Camino v3 - Day 12: Saint Palais to Saint Jean Pied de Port (38 km)

So the day starts with (yet another) steep 2 km climb straight out from the hostel. But it's not the last climb of the day, and not even the steepest. The climb up to the Croix de Galzetaburu is 100 m in a little over one km; one long continuous climb of about 9%. And then there is the "little" climb right at the end of the ride which, although short, is very steep. And then all of a sudden I have arrived in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, my final destination, and my journey to complete the whole Camino de Santiago is over. Done. Here I am riding around the village I started out from four years ago; it's a little like I was here just a few days ago - it certainly doesn't feel like four years.

2018 - Arrival in St-Jean-Pied-de-Port

2014 - Departure from St-Jean-Pied-de-Port

Cow bells and church bells, both sounds carrying across the valleys in the otherwise quiet hilly terrain. It's only when I'm obliged to take a bigger road that the constant swooshing of cars as they rush past spoils the effect. The countryside is green and gorgeous.

Pyrenees foothills - quite a climb from down there

I've met Tom and Janet, a Swiss couple who have ridden their bikes from home, yesterday at the hostel. And sure enough, I am sitting for my (late) morning coffee stop at Saint-Jean-le-Vieux and they ride up, joining me for coffee. And as Tom predicts, it's not the last time we cross paths. Later on, after I've arrived in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, settled in to the B&B - the same one I stayed at when I started the Camino four years earlier - and done my washing (a daily and critical task), I head into town for a look around and the they are again, just arriving. We end up having drinks together - a couple of well-earned beers, why not - while they wait for the queue at the pilgrim information centre to get shorter. It turns out to be a three-beer wait, but we have the time and nobody is complaining.

St-Jean-Pied-de-Port - the main street

I have a bit of the same feeling of anti-climax I had when I arrived in Santiago four years ago; a strange sense of wanting to keep going. This time that part is taken care of, since the plan is to more or less retrace my steps and head back to Tours. I'm realising that I could equally continue on to Santiago, which would not be that much more riding, but then I'm left with the issue of getting back from there with the bike. So I'll stick with the plan and head north tomorrow.

For dinner I head to the same restaurant recommended by my host last time (and again this time). Only the town is busier this time and the restaurant is already full. There are 400 pilgrims coming through the town each day and then there's the tourists on top of that. So it's the second choice, also full but with a shorter wait. While I wait I sit at a high table that overlooks the whole outdoor area of the restaurant so I have plenty to look at. In front of me there's a couple waiting for their meals. He has a dog on his lap, which he is stroking. Dogs in restaurants; this must be France. At least the dog is content and quiet. 

The clientele is overwhelmingly of a certain age. Although there are a couple of tables with younger people, most of the diners have grey hair. But then again, most of the walkers are older; after all they are the ones with the time to devote to a long distance walk. There are a few younger walkers too course, including a table with two girls, likely from South Korea since that country seems to be the dominant source of pilgrims from Asia on the Camino.  I saw these girls in the town earlier, each carrying a rucksack and lugging an enormous suitcase between them along the cobbled streets. I just hope they don't plan to walk the Camino with that suitcase. The dog stroker is having his coffee by now. The dog hasn't moved at all during the meal; not even the enormous steak that its owner was eating was enough to stir it.

The grey hairs and other pilgrims are leaving after finishing their meals and the second sitting is starting; now the demographics are changing and it's the younger locals who are arriving. Interestingly, whereas pretty much every table had red wine with their meals during the last sitting, beer is clearly the drink of choice for the (younger) second sitting. I wonder whether this is driven by financial or generational factors. Mark Zuckerberg, or at least someone who looks remarkably like him, is having dinner here with three of his friends. I seem to be the only one who has noticed. My meal is so copious that I don't have room for dessert, and I head back to my chambre d'hôtes. It's a pleasant walk back along the river. Tomorrow I will be heading north.

