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Nearing the End: Churches, Drying Machines, and ‘It Smells Like Feet in Here’; Days 11, 12, 13 on the Chemin du Puy

October 11, 2017

My last post on the Chemin du Puy left us in the magical village of Conques. I had four days of walking left, but in some ways, it felt like Conques was a sort of ending to my pilgrimage. I think it was because so many other people I’d met had ended their pilgrimages there. I was still walking, but I didn’t have many days left, either. The end felt very, very near.

I’m going to write about the next three days in this (one) post, and we’ll see how it goes. This is partly to get finished writing these recaps, but it’s also because these days seemed to blend together for me. There was a lot of rain, and when it was raining I wasn’t really enjoying the walk. I just wanted to get to my destination.

And I ended up sticking with the same small group of pilgrims, too. This was nice in some ways- I didn’t have to meet new people every day and struggle to communicate in French (well, I was still speaking French with the people I did stick with, but at least they knew that I wasn’t fluent so I didn’t feel much pressure). And, as it always is on the Camino or the Chemin, it’s so nice to arrive in a town and see familiar faces. I was included in the little group, and I never felt lonely.

But, also, I never really felt entirely comfortable in my group. I was with Paul Andre and Chantal, the French Canadian couple with the super strong accents that were really difficult for even the French to understand. Walking with them was Therese, a woman in her 60’s who could almost be considered as someone who lives on the Camino. I never got her full story, but others told me that she didn’t have a permanent home, and was walking big chunks of every year on some Camino route. She was very rough around the edges and I never quite warmed up to her, and I do think a lot of that was due to the fact that we couldn’t communicate easily. And rounding out the group was Marie-Lou, another woman in her 60’s who was walking solo and who sort of ended up in the group around the same time as I did.

I sort of haphazardly ended up with them, and part of this was because I was just tired. Not tired from the walking, but tired from the mental strain that communicating in French is for me. I can still be a little shy when meeting new people, but meeting new people and speaking in a foreign language can make me feel even more timid and drained. So staying in the same places with people I already knew felt like a relief.

But, you know, there were a lot of lessons in this for me. I’ll get to this in the next post, but my last day on the Chemin had me in an entirely new group of people and it was… really special. It made me wonder what would have happened if I had made my own plans after Conques instead of sticking with people I already knew because it was easy. And to that end, there were a few times I was a little disappointed in myself. There was a day where I’d had a particular gîte in mind that I wanted to stay in, but I ended up in a different one because I let Therese include me in a reservation she was making. Our gîte was just okay; the other ended up being pretty fantastic (from what other pilgrims told me). I was a little hard on myself for that decision- just because I didn’t like making phone calls in French, I let someone else do the work for me but it meant that I didn’t stay where I really wanted to.

Anyway, despite these days being just ‘okay’- not bad but not outstanding, either- there were some remarkable moments. Here they are:

Day 11: Conques to Livinhac, 23km

We all had breakfast in Conques: everyone from the day before gathered in the hall for another typical breakfast of coffee and bread and butter and jam and yogurt. It seemed like everyone was lingering, and maybe we were. Half of us were continuing on the Camino, half were ending their pilgrimage. The kind pair of French women, the kind pair of French men (I wish I had learned/remembered their names!), Jerome, Mario, they were all finished with their Chemin.

I got up and gave them all hugs and Jerome was sitting in the corner with tears falling down his cheeks. I turned to Mario, and he gave me a long look. “Remember to follow what’s in your heart.” I nodded, and then I headed out; out of the Abbaye, down the winding roads of the village, past stone houses covered in vines, into the valley and then back up the other side of the mountain.

It was raining. I had to watch my footing very carefully as I climbed up and over slick stones and that climb went on for what felt like a long time. Near the top of the hill was a small chapel and I ducked inside, a quick reprieve from the rain. Conques was across the valley, in the distance, blurred by the rain. Already I felt far away.

Rain, rain, and more rain. Taking cover in churches was a theme of the day; I’m not sure how many churches I ducked into, but it was at least three or four. Each time, I would take my pack off, then my rain jacket, shake them out, put on a long sleeved shirt or fleece, and spend 10 minutes trying to dry off and get warm. And then back on with my wet things that had never really dried out, back into the rain.

I took a small detour that day, following me were Pierre, Therese, and Babette (a French woman who had just started in Conques). The detour was just a quick alternate route and I can’t exactly remember why we all chose to take it- maybe it was a bit shorter? Or more scenic? Or easier? In any case, I’d let the others know that I wanted to walk alone but they were never that far behind me. Later, Pierre told me that he was impressed with my sense of direction and being able to figure out where to go. “I don’t know if I could have done it myself,” he said.

