The pilgrim refuge was dark and quiet when I returned after my meal last night, even though it was only just after 9 pm. The walkers must have been pretty tired and they were all in bed, presumably already asleep. Two of them, a mother and her son, had only just started the day before so they obviously had some adjusting to do. Nathalie and Christine are seasoned walkers but perhaps yesterday's walk had been difficult. Either way, I was the only one still up. And in the morning I am the first up, feeling my way around the place in the dark to avoid disturbing the still-sleeping walkers. Breakfast of scrambled eggs but without the fresh bread I had hoped to get since the local boulangerie isn't even open yet. The walkers have bits of stale bread from yesterday and with a cup of coffee that's their breakfast, even though I offer to make everyone scrambled eggs. I have the brilliant idea to boil the eggs I still have left from the six I've had to buy and take them with me for snacking on the way.
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| Early morning starts have their rewards |
Clear skies overnight make for a cold start to today's ride, with the sun coming up in a gorgeous sunrise about half an hour into the ride. Gorgeous, but also awkward since my route is almost due east for the first part and so I'm looking straight into the rising sun as I ride.
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| Self portrait with bike |
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| They're bigger than you think |
At Lusseray there's a field of enormous windmills, clearly recently installed. So conveniently for me there's no fences or gates to prevent me getting close. It's difficult to imagine how enormous, and noisy, those windmills are unless you're standing directly underneath one of them, thinking 'if one of those blades comes adrift now...' A good photo opportunity nonetheless.
Most of the wildlife I encounter today is two-dimensional; flattened birds, including a kestrel (or is it a hawk?), a flattened hedgehog, and various other anonymous mammals. The only non-flattened animals I see are a baby bird that runs across the road just in front of me (almost becoming two-dimensional in the process) and a cat waiting by the side of the road for me to pass so it can deliver the little mouse in its mouth to wherever it is taking it.
The wind that had been making those windmills turn so fast is also with me most of the day. Or rather, it is against me most of the day, making the hills that much harder to climb and the flat parts seem like they are hills.
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| Another way to deal with the wildlife |
Today being Saturday, the Mairie of the town I'm staying at, Lusignan, is of course closed. Normally you get the key to the pilgrim refuge from the Mairie but now I have to collect it from the local camping ground. The town is, of course, on top of a steep hill. The campground is, of course, at the bottom of the hill where there's a river and forests. So I get to ride up the hill to the town, then down to the camp ground, and then all the way back up again. The guy running the campground, which is surprisingly quiet, tells me that I won't have the refuge to myself; there's a Belgian woman who's also booked for the night. The track from the campground to the pilgrim refuge is a walking track that's so steep I end up have to walk the bike (fully loaded of course) back up to the top of town. I ride some of the way, but give up and walk the rest. At least it's a decent shortcut and despite having to walk, is much quicker than the ride would have been. The pilgrim refuge turns out to be in part of the old castle and is essentially a two bedroom apartment complete with panoramic views (this is, after all, a fortified town on the top of a hill). There's even a washing machine. Luxury!
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| View from my castle refuge |
Once I've settled in, chosen my room (not just which bed, but tonight I get to choose which room) I head into town to buy some supplies for tomorrow's breakfast. I know there's a little charcuterie that also doubles as the local mini-market so I head there to buy some coffee and other critical supplies. Back at the refuge I search in vain for filters for the coffee machine but there are, rather surprisingly, none. Since I've just gone to the trouble to buy coffee, I'll need some filters, so it's back to the shop again. And there's my Belgian flatmate. We haven't met yet, but the walker's clothes, the backpack, not to mention the scallop shell are all giveaways that this person is walking the Chemin de Compostelle. So I introduce myself to Arlette, who is my Belgian flatmate for the night. At least she speaks French, unlike her compatriot, Nico.
Rather than cook ourselves dinner we decide to go to the restaurant (not 'a' restaurant, it's 'the' as in only restaurant) for dinner. It's almost empty but shortly after we arrive an entire busload (56 as I find out later) of people turn up and invade the place. They are all of a certain age, and all wearing light blue scarves. They're a walking group on a four- day walking and cycling organised tour. It's somehow ironic that this group is on the one hand doing what Arlette and I are doing (walking and cycling) but on the other hand doing the complete opposite; they are in a huge organised group with everything planned and we are going alone taking things one day at a time. I'm glad I'm not on the bus.
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