St-Jean-Pied-de-Port by night

Camino v3 - Day 11: Dax to Saint Palais (69km)

Just out of Dax this morning the road heads straight up into the hills with a 6% climb for a couple of km. What a way to start the day! But it's a gorgeous route and it's recently rained so everything green is glistening and pretty; even better, it's not raining now. Welcome to the foothills of the Pyrenees. And then I ride past my first giant slug. Not a particularly momentous occasion you might think, but it takes me straight back to four years ago on the first day of my ride to Santiago; there were giant slugs everywhere on my first day's ride.

Misty morning in the Pyrenees

Local housing style with giraffe

At Peyrehorade I ride into the town to have a look around (the route bypasses the town itself). I spot a boulangerie as I ride by and after visiting the church I decide to get some provisions. Outside the boulangerie is a bike I've seen this morning, it was behind me just before the climb out of Dax. We chat, of course, comparing notes. This guy, who is French, starts to list all the routes he's cycled France. There are a lot. "You must spend all your time riding" I suggest. "Well, I retired three years ago and I figured I should do it while I can. I'm seventy years old after all." If I'd been sitting on a chair I'd have almost fallen off it; I would never have picked him as that age and I am impressed. He's in pretty good shape for a seventy-year-old. A bit later it strikes me that I'm almost sixty myself - hard to imagine, but true nonetheless.

Storm approaching - wet riding ahead

Before the town of Cassaber I pass a sign that warns of a bridge being closed on the D29. My route is on the D29. Sure enough, a couple of km later I'm stopped at an effectively non-existent bridge; it's being completely rebuilt. Time to plan a detour. I stop to take a picture of the stormy skies the horizon, and sure enough, a half hour or so later, as I am navigating my way around a detour to get to other side of the river, the heavens open. By the time I've made it to the bus shelter I spot up ahead I'm a long way from dry. Luckily the storm passes quickly and I can wait it out. The detour and the rain add an hour or so to my ride; luckily I didn't plan a long day's ride today.

The detour takes  me over an old railway bridge, which I later discover is actually now part of a piste cyclable. It's been temporarily pressed into service for cars as well. I rejoin my route some way after the bridge.

The route goes through gorgeous green and hilly country; the reward for the steep climbs is a lovely view. By the time I'm close to my destination this rationalisation is wearing thin and my legs are telling me it's time to stop. More hills tomorrow. I'm staying in a large Pilgrim hostel in Saint-Palais, which sadly seems to be not very much used anymore. That's a pity, since the facilities are really good. I meet a Swiss couple who have ridden from this home and plan to ride all the way to Santiago. When I discover that he's an airline pilot, his meticulous planning and navigation tools make much more sense.

Camino v3 - Day 10: Labouheyre to Dax (84km)

The long straight and rather boring ride out of Labouheyre is made a little more bearable due to the fact that it is cool, and with the morning sun just coming out and it having just rained, there is mist around, adding a touch of interest to the otherwise rather dull scenery.

I ride into Escource where the road terminates at a lovely green and shady square (which is actually circular so do we still call it a square I wonder?)  It's obviously asking me to stop for a break. Just then, an older couple appear, riding identical folding bikes. She's got a basket on the front of hers, in which, sitting up straight enjoying the view, is a little dog. The couple make an interesting sight as they pedal to the local boulangerie. Dogs in prams, dogs on bikes, dogs in baskets, dogs in restaurants; dogs have it easy here.

Timber, tiles, and birthday "tree" at this pilgrim gite

By now the housing is definitely quite different to further north. And not only is it different, but it's also more varied. You still get the usual rendered block-work, but there's more variety in the colour of the render (grey is popular.) The roof tiles, interestingly, are back to a more flat profile, although it's pretty much all terracotta now; not much slate to be seen here. But you also see plenty of the rounded Spanish style. Also making an appearance is timber as a cladding material and there's also a lot more exposed timber beams, particularly as part of the roof construction. Asymmetrical roofs are also not uncommon. A bit of everything then.

