought one with me.
Bob S.
Monday, May 10th, started as another day of overcast. It wasn’t raining at departure time, but I installed the pack cover just in case, and kept the raincoat handy. I was off to a fairly early start, but several hikers had already left. They must have gone first to the little snack shop for their morning coffee, because they caught up with me later on the trail. I wasn’t the last one to leave, so I had to give the key to one of the late risers to lock up and turn it in at the Mairie (town hall) mailbox. It appeared that Stefan was likely to be the last one out. That made it easy, since I could tell him about it in English.
Except for the threatening weather, the walk was pleasant enough. It promised to be a relatively short walk, 11-16km depending on what source you want to believe. There was one point along the way in a small town, Usclas-du-Bosc, where I lost the way marks. I saw an open doorway where it looked like there was construction going on. I peeked in and spotted a young man in paint-spattered work clothes. I asked about the route in mangled French and he replied in English that suggested to me that he had spent a lot of time in the U.K. or, perhaps, even came from there. With his directions I had no further trouble finding my way out of the little village. After the first hour or two of walking, I came to a handy bench and made myself at home. I was delighted to find such a good place for a foot check and a short snack. While I relaxed there, I heard voices and was soon greeted by many of my previous evening’s companions. Since I was a bit of a curiosity on the trail, there was a lot of picture taking, with various members of the group posing with me. They soon moved on ahead and that was the last I saw of them on the trail. As it turned out, all of them showed up at the gîte in Lodève. I had thought that they would be making a longer trip that day, but I guess that Lodève is the most convenient destination after St. Jean. One exception was Stefan. He wasn’t in the group that caught up to me on the trail and he didn’t stay at the gîte in Lodève.
After that interlude, I was on my own for the rest of the way. The scenery was interesting. Part of the trail was on the flat top of a limestone cliff. It dropped off vertically, but the path was wide and did not skirt the edge of the cliff. However, it was quite wet from a recent rain and slippery as a result. Some of the puddles blocked the path, making it necessary to detour around them. I was doing O.K. with that section, but on the descent from the plateau, there was one tricky steep drop. It was only about one meter, but the rocks were loose as well as very wet. I took it very gingerly, bracing with my canes, but my left foot slipped out and I came down hard on my hip, sustaining a deep bruise and minor lacerations. My first thought was. “Whoa, buddy - with your osteoporosis, you can’t afford to be taking spills like that. “
Fortunately, I was able to continue, but I was becoming increasingly concerned that I was not on the right trail. It just did not match the map. I had been in a wooded area, but as I came out into more open country, it looked like I was too far to the south. As I found out later, there had been some big changes in the route and the map was out-of-date. The way marks were few and far between, so I didn’t trust them all that well. I felt that I needed to head due north to get to a small highway that led to the town. I saw what promised to be a dirt road leading to the north, in hopes that it would intersect the paved road leading to the town. Big mistake! It led only to a series of horse trails winding around through a dense, forest of beech trees. After reaching three dead ends I gave up on it and went back to the broader westbound dirt road that I had been on before. Shortly after that, I did manage to spot another way mark that gave me a little assurance. Finally the dirt road ended at a paved road and a way mark showed a right turn, northbound on the paved road.
A highway road sign assured me that the paved road was the one that the map showed as approaching Lodève from the south. When I reached a point where a way mark indicated that the route left the road and cut across a field to the left, I ignored it and kept on the paved road. There was no vehicle traffic and the shoulder was fine for walking. The road went over a hill and there was a good view of the city spread below. I was high above it and the road gradually descended through a series of switchbacks. It took a long time, but I finally reached the A75/N9, an expressway that runs along the east side of the town. It was all fenced off, but there was an underpass that led to the northeast corner of the town. I followed a broad street that led south, between the expressway and a river. I found an open auto repair shop and showed the owner the ad for the gîte. He spoke a little English and I could understand a little of his French. I was to take the first bridge across the river (to my right), continue south along the west bank of the river and cross back over on the next available bridge. To make it even clearer, he was kind enough to sketch a simple map for me.
I couldn’t see the river from the street and there were several places where I could turn right, but they all appeared to lead to parking lots or cul-de-sacs. After what must have been about a kilometer along that street (which had a couple of interesting looking places of business), I found a turn that clearly led to a bridge. Once across, I was definitely in the main part of town. There was a sign with an arrow pointing out the direction to the tourist office, so I opted to head there first. It wasn’t far and they supplied me with a regular city map and marked the route to the gîte – about 4-5 short blocks.
Following the map, I crossed the bridge – probably the one mentioned by the garage man – and turned to the right. A short way up the street, I met a young man who asked me, in English, if I were looking for the gîte. As it turned out, he was the owner, so I was soon inside, doffing my packs and switching from walking shoes to crocs. I was in a bit of a hurry at this point because I was hoping to get back to the town before the 2:00 deadline at the cafés. That was not to be. Another hiker showed up about then and took forever to get his boots off (a requirement before going up to the dormitory area). Then we had to get the tour of the facility. It is well designed and constructed, with several rooms equipped with varying numbers of beds and a separate bath with shower for each room. It has a large combination lounge/dining room/*** DELETE - SPAM *** and a laundry room, with washer and dryer. The owner does the cooking and the laundry as well.
