Camino v3 - Day 19: Saintes to Aulnay (52 km)

Saintes - with a bit of colour

Yesterday we revisited dogs in prams and restaurants. This morning I am riding out of the town and a sports car pulls up beside me in the traffic. Sitting up straight, on the passenger seat, enjoying the view, is an enormous dog (a Great Dane perhaps). If it had been wearing sunglasses and had a bow in its hair I wouldn't have been surprised.

Nico, my roommate last night, announces he's going to have a special breakfast. He's going to have corn flakes. He brings out the box he's bought, opens it and looks a little confused. "Strange corn flakes they have here" he observes. I look at the packet; it's flocons d'avoine - rolled oats, not corn flakes at all. I tell him what it is. "But it was with the breakfast cereals" he says, still confused. I don't think Nico spends much time in the kitchen, or possibly in supermarkets for that matter. I show him how to make porridge and he has that for his breakfast. He'll be lugging around a half kilogram of oats for a while I think.

...and wait until 10:00 for the site to open

Nico and I decide to visit the local Roman amphitheatre before we each head off (he's heading south; I am heading north). Neither of us had visited the site yesterday, both probably thinking the same thing: "I'll go there in the morning". What both of us had forgotten, of course, is that nothing like this in France opens before 10:00. When we arrive at the site, we discover that not only is this a fenced-off and pay-to-enter site, but it's closed. So we have to content ourselves with a few pictures through the fence and walk back to the refuge. On my ride out of town I detour past a couple of other landmarks and sites I had not yet visited; fortunately these are all things you can see without having to wait for them to open.

I'm doing something I haven't done yet on this ride; I've stopped for lunch. I'm in Saint-Jean-d'Angély, yet another hyphenated town. It's the sort of place that invites you to stop rather than just ride through; narrow cobbled streets, medieval houses leaning into the road, a nice little square with shady trees and cafés with lots of outdoor seating. I had been thinking of a rest day today anyway, so why not take some time to take a break. As I'm eating my sandwich I'm looking at all the people come and go, as you do. It's the sort of town where people know each other and there's a lot of hand shaking and cheek kissing going on. There's one woman sitting near me who seems to know a lot of people, there's almost a queue forming of the people who pass by and stop to say hello, kiss, chat. The young guys here seem to do the same head-touching greeting (as opposed to the more traditional cheek-touching kiss) that I first saw in Châtellerault. The place is filling up. Beer and wine is flowing freely on this Friday afternoon. I suspect not much work gets done in Saint-Jean-d'Angély on a Friday afternoon.

Lunch break and people watching

Helping to keep the cats out of the church

I decide to ride on to the next town, partly because I'm not used to not riding and partly because I want to make the next day's ride a bit shorter. It's a relatively benign ride so it's a bit like a rest - at least that's what I tell myself. In fact it is a pretty relaxed ride with some nice spots along a river. I stop in a little place called Nuaillé-sur-Boutonne to have a look at the little 12th century church there. The door is open, but there's a chicken-wire frame blocking the doorway; a little sign asks the visitor to please replace the mesh to stop errant cats from getting into the church.

I'm staying in a town called Aulnay on my map, but which turns out to be yet another hyphenated town: Aulnay-de-Saintonge. I'm here not only because the town is at a reasonable distance for today's ride, but also because there's a pilgrim refuge here. Like all the others, this one is run by a volunteer, although this place is run by the local council so the volunteer is a local resident, rather than being a member of a pilgrim association. She's probably in her eighties, widowed, and still living in the same house she's lived since she was married, right on the main village square. I'm in her house to sort out the paperwork; the place is a time warp of the 1950s. The building itself is much older of course. She's chatty and clearly likes to meet someone to distract her from being home alone. In fact, in another example of synchronicity, as I ride up to the house she's just stepped outside, as if she knew I was coming, and we meet on the footpath. But as she explains, she's just stepped outside to warm up a bit. She sees my bike and says: "You didn't tell me you had a bike, there won't be room in the refuge since there's four others staying." Before I even have a chance to think that this is not a good thing, she's already saying: "But don't worry, I'll ask the neighbour to put your bike in her garage." And sure enough, as we walk to the refuge, we stop by the neighbour, who of course comes out for a chat, and the bike finds a place for the night next to her car. Lovely.

The complex evacuation plan of the pilgrim refuge

I'm the first to arrive at the refuge so I get to choose which bed will be mine (a benefit of being on a bike, but which doesn't work on the Spanish Camino where the walkers leave and arrive much earlier than the cyclists). There's not only a washing machine (luxury!) but also a dryer (no need to worry whether the clothes will be dry by the morning!) This refuge is well equipped, and I make good use of both facilities; why not?

I am the only non-French person and it's the first time I've stayed at a hostel where everyone takes care of their own dinner; there's no question of everyone contributing to a shared meal. Strange. Since I don't really feel like cooking for myself, I end up going to a local restaurant which I'd spotted earlier on during my walk around town. When I arrive, the place is still empty but I'm greeted with worried looks and told the place is fully booked. As I'm thinking "I've heard this before" the man and woman - the owners perhaps - have a quick discussion and checking with the chef, decide that they can fit in one more person. The place turns out to be really good, clearly well above the standards of the local competition. It must be on some list somewhere, because not only is it full, the outside area I'm seated in has half the tables occupied by English (tourists?) Next to me is a table of a French couple with an English couple who are probably their guests. The French woman explains the menu to the English speakers and then asks if anyone wants an aperitif. "A drink before we have a drink" pipes up the English guy happily. Brilliant! He has a pre-wine beer. My meal is very good; I should thank my French roommates for not wanting to make a shared meal.

The entire restaurant, some 40 diners perhaps, is being handled by a single waiter, with occasional help from the woman who is otherwise running the bar. It continues to impress me, how in France restaurants are handled (efficiently it must be said) by so few staff. And now back to my bunk bed; I hope there's no snorers tonight.

Unusual gravestones at Aulnay