Another sign that I'm on the right road

I see someone walking up ahead; they are towing a little trolley with a backpack on it. I pull up beside the anonymous figure - it's been raining and they are wearing a big rain cape. It's an older guy, and yes, he's walking the Camino. We chat a while and the subject of his trolley comes up, "I can't carry a backpack anymore" he explains, "the straps interfere with my pacemaker connection." Now that wasn't something I was expecting to hear! We talk some more; the usual where did you start, where are you going and so forth. Having just discussed the advantages and disadvantages of riding a bike versus walking, he volunteers that he shared a pilgrim gîte with two Dutch bike riders last night. Sure enough, they are the same two guys I had met yesterday. Looks they are sticking to their 100 km per day objective and so are ahead of me.

Bike and 600-year-old oak at St-Vincent-de-Paul

The fountain and cathedral at Dax (no surfers here)

Dax is my destination for today. A little detour to the birthplace of St Vincent de Paul (which is in the eponymously-named town) before heading into the city of Dax, which is bigger than I'd imagined it to be. It also turns out to be much more touristy than I'd expected; thermal baths are obviously a big attraction. I ride around the town for a while, but the throngs of tourists put me off and I head towards a grassy square to take a break. There's a fountain and there's a group of four young people near it. One of them is wearing a wetsuit and is carrying a surfboard. Not exactly what you'd expect in the middle of a large town in southern France. Another has a funny hat on, and then one of the girls strips to her underwear. I'm glad I stopped; this could get interesting. Then all four of them simultaneously jump into the fountain, which is obviously colder than any of them (with the possible exception of the guy wearing the wetsuit) had expected, judging by the noises they are making (the guy with the surfboard just paddles around quietly.) This all lasts only a couple of minutes and they are out again, at about the same time as two police municipale turn up. Where they come from and how they manage to get there so quickly will remain a mystery. In any case, that's the end of my entertainment; the swimmers are sent on their way, the police move on to some other suspicious characters and I ride to my hotel.

On the way to the hotel, I ride past a restaurant and decide it looks like a possibility for dinner tonight; fresh produce, reasonable prices, interesting menu. Once I'm online I have a look at options for dinner and discover that the restaurant I had passed is the TripAdvisor number one rated restaurant in Dax. Interesting coincidence and I decide to book a table for one, not something I normally do, but since it can be done online I think, why not book for once? I arrive at the restaurant and there's my table, ready and waiting. So far so good. Shortly after I'm happily seated, I witness a succession of people arriving, only to be turned away after being told that the place is full; just as well I booked. There's a single waitress taking care of the whole restaurant; something like 25 people. And she's doing a great job with a great attitude. Again I am impressed. I'm even more impressed when I discover that the whole restaurant is actually run by only two people: the waitress and the chef, who is her husband. So one person the kitchen, which is downstairs, and one person front of house: and the service and the food is really good, although the "ding" made by the dumb waiter each time another meal arrives from the basement kitchen is a little distracting. Can't have everything.

Must be on the right road

Camini v3 - Day 9: Cadillac to Labouheyre (86km)

Yesterday as I was sitting outside the Tourist office, using their internet as one does, a couple of cyclists came by: tall,  big bikes, panniers, cyclist's legs. Dutch, I figured. Later I see them again in the restaurant - not so surprising that they are at the same restaurant, given there's only two that are actually open - I hear them speaking Dutch confirming my earlier assumption.

Just another country house

This morning as I am riding through Les Landes, a pine-forested and thankfully flat region, I spot a couple of cyclists coming up behind me. They are my Dutch restaurant neighbours of yesterday. As the first one comes abreast he matches my speed and we talk while riding. It turns out they've left Holland two weeks ago and are planning to ride to Santiago; when the guy discovers I've already ridden that section he's interested to find out more about the route. It's impressive how little homework they've done. We say our goodbyes and the first rider moves ahead. A bit later the second rider passes me, looking down as he towers over me on his enormous bike. He's a very tall Dutchman on a very tall Dutch bike.

Later, in the next town with a café, I see a pair of familiar bikes propped against a wall. I pull into the café for my morning coffee stop and sure enough, there are the two Dutch riders; they've already had their coffee. "Can I buy you a coffee?" says the tall one. "I'll have one too then" says his companion. They want to talk some more about the Spanish part of the Camino. We spend a pleasant half hour or so with our coffees, which to my surprise are actually quite good - maybe I'm just going to the wrong places or perhaps my ordering technique is wrong - and they pick my brains about the Camino. I get the impression that the tall one, who isn't as much of a rider as the other guy, who races bikes, is having some doubts about whether he's up to it and is looking for reassurance.