It was well after 2:00 before I got away, but the owner gave me directions for finding a cyber café and a food shop, both on the way back up toward the tourist office. In that area, I found a patisserie and was pleased to find that they had sandwiches all ready to go. They also had petite pan complete, loaves of whole wheat bread that are the shape of the ubiquitous baguettes, but only about half as long, so they are much easier to carry around – not to mention much more nutritious and longer lasting. The typical baguette is delicious at the first bite, but hard as a rock a few hours later. I am also convinced that they are just empty calories. The little loaf of whole wheat bread was probably just as heavy as a full size baguette, but far more dense. It was still good when I finally finished it off almost 60 hours later at the Mammoth Lakes airport. For all I know it was loaded with calcium propionate, the stuff that is often included in baked goods to keep them moist. But small bakeries don’t have to list the ingredients in their products, so I remain blissfully ignorant. It was raining by then, but the shop had some sheltered sidewalk tables, so I had my lunch right there.
I had left most of my gear in the room at the gîte, but brought my raincoat, so there was no problem. I found the cyber cafe and was fortunate enough to be assigned a computer that was programmed for an English keyboard. It still a little confusing, since the @ was mislabeled, but I worked it out with no problem. I even sent a brief message to the group from that station. The next stop was a call home and, luckily, my wife was home to answer. I told her that I was very likely to be coming home early, but neglected to mention that I had decided to leave the next day. I didn’t really have the return journey planned out, since there were a lot on unknown factors at that point. She told me that she might be gone for a while, on a trip “to the coast.” What she didn’t say was that she would be leaving that very day.
Back at the gîte, I found that most of the group that I had met the night before had showed up, plus a number of others, a total of 25-30 guests. I have a hunch that many of the new faces were tourists traveling by car. Unlike the refugios of Spain that are supposedly just for Santiago pilgrims (walking, cycling, or equestrian), the privately owned gîtes of France are open to anyone. Our host served a good dinner and it was a successful social event (translation: I had English-speaking table companions).
By now I had convinced myself that my best recourse was to return. I got information from the gîte owner about catching a bus to Montpellier and I knew that I could get a train from there to Toulouse. I had considered doing one more stage - to Joncels -especially since many of the group would be there, but I learned that there was no bus service available for the next three stops and the second and third were very long, as much as 28km. Also I learned that the coming weekend was a big local holiday and that reservations were advisable from Thursday night on through the weekend. I had already decided to give it up at this point, but this information confirmed it.
The questions still unanswered were about getting my departure times changed and getting from Mammoth Lakes to Big Pine if my wife wasn’t home when I got there. I did tell her to be sure to leave a house key with the neighbors, since I had not brought one with me.
Bob S.
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
Back to Toulouse
The gîte accommodation in Lodève was demi-pension, so I had breakfast with most of the same congenial group that was there the night before. I regretted that I would not be meeting up with them again in the afternoon at Joncels, the destination for most of the group. I felt this all over again as I left the gîte and headed to the right toward the bridge that led back to the town, while the continuing hikers went up the street to the left. One small consolation was that the weather was not very promising. In fact, I had a little concern that I might get a bit of rain before I got to the bus stop shelter. Fortunately, it held off. The bus stop was in the square near the tourist office, but it didn’t open until 10:00. However, I found a schedule posted at the shelter and saw that there would be a bus leaving at about 9:00 – less than an hour to wait.
The trip to Montpellier was uneventful, about an hour’s ride with just a few stops along the way. The bus terminal in the city is adjacent to the railroad station, which was very convenient, but it wasn’t easy finding my way from the bus parking area to the entrance of the station. Once inside, I learned that there would be a direct train leaving for Toulouse in about 35 minutes, so I hustled over to the ticket area and got in line. The trip takes 2-3 hours, which meant an early afternoon arrival.
A sixty-something lady, who was neatly dressed in a business suit, occupied the adjacent seat. I was wearing my hiking attire – the only clothes that I had brought, so I must have looked pretty scruffy. She was friendly however and tried to make conversation. The trouble was that she didn’t seem to know any English and my tourist-survival French, which is fine for getting food in restaurants and bookings in hotels, is not much good for casual chatting. Somehow we did manage to exchange a little information, but it was a strain.
We had a few short stops along the way, but the train seemed to have gotten stalled at one of the stops and we were delayed for what seemed to be about a half hour. I realized that I wasn’t going to get to Toulouse early enough to have lunch there, so I headed to the club car for a cardboard sandwich. He was just closing up, so I was lucky to get even that.