I liked hearing this because in my regular life, I wouldn’t exactly say that I have a really good sense of direction. It’s about average, and gets much worse when I’m in cities and am dealing with streets on a grid. Everything looks the same and I get turned around easily. But when I’m walking, it’s a different story. I’ve gotten off track a couple of times on all of these walks, but I almost always have the sense that I’m going the wrong way when this happens. And otherwise, I don’t know what it is, I guess I’m just always looking for arrows and markers. And after awhile, I just get a sense of which way I need to be heading (I say this now, and I’m probably going to get horribly lost on my next long walk. Famous last words…)

The four of us all ended up stopping in the same church, about an hour from our destination. It was raining hard at this point: really hard. We were probably in that church for at least an hour, waiting for the rain to stop or at least slow down. I got too restless and left before the others did, and I promptly got soaked.

The town of Livinhac was really small; I didn’t stay in the gîte where I really wanted to be, and I went to bed early. Overall… not the best day on the Chemin. But I was still feeling strong and healthy and had friends around me, so not the worst day, either. Plus, you couldn’t beat the view from my bed:

Day 12, Livinhac to Figeac, 24km

Another morning of rain, and this was the point where I just got so fed up with being wet. I must have left at a very different time from everyone else because I was totally alone for so much of the day. I didn’t see many people as I walked, I didn’t see others as I stopped for a rest, and I got to Figeac much, much sooner than everyone else.

The highlight of this day was, well, some sort of Chemin magic. Seriously, I’m half wondering if it was all a dream or an illusion.

Here’s what happened: I’d been walking all morning in the rain. The previous day it had been raining, the day before that it was raining, the day before that it was raining. My clothes were all wet. All of them. I didn’t have a dry pair of socks, and the rest of my clothes weren’t dry, either: I always wash stuff at the end of every day’s walk but because the weather was so damp and cold, nothing was drying out. I’d been thinking about this as I walked, wishing so much that I could just put on a dry pair of socks but knowing that all my socks were wet and wondering what would happen the next day, if things didn’t dry out.

So I arrived in a small village and my guidebook said that there was a little area designated for pilgrims. This typically means that there might be an outdoor shelter of some sort, or a grouping of picnic tables or something like that. But what I found was totally different: it was a room in a building. The door was unlocked, the entire area was deserted. But I went into the room to check it out and it was pretty empty other than a table and a few chairs. But then I saw it- against one of the walls was a washer and dryer.

I looked around a couple of times, not really believing my eyes. A washing machine and a dryer? For pilgrims? In some random room in a tiny and quiet village? Was this real?

So I did the only thing I could think to do: I took off my pack and dug through and found all of my wet clothing and threw it into the dryer. I took off my socks and my long-sleeved shirt that had gotten wet and I put in a few coins and for the next hour I sat there, eating my sandwich and waiting as my clothing dried.

Seriously, how does this kind of stuff happen on the Camino/Chemin? I don’t have answers, but I do know that things like this happen all the time. The thing I’d wanted most that morning was dry clothing, and it was like the Chemin said, “Okay, I get it, I’ll help you out.”

So I left my little rest stop with a big smile on my face. The rain had stopped and the clouds had parted and there I was, strolling along with warm, dry socks on my feet.

Figeac was okay: I stayed in a great gîte with a wonderful communal dinner, but I for some reason I didn’t like being in a larger city and the noise and the movement and all the people felt like it was too much for me. Nassim ended his Chemin here- we all met before dinner for goodbye drinks.

Day 13: Figeac to Cajarc, 32km

No rain (finally!), mostly gray skies. A really good and solid day of walking. I had my “Camino legs” that day, and I was moving fast and the 30+ kilometers felt easy. I bumped into people as I moved through the day: Marie Lou at a rest stop, later Pierre and Stephanie and a Swiss man at another rest stop, but mostly it was a solo day of good walking.

Cajarc was a small town and I stayed in the municipal gîte with Therese and Paul Andre and Chantal and Marie Lou. Pierre and Stephanie were there, too. The place was vey basic and didn’t offer a communal dinner, so a few of us went out to a pizza place. I was in a room with Therese and Marie Lou and despite there being only three of us, it smelled distinctly of dirty, wet clothing. And feet. The room smelled like feet. I fell asleep feeling like I was okay that my Chemin was going to be ending soon.

That’s the recap, but there’s still one day left, and it was definitely a day of adventure. Stay tuned.