At Hostens I decide to deviate from the route again, to follow yet another cycle-way that follows an old railway line. Again it's a great ride: dead straight and flat for 8 km, but through nicely forested countryside. The last part of my ride today is also along dead straight and flat roads, but completely exposed with not a tree anywhere nearby and in the full hot afternoon sun. It's not pleasant at all.

Piste Cyclable - along old railway lines

At Pissos, where I had originally thought to stay, I realise how much higher than usual my average speed has been on this flat terrain and I've arrived earlier than I'd expected. I feel I can ride for another 20 km or so and will ride on rather than staying here. I'm at the local church - which is quite impressively large given the size of the town - and I sit down on the steps to call the hostels the next town. As it happens, I have their numbers from a note I found in my cell last night. To my surprise, both hostels are full, and so is first of the two hotels I call. Maybe I'll stay in Pissos after all. But I get the number of a woman who occasionally rents a room and I call her; she doesn't answer. Just as I'm about to call the other hotel the church's minister appears: "Pilgrim?" he asks. "I'm expecting a pilgrim" he adds, "a real one." He means one arriving on foot, but there's a hidden meaning I suspect. In any case, I'm invited inside (his house is, of course, right next to the church) and he offers coffee and cold water. He's quite opinionated, in a nice way, and clearly enjoys sharing his knowledge. He stamps my credencial and as "homework" I have to write something in his visitor's book. He takes pilgrims from time to time and there's some interesting stories written in the book by people who have previously stayed.

Moustey - only 1,000 (walking) kilometres to Santiago

Just after I leave, Nathalie, the woman with a room, calls me back, which I think is very thoughtful of her, considering I didn't leave a message. She's out of town, but if I don't mind waiting (she says almost apologetically) she can sort out the room when she gets back. So I have a bed for the night.

Nearing my destination, riding along the long hot boring road I mentioned earlier, I spot someone walking up ahead. So the walking path follows same awful bit of road, I realise. I pull alongside for a chat, figuring that anyone who's been walking this section has been doing it pretty tough (it's bad enough on a bike). Sophie is a young woman from Bordeaux who is on her fourth day and hopes to make it to Santiago. Right now she's clearly at the 'can I really manage this?' phase of her journey, and this awful section isn't helping. So I stay with her, walking my bike the last couple of kilometres, chatting with her and hopefully giving her some moral support (and some distraction from her sore knees and feet). Arriving at the town, she flops down on a bench, clearly relieved to have made it this far. We say our goodbyes; I hope she gets past this phase and does manage to make it all the way to Santiago. The person running the gite she is staying at has kindly offered to come and pick her up, saving her from having to walk another kilometre or two.

My room for the night turns out to be in a poolside shed; I have a room with a view. I ride into town for dinner at what is essentially the only restaurant, which turns out to be actually rather good.

Bed-in-a-shed, complete with skunks

Camino v3 - Day 8: St Émilion to Cadillac (48km)

A lazy late start and a generous bed and breakfast breakfast. It should be, given that I could have stayed three weeks in a pilgrim hostel for the price of a night here! It's going to be a hot day again, but I'm going to make it a short ride today, aiming for Cadillac where there's a pilgrim hostel in the local psychiatric hospital; should be interesting.

St Emilion wine in the making

I've decided to take a detour via La Sauve. Not so much because I want to visit this town, although there's the ruins of an important abbey which played a significant role in the Chemin de Compostelle, but because there's a cycle-way along an old train line. I'm glad I did because the ride is just wonderful. Apart from the fact that it's more or less level all the way, there's a lot of interesting things including bridges and even a tunnel along the way making for a great ride which as a bonus is mostly shaded.

Private bike-tunnel, complete with automatic lighting

You have been warned

I end up visiting the abbey, which includes the tower which is one of the main parts of the structure still standing. There's 157 (count them!) steps up the stone spiral staircase to get to the top - and another 157 steps to get back down again. You notice these things when you've just ridden 30 km or so. The staircase is a marvel of engineering and it never ceases to impress me how they managed to build these things back in those days - and we're talking 12th century, which is not exactly recent. The view from the top is of course, spectacular, with vineyards in all directions.