On arrival in Toulouse, I went directly across the street where there were several hotels. Some had their prices posted and I selected one that had both a reasonable price and a decent looking lobby. The hotel clerk was friendly and had a good command of English. After getting booked in, I left most of my stuff in the room and headed back to the desk. The clerk provided me with a map of Toulouse and marked the location of the hotel and a tourist agency that he suggested, along with the route he recommended. The tourist agency turned out to be the local Air France office, and, after wasting a lot of time in line, I found out that they couldn’t do anything for me, since my return ticket was for a different airline. I had seen a regular tourist agency about a half block before the Air France office, so I headed back there. However, I was told there that I would have to contact British Airways on my own and I was given a number to call. I knew that it wasn’t going to work so I prevailed upon the clerk to make the call for me. As it turned out, she had a great deal of difficulty getting through to someone that could help me. Finally, she handed the phone to me and I spoke with the B.A. representative. I told her my ticket information and she said that they didn’t have any record of it. I gave more details, like the time, date, and flight number for the initial flight from Los Angeles to Heathrow. That clicked and they found my record, only to tell me that I was booked to leave Toulouse on the 6th of June, not the 8th, which was I had planned and was printed on the itinerary that I was given when I first arranged the trip. How this error crept in I will never know, and my agent back in Bishop has no explanation of it. Well it was a moot point anyway, since I was after an early return at this point. No dice! It had been purchased through a ticket brokerage (or whatever it is called) and B.A. would not allow an early departure – I would have to buy a new full price ticket. They do not even have an office in Toulouse, so it would have to be done over the telephone. Since I was using a borrowed telephone anyway, courtesy of the tourist agency clerk, this did not seem to be a reasonable way to go. If I had to start from scratch, I might just as well go with Air France by way of Paris instead of B.A. through Heathrow- especially after the unpleasant experience I had with security at Heathrow on my arrival from LAX. I suppose that I should have used the tourist agency to do the new booking, but I was feeling too uncomfortable there by now. So it was back to Air France and another wait in line - longer this time. I finally got that done and almost gagged over the price. It looked like a convenient schedule, with plenty of time to get to the airport the next day and a reasonable layover time at Charles de Gaulle airport. I was a little concerned that there wasn’t too much of a time cushion at LAX to get through customs and immigration and still get to Horizon Air in the adjacent terminal to find out about updating my flight to Mammoth Lakes from LAX. I guess that I must have shown some of my anxiety about this, because the clerk made another search and come up with an earlier flight. It meant getting to the Toulouse airport in time for a 7:00 flight and the layover time at CDG was a couple of hours, but I would get into LAX by about 13:00. That was fine with me, I figured that I could get an early cab from the hotel, and make it O.K. As it turned out, the earlier flight was essential – Horizon Air had made a schedule change, but I didn’t know that until I got to LAX.
With the booking done and my credit card account done in, I headed back to the hotel, taking what looked to be a shorter route than the one I took to get to the Air France office. I was hungry by now. The sandwich on the train was not much of a lunch, but it was only around 17:00. Where would I find food? Hah! What shows up but a Subway of all things. Not exactly a gourmet dinner, but enough to sustain me at the time and early enough that I could get a good night’s sleep before the very early morning departure.
The next few blocks of my short cut back to the hotel went through a section that didn’t look all that great. I could see why the hotel clerk had marked the longer route to follow. It wasn’t all that bad; I just was not in the market for some of the offerings along the way. Then it was early to bed in preparation of a very long day on Wednesday the 12th.
Bob S.
The gîte accommodation in Lodève was demi-pension, so I had breakfast with most of the same congenial group that was there the night before. I regretted that I would not be meeting up with them again in the afternoon at Joncels, the destination for most of the group. I felt this all over again as I left the gîte and headed to the right toward the bridge that led back to the town, while the continuing hikers went up the street to the left. One small consolation was that the weather was not very promising. In fact, I had a little concern that I might get a bit of rain before I got to the bus stop shelter. Fortunately, it held off. The bus stop was in the square near the tourist office, but it didn’t open until 10:00. However, I found a schedule posted at the shelter and saw that there would be a bus leaving at about 9:00 – less than an hour to wait.
The trip to Montpellier was uneventful, about an hour’s ride with just a few stops along the way. The bus terminal in the city is adjacent to the railroad station, which was very convenient, but it wasn’t easy finding my way from the bus parking area to the entrance of the station. Once inside, I learned that there would be a direct train leaving for Toulouse in about 35 minutes, so I hustled over to the ticket area and got in line. The trip takes 2-3 hours, which meant an early afternoon arrival.
A sixty-something lady, who was neatly dressed in a business suit, occupied the adjacent seat. I was wearing my hiking attire – the only clothes that I had brought, so I must have looked pretty scruffy. She was friendly however and tried to make conversation. The trouble was that she didn’t seem to know any English and my tourist-survival French, which is fine for getting food in restaurants and bookings in hotels, is not much good for casual chatting. Somehow we did manage to exchange a little information, but it was a strain.
We had a few short stops along the way, but the train seemed to have gotten stalled at one of the stops and we were delayed for what seemed to be about a half hour. I realized that I wasn’t going to get to Toulouse early enough to have lunch there, so I headed to the club car for a cardboard sandwich. He was just closing up, so I was lucky to get even that.