Previous Post: Day 10 on the Chemin du Puy

Next Post: Ending in a Blaze of Glory; Day 14 on the Chemin du Puy

Adventures in the rain; Day 4 on Hadrian’s Wall, Gilsland to Carlisle (20 miles, 31km)

May 10, 2017

It’s a cool and rainy day here in Philadelphia, the sort of day for organizing and baking a cake and writing a blog post. I want to get these last recaps of the Hadrian’s Wall trek out, because before I know it I’ll be headed off on my summer adventure! (Still a month to go, but I have a feeling that this time is going to go by in the blink of an eye).

So speaking of a rainy day, let’s talk about Day 4 on Hadrian’s Wall. When I woke up in the morning from my cozy bed at Slackhouse Organic Farm, I heard a pitter-patter on the window. Uh-oh.

I got dressed and shoved my things in my pack and then peered out the window for a closer look. The sky seemed to be spitting rain but it didn’t look too bad. Sort of like a mist. And a mist isn’t too bad to walk in, right?

Heather and I headed to the lounge and kitchen area, where we settled into the breakfasts that we had ordered the night before: I had a large french press full of good strong coffee, and fried eggs over toast. In addition to this, I’d also ordered toast and jam. The toast was all I was going to eat initially- bread and butter and coffee being my preferred breakfast on any given day- but Diane, our hostess, talked me into something heartier and so I added some eggs. And the eggs were good but the warm loaf of bread that was wrapped in a tea towel and served with homemade marmalade? I must have eaten half the loaf.

Diane gave us some advice about the weather, as she squinted into the gray morning. “Rain before 7, fine by 11.”

I liked how promising these words were, and so Heather and I suited up and headed out. Neither of us wore any of our rain gear because it seemed like the rain had mostly stopped, but what were we thinking? About five minutes into our walk I had to stop to put on my rain jacket, and a bit further on Heather did the same.

We separated once we got back to the route (Slackhouse Organic Farm was about a 10 minute walk off the path). I wanted to hunt for an inscription on a stone that was supposedly somewhere on the Wall close to Birdoswald (the remains of another fort), so Heather continued west while I backtracked a bit. I found myself wandering around an open field, staring at stones in the Wall hoping I would see something, while the rain started to come down harder.

I soon realized that it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, so I gave up and started walking. As I passed by Birdoswald- too early to be open- I considered finding a dry, tucked away spot under an awning to change into my rain pants. I hesitated, but then kept walking, convinced that the rain wasn’t actually that bad (once again- what was I thinking??).

But I didn’t really consider the effect of the wind. I suppose the rain was never really that bad, but the fact that the wind was blowing it straight into me as I walked meant that my clothes were becoming very wet. Most concerning were my pants. I’ve walked in a bit of rain on the Camino before, and my pants got wet, but because I walked in the summer it was never really a big deal. My legs would feel wet but once the rain stopped it was always warm enough that the pants would dry and it would all work out fine.

But I never thought about what wet legs might feel like in 40-something degree weather (which is what we started walking in that morning). Very quickly my legs got very cold. By this point I’d moved away from Birdoswald and was walking through fields and countryside, with a street running parallel to the track. There was no cover, no dry areas, nothing but grass and sheep for as far as the eye could see.

I continued to walk but as soon as I saw a cluster of trees tucked against a stone wall (not the wall, I don’t think), I ducked beneath it, took off my pack, and dug around. I couldn’t just put my rain pants on over my hiking pants because the hiking pants would still be wet and I’d still have cold legs. So I did the only thing I could think to do, after looking far down the road and assuring myself that there were no cars coming.

One foot and one leg at a time, I took off my shoes and then my pants and put on my long underwear layer and then my rain pants. This took some balance and there was a lot of hopping around a field in my underwear involved, but eventually I got myself redressed (oh what a show for all the sheep and lambs!).

My changing room on Hadrian’s Wall

This was my first time using rain pants and I have to sing their praises. My layering system was perfect for walking in the rain in cool springtime temperatures. My legs were dry and warm and the rain pants continued to keep everything dry and warm. Between those and my rain jacket (with a buff over my forehead to keep wet hair out of my eyes), I actually felt really comfortable walking in the rain, which is the first time that’s ever happened.

I think I could have kept walking in the rain for a few hours without too much complaint, but after only about 30 minutes the rain stopped (of course).

The skies stayed gray for another hour or two, but then they suddenly cleared and we were treated to sharp blue skies and fluffy white clouds for the rest of the day. And despite it being another long day, the walking felt good, with mostly flat terrain.