I self-navigate my way back to the route and an hour or so later I arrive in Cadillac, a town famous for being named after an American car.  (*) Or perhaps it's the other way around. Or maybe it's the Johnny Hallyday song. Or the wine. Either way, the reason I've chosen to stop here, as I mentioned, is the pilgrim refuge, which really is inside the psychiatric hospital. "Tonight, put your bike inside your cell" the security guard warns me, "this is a psychiatric hospital after all and you never know."

Pilgrim cell

The room really is a cell; it's in an old stone building, which has a row of cells the ground floor. Complete with massive wooden doors with little peep holes (now covered) a stone washbasin built into the wall (now with a plastic tub on it but no more than that - no tap for example.) There's a hospital-style bed with crisply stretched hospital linen, although I have to make the bed myself, not surprisingly. There's a little box of supplies to make a frugal dinner and/or breakfast. While there is a toilet nearby there's no shower. That's what the plastic tub is for. The guard gives me an electric kettle so I have hot water "For your tea" he says, using the English word for tea and clearly feeling very impressed with himself.

Bed for the night - in an original pilgrim cell

Apparently, the psychiatric hospital was founded by the local Duke, on the site of the former pilgrim's hospital in the St Jacques quarter of the town. As part of the deal, the Duke stipulated that in perpetuity, provision had to be made to welcome 4 pilgrims in the original cells, offering them bed and bread. The cost to the pilgrim for the overnight lodging and food was to be nothing, and remains so in the spirit of the original arrangement. Very impressive!

Dinner options tonight are limited since it's Monday and virtually all the restaurants are closed. In fact, there's only two that are open, and they are, interestingly, right next to each other. I decide on "Les Remparts" a French-Italian. As I leave the hospital, the security guard asks me if I'm heading out to dinner. If you like pizza, he says, go to Les Remparts. And he was right, the pizza is really impressive. Mind you, they also have a "Hamburger au steak de magret de canard et foie gras" which sounded interesting; how often do you see a duck breast and goose liver pate hamburger on a restaurant menu?

As I'm waiting to pay at the bar, there's a guy looking at the takeaway menu. He's having trouble reading it. "This is no good" he exclaims "I'll have to go and get my glasses, I can't read this". The woman behind the counter, probably the owner, takes her glasses from where she's put them on top of her head, "Here, use mine, they're all the same anyway." The guy takes them, puts them on - he looks quite a sight wearing her glasses - "Ah, that's better!"

(*) According to Wikipedia:
The name of the commune was adopted by Antoine Laumet de La Mothe, sieur de Cadillac, the founder of Detroit and Governor of Louisiana, on his arrival to what is now the United States. The Cadillac division of General Motors, and Cadillac, Michigan are named after him.

Camino v3 - Day 7: Bonnes to St Émilion (60km)

In keeping with the theme of the last couple of days, the church bells ring 8 as I ride into Saint Aulaye this morning; I've obviously timed my arrived well. It's a chilly 10 degrees (I regretted leaving the windows of my mobile home open last night).The tourist office is, of course, closed. Not only is it still early, but today is Sunday, so it's not open today anyway. But as I suspected, they've left their WiFi on and I can connect from outside. Last night my campsite mobile home didn't come equipped with WiFi.

Be careful! One train can hide another...

After uploading and downloading all those things that couldn't possibly wait (hence the squatting outside the closed tourist office) I ride to the local café / bar - apart from the boulangerie next door it is the only place in the town open on this Sunday morning - and have yet another awful coffee. The bar is  full of men; I suppose the women are all at home, or perhaps they have gone to church. And then just now the lady owner (she's the only female in the place and I assume she's the owner) comes up to me with a cheery "Bonjour Monsieur" and shakes my hand, completely changing my impression of the place; I guess I do stand out as not being one of her regulars.