On arrival in Toulouse, I went directly across the street where there were several hotels. Some had their prices posted and I selected one that had both a reasonable price and a decent looking lobby. The hotel clerk was friendly and had a good command of English. After getting booked in, I left most of my stuff in the room and headed back to the desk. The clerk provided me with a map of Toulouse and marked the location of the hotel and a tourist agency that he suggested, along with the route he recommended. The tourist agency turned out to be the local Air France office, and, after wasting a lot of time in line, I found out that they couldn’t do anything for me, since my return ticket was for a different airline. I had seen a regular tourist agency about a half block before the Air France office, so I headed back there. However, I was told there that I would have to contact British Airways on my own and I was given a number to call. I knew that it wasn’t going to work so I prevailed upon the clerk to make the call for me. As it turned out, she had a great deal of difficulty getting through to someone that could help me. Finally, she handed the phone to me and I spoke with the B.A. representative. I told her my ticket information and she said that they didn’t have any record of it. I gave more details, like the time, date, and flight number for the initial flight from Los Angeles to Heathrow. That clicked and they found my record, only to tell me that I was booked to leave Toulouse on the 6th of June, not the 8th, which was I had planned and was printed on the itinerary that I was given when I first arranged the trip. How this error crept in I will never know, and my agent back in Bishop has no explanation of it. Well it was a moot point anyway, since I was after an early return at this point. No dice! It had been purchased through a ticket brokerage (or whatever it is called) and B.A. would not allow an early departure – I would have to buy a new full price ticket. They do not even have an office in Toulouse, so it would have to be done over the telephone. Since I was using a borrowed telephone anyway, courtesy of the tourist agency clerk, this did not seem to be a reasonable way to go. If I had to start from scratch, I might just as well go with Air France by way of Paris instead of B.A. through Heathrow- especially after the unpleasant experience I had with security at Heathrow on my arrival from LAX. I suppose that I should have used the tourist agency to do the new booking, but I was feeling too uncomfortable there by now. So it was back to Air France and another wait in line - longer this time. I finally got that done and almost gagged over the price. It looked like a convenient schedule, with plenty of time to get to the airport the next day and a reasonable layover time at Charles de Gaulle airport. I was a little concerned that there wasn’t too much of a time cushion at LAX to get through customs and immigration and still get to Horizon Air in the adjacent terminal to find out about updating my flight to Mammoth Lakes from LAX. I guess that I must have shown some of my anxiety about this, because the clerk made another search and come up with an earlier flight. It meant getting to the Toulouse airport in time for a 7:00 flight and the layover time at CDG was a couple of hours, but I would get into LAX by about 13:00. That was fine with me, I figured that I could get an early cab from the hotel, and make it O.K. As it turned out, the earlier flight was essential – Horizon Air had made a schedule change, but I didn’t know that until I got to LAX.
With the booking done and my credit card account done in, I headed back to the hotel, taking what looked to be a shorter route than the one I took to get to the Air France office. I was hungry by now. The sandwich on the train was not much of a lunch, but it was only around 17:00. Where would I find food? Hah! What shows up but a Subway of all things. Not exactly a gourmet dinner, but enough to sustain me at the time and early enough that I could get a good night’s sleep before the very early morning departure.
The next few blocks of my short cut back to the hotel went through a section that didn’t look all that great. I could see why the hotel clerk had marked the longer route to follow. It wasn’t all that bad; I just was not in the market for some of the offerings along the way. Then it was early to bed in preparation of a very long day on Wednesday the 12th.
Bob S.
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
Homeward Journey
I had asked for a wakeup call for 4:30 and also set the room alarm clock for 4:40 as a backup, but I awoke well before that and decided to get started right away. It would be well over 24 hours before I would get to lie down in bed again, but there wasn’t any choice. Most of the packing had been done the evening before, so I was out of the hotel door by about 5:00.
I had scoped out the area the day before and had seen that there were buses to the airport every 20 minutes from the bus depot. There were also taxi stands at both the railroad station and the bus depot. First I tried the depot, since the bus would be cheaper than a cab, but it was closed up tight. I wasted some time looking for another entrance and finally just checked out the back lot where the buses took off. I was just in time to see the 5:20 bus take off without me. I could have waited for the 5:40, but to play it safe, I went back to the nearest taxi stand and got a cab. The price turned out to be a little higher than what the hotel clerk though it might be, but I was just glad to get there with time to spare. I even had time to get a breakfast snack at Paul’s and a novel in English to kill some of the boredom of the long trip. The price for the paperback was at least twice what it would have been in the U.S. or Canada.
The 2hour flight to Paris (CDG airport) was uneventful and the security checks at both Toulouse and Paris were a breeze – compared to the treatment that I had received at Heathrow. The eleven and a half hour flight to LAX was the usual miserable experience, but I did manage to watch a couple of movies, one of them in French with English subtitles available. It didn’t help much, since I can’t see much of the details on those tiny screens, and I could understand only about half the dialogue that was in English.