Aside from the rain, we had just a bit of more bad luck on this day. Both of the places where we planned to take breaks were closed! The first was a small tea shop in the village of Walton (this is also the last spot where the remains of the Wall are visible). Despite our guidebook advertising opening hours Tues-Sat, we arrived on a Wednesday to find it not open until Thursday. Grr. We hit the post office just before they shut their doors for the day (around noon), and a kind woman inside let us use their bathroom. We ate a snack at a picnic table in a park nearby, but then kept moving; in another 7-miles there would be an Inn where we could stop for a late lunch.

But when we arrived at the Stag Inn we discovered that this, too, was all closed up. Peering through the windows only led us to believe that- despite how pleasant the place looked from the outside- that maybe they had shuttered for good. (But later we found out that the place wouldn’t be open until sometime in the summer. We were mislead by our guidebooks once again, which promised opening hours all-year long).

I didn’t have much food left on me, and I suppose I could have made it all the way to Carlisle but we made a short detour about 3-miles before the end of our day for what felt like the first true break. There was a pub in a hotel just off route, and after refueling we continued on for the last leg of the day.

The walk into Carlisle was so pleasant: a sunny stroll through a big park, full of dog walkers and joggers and bikers.

And when we arrived at our B&B it felt like a little paradise: a spacious room with three beds, a tea tray with biscuits, a shower with hot water, a window with a view over the neighboring rooftops. We could have stayed in our room for hours, but after showering and washing our socks, we headed into the city for some dinner and some wandering.

Carlisle is a place I definitely could have spent more time in, and I was strongly considering axing our plan to walk the next day. Our final day of walking was going to be a difficult feat (hehe): we needed to walk 15 miles to Bowness-on-Solway in enough time to catch a 1:39pm bus back to Carlisle (where we would catch a 3pm train back to London). This basically meant that we would have to walk at a fast pace with very minimal break time for the entire 15-miles, and then turn around and go right back to where we started that morning. No time to stop and smell the roses, no coffee breaks, no lingering over photos.

This isn’t my preferred way to walk, but it was either end our trek short and enjoy the sights in Carlisle (which was so tempting), or attempt to do the entire Hadrian’s Wall route, from the very beginning to the very end.

Can you guess which one we picked? Stay tuned.

(If you missed them, here are recaps from Day 1, Day 2, Day 3)

10 days, rain, and stress.

June 14, 2014

I was one mile into a hike the other day when it started to rain. I swung my pack onto a picnic bench and reached into the bottom for the rain cover, when I realized that I’d left the rain cover in my apartment. Draped over a drying rack from my rainy hike the day before.

This illustrates two things: it’s raining. A lot. And I’m forgetting stuff.

I’m normally not a forgetful person, so when I start to leave things behind, I know that I have too much going on in my head.

And I do. I have 10 days before I leave for Europe and I feel completely and totally unprepared. I know that’s not true: some things are taken care of, like my flight and my train ticket and where I’m going to stay for my first two nights. And I have most of my things. I still need to find a long sleeved shirt, and I need to get to REI to pick up another fleece that I ordered (yes, I second-guessed the white one. If I had loved it-regardless of the color- I think I would have kept it. But the fit wasn’t great). Otherwise, I think I have everything I need.

I told myself, months ago, that all I really needed was a way to get over to St Jean Pied de Port (my starting point for the Camino), and a good pack and good shoes and a few extras. After that, the rest would take care of itself.

But I also know that I like to be prepared. And the closer this Camino gets, the more nervous I feel.

And what’s with all this rain? The one thing I had been doing really well was training for this walk, but in the last few weeks? Other than a great 8-mile hike with a loaded pack and some good friends, I haven’t done much. My days are too busy for long hikes, and when I do have a little more time, I strap on my pack and as if on cue, the skies open up and dump water on me. I’ve done a few smaller hikes in the rain- to test out my jacket and the pack cover- because at some point in my 35 days of walking this summer, I’m sure I’ll have to walk in the rain. But yesterday, as I set off on a hike and began to get rained on for the third time this week, I gave up and turned around.

All of this being said, I can’t wait for this time next week. Work will be over for the school year, I will be leaving for France in three days, and inevitably, I will have more items checked off my to-do list. And I suspect that the little kernel of Camino excitement that is currently buried somewhere in me is going to be making more of an appearance.

And today? Today the skies are blue and the sun is shining strongly. In a few minutes I’m going to go outside, stretch my legs, and soak up some of this little-seen, late spring sun.

testing out my rain jacket

Nearing the End: Churches, Drying Machines, and ‘It Smells Like Feet in Here’; Days 11, 12, 13 on the Chemin du Puy

Adventures in the rain; Day 4 on Hadrian’s Wall, Gilsland to Carlisle (20 miles, 31km)

10 days, rain, and stress.

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