Wild boar country

The ride out of Saint Aulaye goes through the Fôret de la Double which according to my guide is known for hunting and gathering mushrooms - like many forests in France. It's dark and a bit foreboding. Up ahead squatting by the side of the road is a guy wearing a beret, hi-vis pants, and talking on his mobile. In his other hand he has a rifle, and with his back to the road he is displaying an impressive plumber's crack. It's a little bizarre and at the same time disconcerting (the whole image is bizarre, the rifle I find disconcerting). As I continue up the hill (of course, this morning's ride is starting with a long hill climb - at least it's cold so I'm not sweating) I see more figures along the road wearing hi-vis jackets (easier to see than just the pants). I suppose wearing hi-vis clothing, which I believe by law hunters are required to do, makes it less likely that they'll be mistaken for a wild boar and shot. Perhaps it also gives the prey a little more chance of seeing them and so not being shot. The people hiding the bushes along the road all have guns and are obviously waiting for their prey (what are they hunting here, is it wild boars?) Hunting must be a bit like fishing; lots of waiting interrupted by a few moments of excitement. I'm surprised to see a couple of teenage girls amongst the waiting hunters; clearly hunting is not an exclusively male sport in this region.

As if to answer my earlier question, a few minutes later two wild boars run across the road just ahead of me; I can't help hoping that no hunter has seen them and is about to shoot. Still, I'm glad I'm wearing my hi-vis jacket. And then to make things even more interesting, a bit later a deer runs across the road too.

Much of today's ride seems like passing through a series of ghost towns. There's not a soul in sight and everything is shut tight; the silence is almost oppressive. Sunday in country France.

Lunch

Lunch today is from the land. I pick a load of blackberries and later stop at an abandoned apple tree from which I pick several quite nice apples. I've been looking at various fruit trees along the way, thinking that is seems such a waste to let all this fruit just rot on the tree and fall to the ground, so today I finally decide I might as well eat some of it. Especially since there are no shops anywhere along the route today (and if there were, they'd all be shut today anyway.)

St Émilion (wine) in the making

And then I'm in wine country, riding through fields of vineyards stretching into the distance. I'm not sure what it is about the vineyards, but it's uplifting and very pleasant riding, particularly since there are less and less hills now. I'm riding from Château to Château in St Émilion country. A grand cru here, a grand cru there. I notice that the villages, although they are still ghost towns as they have all been today, are getting more and more prosperous and neat and tidy. There's obviously money at work here.

My destination for tonight is in fact the small, quaint, and now awfully touristy town of St Émilion. If you can look past the crowds of mostly foreign tourists, the town itself is really quite nice, with steep cobbled streets and buildings all made of the lovely golden local limestone.

St Émilion

After finding and then after a bit of a wait, checking into the chambre d' hôtes that will be my bed for the night, I go for a walk around the village. I know the way since I've been here before; in any case it's simple: everything is uphill from my B&B. The tourist office here is open (they could hardly get away with closing in a town like this, even on a Sunday) so I get my credencial (pilgrim passport) stamped to record my passage.

The bike gets to stay in the (outdoor) restaurant

For dinner I avoid the overpriced tourist-oriented 'haute cuisine' restaurants (i.e. almost all restaurants in the town) and eat at a more locally-oriented place in the unfashionable low side of town - conveniently almost next door to my B&B. I treat myself to a couple of glasses of the local produce, given that I'm in St Émilion I could hardly do otherwise, no?

Camino v3 - Day 6: Angoulême to Bonnes (65km)

I try to plan a route for my departure that avoids climbing back up the hill into the city but it's a futile exercise and I end up starting my ride with the long climb back into the old town. What I don't know at this stage is that the whole day's ride will be one long series of hill climbs, and the climb into the city will pale by comparison to all the other hills I'll be climbing today.