The landing at LAX and check out through customs went quickly and smoothly. I had gone carryon only, so I could bypass the luggage pickup and be ahead of the crowd for immigration and customs. I did have a minor delay at the Ag inspection. I was the only passenger going through at the time and I was asked what I had been doing in France. When I said that I had been walking, the inspector told me that I would have to go over to see the expert who was at another checkout gate. The expert asked to see my shoe soles and they apparently passed his inspection. I did see dried mud on one of them when I looked for myself later, but I suppose that he was checking for animal dung. Who knows? At least I didn’t have to get out a brush and clean my shoes in the middle of the terminal.
A 5minute walk took me to the adjacent terminal and I found the Horizon Air counter(a division of Alaska Air) very near the entrance. The charge for changing my return ticket to an earlier date was $100. Later I saw on the internet that they had one way fares for $76 (the round trip was just double that). I had no idea at the time, so I paid the $100 and didn’t quibble. The timing had better results. There is only one flight a day at this time of year and it was leaving in less than 2hours instead of the 4-5 that I thought I was going to have to wait.
The planes to Mammoth Lakes take about 70 passengers, but I don’t believe that there were more than 30 aboard on that flight. I tried to figure out what I was seeing below to figure out the route, but I didn’t recognize anything. I did see an odd shaped lake and wondered what it was. It didn’t match what I thought that I might be seeing. Later, at home, I checked out a map and it turned out to be Lake Isabella. Apparently the flight path is right up the spine of the Sierra Nevada. I did figure that out as we were passing over many miles of the snow-covered western slopes. I was quite impressed with the amount of snow. I was seeing white where I thought there should be a lot more trees. Coming in for the landing was a little bumpy as would be expected in the fluky winds in that area, but it was by far smoother than the flight out 2 weeks before.
At the terminal, there was a guy holding up a sign, $10 to the town of Mammoth Lakes. I was tempted to take him up on it, but I thought that I had better make my telephone call first. I was told at the desk that the nearest public telephone was over at the entrance to the Hot Springs office. I believe that it is the name of the company that manages the airport. As I expected, there was no answer. I left a message just in case, but reckoned that it was time to ask someone about transportation. The van transport to Mammoth Lakes was gone by then, as were the other passengers. I was about to go back to the desk in the terminal, but there was a young woman working around the airport office, so I asked her if there was any kind of transportation to Bishop. She said that she lived in Bishop and that, if I could wait until 18:00, she could give me a lift. Great! By then, it was already 17:00, so another hour was no problem at all – especially since I had no other prospects. There was no one in the office lounge at the time, but it was open, so I was able to wait on one of the couches, to use the bathroom, and to get a drink of water. I was hungry by then, since it had been quite a while since the last meal on the CDG to LAX flight, but all I had left by then was the remainder of that little loaf of whole wheat bread. No matter – I would be home soon or at least in Bishop where I could go to a restaurant.
On the drive to Bishop, my benefactor suggested that she could possibly take me the rest of the way to Big Pine (15miles south of Bishop). I said that I would be happy to reimburse her for gas money if she could do that and she agreed. There was never an amount discussed, but I gave her what I thought should be more than enough for the extra 30miles that she had to drive. She seemed to be pleased with the amount, so it worked out well for both of us.
Fortunately the neighbor next door was home and he did indeed have the spare key to our house. What relief! Home at last!
Bob S.
I had asked for a wakeup call for 4:30 and also set the room alarm clock for 4:40 as a backup, but I awoke well before that and decided to get started right away. It would be well over 24 hours before I would get to lie down in bed again, but there wasn’t any choice. Most of the packing had been done the evening before, so I was out of the hotel door by about 5:00.
I had scoped out the area the day before and had seen that there were buses to the airport every 20 minutes from the bus depot. There were also taxi stands at both the railroad station and the bus depot. First I tried the depot, since the bus would be cheaper than a cab, but it was closed up tight. I wasted some time looking for another entrance and finally just checked out the back lot where the buses took off. I was just in time to see the 5:20 bus take off without me. I could have waited for the 5:40, but to play it safe, I went back to the nearest taxi stand and got a cab. The price turned out to be a little higher than what the hotel clerk though it might be, but I was just glad to get there with time to spare. I even had time to get a breakfast snack at Paul’s and a novel in English to kill some of the boredom of the long trip. The price for the paperback was at least twice what it would have been in the U.S. or Canada.
The 2hour flight to Paris (CDG airport) was uneventful and the security checks at both Toulouse and Paris were a breeze – compared to the treatment that I had received at Heathrow. The eleven and a half hour flight to LAX was the usual miserable experience, but I did manage to watch a couple of movies, one of them in French with English subtitles available. It didn’t help much, since I can’t see much of the details on those tiny screens, and I could understand only about half the dialogue that was in English.
The landing at LAX and check out through customs went quickly and smoothly. I had gone carryon only, so I could bypass the luggage pickup and be ahead of the crowd for immigration and customs. I did have a minor delay at the Ag inspection. I was the only passenger going through at the time and I was asked what I had been doing in France. When I said that I had been walking, the inspector told me that I would have to go over to see the expert who was at another checkout gate. The expert asked to see my shoe soles and they apparently passed his inspection. I did see dried mud on one of them when I looked for myself later, but I suppose that he was checking for animal dung. Who knows? At least I didn’t have to get out a brush and clean my shoes in the middle of the terminal.
A 5minute walk took me to the adjacent terminal and I found the Horizon Air counter(a division of Alaska Air) very near the entrance. The charge for changing my return ticket to an earlier date was $100. Later I saw on the internet that they had one way fares for $76 (the round trip was just double that). I had no idea at the time, so I paid the $100 and didn’t quibble. The timing had better results. There is only one flight a day at this time of year and it was leaving in less than 2hours instead of the 4-5 that I thought I was going to have to wait.
The planes to Mammoth Lakes take about 70 passengers, but I don’t believe that there were more than 30 aboard on that flight. I tried to figure out what I was seeing below to figure out the route, but I didn’t recognize anything. I did see an odd shaped lake and wondered what it was. It didn’t match what I thought that I might be seeing. Later, at home, I checked out a map and it turned out to be Lake Isabella. Apparently the flight path is right up the spine of the Sierra Nevada. I did figure that out as we were passing over many miles of the snow-covered western slopes. I was quite impressed with the amount of snow. I was seeing white where I thought there should be a lot more trees. Coming in for the landing was a little bumpy as would be expected in the fluky winds in that area, but it was by far smoother than the flight out 2 weeks before.
At the terminal, there was a guy holding up a sign, $10 to the town of Mammoth Lakes. I was tempted to take him up on it, but I thought that I had better make my telephone call first. I was told at the desk that the nearest public telephone was over at the entrance to the Hot Springs office. I believe that it is the name of the company that manages the airport. As I expected, there was no answer. I left a message just in case, but reckoned that it was time to ask someone about transportation. The van transport to Mammoth Lakes was gone by then, as were the other passengers. I was about to go back to the desk in the terminal, but there was a young woman working around the airport office, so I asked her if there was any kind of transportation to Bishop. She said that she lived in Bishop and that, if I could wait until 18:00, she could give me a lift. Great! By then, it was already 17:00, so another hour was no problem at all – especially since I had no other prospects. There was no one in the office lounge at the time, but it was open, so I was able to wait on one of the couches, to use the bathroom, and to get a drink of water. I was hungry by then, since it had been quite a while since the last meal on the CDG to LAX flight, but all I had left by then was the remainder of that little loaf of whole wheat bread. No matter – I would be home soon or at least in Bishop where I could go to a restaurant.
On the drive to Bishop, my benefactor suggested that she could possibly take me the rest of the way to Big Pine (15miles south of Bishop). I said that I would be happy to reimburse her for gas money if she could do that and she agreed. There was never an amount discussed, but I gave her what I thought should be more than enough for the extra 30miles that she had to drive. She seemed to be pleased with the amount, so it worked out well for both of us.
Fortunately the neighbor next door was home and he did indeed have the spare key to our house. What relief! Home at last!
Bob S.
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
Aftermath
It took a couple of months of fumbling around with the details, but the travel insurance finally came through with the cost of my expensive early return. This gave me the excuse to make another attempt at the Arles route to try to make up for the fiasco last spring.
Some folks might well ask, “Why on earth do you take these trips?” It’s an expensive, irresponsible, non-productive self-indulgence. It is certainly very physically taxing for this old bag of bones. On the trip from Condom in the fall of 2008, I had to cut it short at Sarria, when my knee called it quits with just a little over 100km left to go. It took me about 3 months, and a series of hyaluronic acid injections in my knee, to recover from that one. At the time I was convinced that it was the last one, but I was compelled to return the next spring to complete it and go on to Fisterra as well. I have jokingly called it an addiction – obsessive/compulsive behavior, in a sort of phony self-deprecation, but there is some truth to it. However, on reflection I think that it is a matter of meeting challenges, which are many and varied. Obviously, I have sometimes failed to meet them, but I am then left with the feeling that I need to go back and make another try at it. Some would say that this old coot is just wacko, which is the way that some of my friends felt when I took off on that first trip 10 years ago. But I am sure that there are many members of the four camino forums that can understand the way I feel.
As always, I learned a number of things. To start off, it turns out that using Horizon Air (Alaska Air) out of Mammoth Lakes Airport to get from the Eastern Sierra to LAX is not a bad way to go during the warm months. It is a much different story in the winter. Not only is it far more expensive and dangerous, but a traveler cannot be sure of getting out in time to make connections. However, the off-season, one flight a day schedule makes it difficult to connect with conveniently timed flights out of LAX. In that same vein, i.e. timing of flights, I learned that if you are arriving at a hotel after 22:00, you have to make sure that it is either open 24/7 or that you have the pass code to get in and a key waiting there for you. This is no doubt old stuff to seasoned travelers, but I had not fully caught on yet.
Always take it for granted that guide books and maps are out of date and try to find someone at each stop that can let you know of any changes. This is not a new concept for me, but it was strongly reinforced on that spring trip.
I should have practiced a lot more with my camera. It is a fairly simple model, with point and shoot capability, but one little item resulted in all of my photos being at the lowest quality. It is a simple enough check to make sure that the camera has not defaulted to this setting, but I didn’t realize that it could happen and didn’t make that check.
I have never used a cell phone outside of the U.S. and I am still quite inept at using the one that I have here, but that spring trip convinced me that it might be a good idea to get one. I had some thought of trying to get one with a short-term contract in Toulouse last spring, but didn’t get around to it. There was also an option of using an overseas cell phone rental service from a U.S. company. I have since looked into both. In regard to cell phones there is both a huge information overload and a dearth of the specific information that I would want. I have a full day scheduled in Toulouse (with a hotel nearer to the city center), so I will make a better effort to find out what is available when I get there. In Spain, I would not feel the need for but walking on the GRs of France is a different ball game.
The next section of the route, starting from Lodève, has a couple of very long stages if you stick to the regular Grande Randonnée 653 (GR653). I remember the route on the first trip in 2000 as being relatively short from Lodève to Lunas, but the current guidebooks show it with a large detour to the north, passing through Joncels, where a stop is recommended. It is 21km to Joncels and another 4km to Lunas. Google gives me a pedestrian route that is much more direct and only 14km. The next stage, to Saint Gervais sur Mare, is more than I want to do in one day, 27km. Although Lunas is a fair sized town and a good place to stop, I am not happy with the idea of the short 14km day and following it with 27km. I found that I can even it up a bit, by making my stop at Saint Martin d’Orb, where there are a couple of accommodations available. It is 3km past Lunas, so it allows a 17km day, followed by 24km. That is still more than I like, but the gîte owner in SMd’O has indicated that it is possible to get motor transport for part of the way. Yeah, yeah, a “true pilgrim” would walk the entire route. But I make no claim on being such and, in any case, I paid my dues on that first trip in 2000. There are still a couple of long stages after that, but I will have to see how those go when I get there.
No cortisone or hyaluronic acid injections in the knee this time. I hope to go at it with whatever it can handle without treatment. I might have gone along with one or both of those this time around, but the orthopedic surgeon that I had gone to before has moved out of the area – I don’t know where. There are others here, but I had confidence in him and would not feel that confident taking up with another one.
Bob S.
It took a couple of months of fumbling around with the details, but the travel insurance finally came through with the cost of my expensive early return. This gave me the excuse to make another attempt at the Arles route to try to make up for the fiasco last spring.
Some folks might well ask, “Why on earth do you take these trips?” It’s an expensive, irresponsible, non-productive self-indulgence. It is certainly very physically taxing for this old bag of bones. On the trip from Condom in the fall of 2008, I had to cut it short at Sarria, when my knee called it quits with just a little over 100km left to go. It took me about 3 months, and a series of hyaluronic acid injections in my knee, to recover from that one. At the time I was convinced that it was the last one, but I was compelled to return the next spring to complete it and go on to Fisterra as well. I have jokingly called it an addiction – obsessive/compulsive behavior, in a sort of phony self-deprecation, but there is some truth to it. However, on reflection I think that it is a matter of meeting challenges, which are many and varied. Obviously, I have sometimes failed to meet them, but I am then left with the feeling that I need to go back and make another try at it. Some would say that this old coot is just wacko, which is the way that some of my friends felt when I took off on that first trip 10 years ago. But I am sure that there are many members of the four camino forums that can understand the way I feel.
As always, I learned a number of things. To start off, it turns out that using Horizon Air (Alaska Air) out of Mammoth Lakes Airport to get from the Eastern Sierra to LAX is not a bad way to go during the warm months. It is a much different story in the winter. Not only is it far more expensive and dangerous, but a traveler cannot be sure of getting out in time to make connections. However, the off-season, one flight a day schedule makes it difficult to connect with conveniently timed flights out of LAX. In that same vein, i.e. timing of flights, I learned that if you are arriving at a hotel after 22:00, you have to make sure that it is either open 24/7 or that you have the pass code to get in and a key waiting there for you. This is no doubt old stuff to seasoned travelers, but I had not fully caught on yet.
Always take it for granted that guide books and maps are out of date and try to find someone at each stop that can let you know of any changes. This is not a new concept for me, but it was strongly reinforced on that spring trip.
I should have practiced a lot more with my camera. It is a fairly simple model, with point and shoot capability, but one little item resulted in all of my photos being at the lowest quality. It is a simple enough check to make sure that the camera has not defaulted to this setting, but I didn’t realize that it could happen and didn’t make that check.
I have never used a cell phone outside of the U.S. and I am still quite inept at using the one that I have here, but that spring trip convinced me that it might be a good idea to get one. I had some thought of trying to get one with a short-term contract in Toulouse last spring, but didn’t get around to it. There was also an option of using an overseas cell phone rental service from a U.S. company. I have since looked into both. In regard to cell phones there is both a huge information overload and a dearth of the specific information that I would want. I have a full day scheduled in Toulouse (with a hotel nearer to the city center), so I will make a better effort to find out what is available when I get there. In Spain, I would not feel the need for but walking on the GRs of France is a different ball game.
The next section of the route, starting from Lodève, has a couple of very long stages if you stick to the regular Grande Randonnée 653 (GR653). I remember the route on the first trip in 2000 as being relatively short from Lodève to Lunas, but the current guidebooks show it with a large detour to the north, passing through Joncels, where a stop is recommended. It is 21km to Joncels and another 4km to Lunas. Google gives me a pedestrian route that is much more direct and only 14km. The next stage, to Saint Gervais sur Mare, is more than I want to do in one day, 27km. Although Lunas is a fair sized town and a good place to stop, I am not happy with the idea of the short 14km day and following it with 27km. I found that I can even it up a bit, by making my stop at Saint Martin d’Orb, where there are a couple of accommodations available. It is 3km past Lunas, so it allows a 17km day, followed by 24km. That is still more than I like, but the gîte owner in SMd’O has indicated that it is possible to get motor transport for part of the way. Yeah, yeah, a “true pilgrim” would walk the entire route. But I make no claim on being such and, in any case, I paid my dues on that first trip in 2000. There are still a couple of long stages after that, but I will have to see how those go when I get there.
No cortisone or hyaluronic acid injections in the knee this time. I hope to go at it with whatever it can handle without treatment. I might have gone along with one or both of those this time around, but the orthopedic surgeon that I had gone to before has moved out of the area – I don’t know where. There are others here, but I had confidence in him and would not feel that confident taking up with another one.
Bob S.
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Re: a sorry, soggy saga
It's better to get an unlocked (not tied to one carrier) quad band phone that you use all the time and when you arrive in a foreign country if necessary, you can then buy an alternative SIM (if your normal carrier charges too much). A new SIM gives you a new number but local calls will then be at a local call rate. A pay-as-you-go (PAYG) O2 SIM in the UK cost me £10, but cames with £10 of credit. I can add credit using http://o2.co.uk and a credit/debit card.Bob S. wrote:I have never used a cell phone outside of the U.S. and I am still quite inept at using the one that I have here, but that spring trip convinced me that it might be a good idea to get one.
I found, the hard way, that my very cheap cell phone is only dual band (the European bands) when it wouldn't work in Boston Logan airport. Thankfully, I was able to use the IBM VoIP (voice over IP) system (using my laptop on the airport WiFi) to call home and tell Debbie that I'd landed safely (it was a business related call snce they'd flown me there). I used the same VoIP system in the hotel in San Jose as it was cheaper than land line rates.
Best bet for you would be a cell phone with Skype as that uses the data system for Skype's version of VoIP and is independent of the phone number that the cell phone is using.
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
Thanks for that Dougie. My current cell phone is an ancient Kycera ( purchased in 2003) with a Verizon contract. It is locked, of course, and is not a quad band, so it is useless outside the U.S. However, I have been offered the loan of a suitable phone by a friend who has used it successfully with an SIM purchased in Mexico, so I should be able to use it with a French SIM. I believe that the Orange network is probably the best service to get there. The borrowed phone is an inexpensive one with limited capabilities, so it is unlikely to be Skype compatible.Citroen wrote:It's better to get an unlocked (not tied to one carrier) quad band phone that you use all the time and when you arrive in a foreign country if necessary, you can then buy an alternative SIM (if your normal carrier charges too much). A new SIM gives you a new number but local calls will then be at a local call rate. A pay-as-you-go (PAYG) O2 SIM in the UK cost me £10, but cames with £10 of credit. I can add credit using http://o2.co.uk and a credit/debit card.Bob S. wrote:I have never used a cell phone outside of the U.S. and I am still quite inept at using the one that I have here, but that spring trip convinced me that it might be a good idea to get one.
I found, the hard way, that my very cheap cell phone is only dual band (the European bands) when it wouldn't work in Boston Logan airport. Thankfully, I was able to use the IBM VoIP (voice over IP) system (using my laptop on the airport WiFi) to call home and tell Debbie that I'd landed safely (it was a business related call snce they'd flown me there). I used the same VoIP system in the hotel in San Jose as it was cheaper than land line rates.
Best bet for you would be a cell phone with Skype as that uses the data system for Skype's version of VoIP and is independent of the phone number that the cell phone is using.
My ignorance in the realm of cell phones and other communication technologies is abysmal. With only about three weeks left to go, this fairly simple solution seems to be the best to go. I wish that I could try the system out at home first, but PAYG SIMs do not seem to be available for U.S. use.
Bob S.
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
Bob S - thank you so much for posting this, I had never heard of such a walk before I read your "Soggy Saga". You are an inspiration.
Funnily enough, I was asked on the weekend if I wanted to plan a similar trip in 2012 by a friend and if I hadn't read this I would probably have said no. Now I am considering it. Amazing what you get from a rowing forum
Great effort!
Funnily enough, I was asked on the weekend if I wanted to plan a similar trip in 2012 by a friend and if I hadn't read this I would probably have said no. Now I am considering it. Amazing what you get from a rowing forum
Great effort!
Re: a sorry, soggy saga
I am off again soon, but will post an initial report on a new thread.To give it a little more optimistic flavor, I'll call it "Try, try again."