Angoulême Cathedral

I've stopped at Ronsenac. The guide implies there's food to be had here, but all I see is a somewhat dodgy-looking bar, called "Jimmy's bar". There's a couple of UK-registered cars parked out front, possibly some of Jimmy's mates. I decide instead to find a place to stop and have some of the food I've brought with me. Just then I spot a sign to the Fontaine Légendaire, which I've read about in my guide, so I turn down the side alley and it's right there: a cool spot with crystal clear icy-cold water streaming out of the ground; not a bad little spot for my morning break. I'm sitting enjoying the place when a couple of small boys come with nets on poles - they are trying to catch frogs. Their grandfather joins them and together we watch a car stop on the main road, the occupants look down the alley to the fountain, then they drive off. The grandfather and I look at each other both probably thinking similar thoughts; he verbalises them: "They come all the way here and just visit the fountain from their car. Lots of people do that." He bemoans the fact that the villages are surely dying and small businesses are closing, mentioning that people following the Chemin de Compostelle still come with guides saying that there are shops in the village. Sounds familiar, I think to myself. Later, as I'm leaving I ask if I could get some water for my bottle and we go across the road to his house - he lives opposite the legendary fountain - and he fills my drink bottle with bottled water (not tap water or legendary water, which had been declared unsafe for drinking, probably by the same people selling bottled water) and then he gives me the rest of the bottle of water to take with me, a nice gesture.

The legendary fountain - with bike

Aubeterre-sur-Donne, which turns out to be one of the plus beaux villages de France, is on my route, so I turn off the main road and ride up to the centre historique. It turns out that the Église Monolithe, of which there are only two in Europe, both in France, is not only open but it's free for today. It's an amazing concept: an entire church, something like 27m long by 16m wide and 20m high, complete with columns, a gallery, a crypt and burial rooms, has been constructed by carving out the solid limestone rock; the whole thing is underground. The mind boggles just thinking about the planning and work involved. It's not like you could rebuild a section you'd cut out by mistake.

Eglise Monolithe - underground church in Aubeterre-sur-Donne

I want to visit the Église St Jacques since it has some relevance to the Chemin de Compostelle. The  bells chime 3 pm just as I've reached the church after a steep uphill ride from the main square (which itself is a steep uphill ride from the route). And then just as I'm finding a spot for the bike before visiting the church, a wedding party - I had seen them down in the main square at the Mairie - comes walking up the street (Rue St Jacques) and the church bells start continuously ringing. I'm standing there with my bright yellow panniers and my bike shorts and I'm photo bombing the wedding party. Judging by where the photographers are, I am going to be in the background of some of their wedding photos. Nobody seems to notice me on any case. My visit to the church is upstaged by the fact that there is going to be a wedding. I think they may not appreciate me gatecrashing their wedding so I decide to head off without having seen the church.

Eglise St Jacques, wedding - and bike

My bed for tonight turns out to be in a mobile home on a farm campsite. Something different. The owner has been here for sixty years farming the land and developing the place, which he's now turned partly into a campground since he's retired from farming. It's all a bit hit and miss (there's no hot water in my mobile home so I have to use the, rather dubious, campground showers for example).

Not quite what I'd expected, but home-away-from-home anyway

When I arrive, he hands me a beer and we sit in his house at the large dining table, which looks like it's his office as well judging by the random paperwork strewn across it. We talk about the Chemin de Compostelle, snoring in dormitories, how few pilgrim facilities there are in France, and then we move on to the benefits of various crops (we are on a farm, and he's a retired farmer). I ask him what he grows here and after getting the list: sunflowers, corn, canola... he spends the rest of the conversation extolling the virtues of corn. It has so many uses and he's particularly passionate about its benefits for the environment, especially its ability to moderate the climate by keeping the soil temperature lower in summer. I'm learning but also thinking that the are those who might have a different opinion about the environmental benefits of growing corn. Its need for lots of water in summer when it doesn't rain, so requiring irrigation, and the need to often dry it artificially to store it, which needs hydrocarbons for the heating, are perhaps a few of its less positive environmental features.

This road leads to many places

I ride down to the next village for dinner. The restaurant (the only one) is part of some sort of holiday village complex and is called Restaurant La Plage ("Beach Restaurant"). There's an artificial lake complete with an artificial beach, volleyball nets, kid's activities and so forth. The restaurant is Italian French with something like a typical island theme, complete with appallingly bad music. Not really the sort of place I'd normally come to, but it makes for an interesting evening. There are quite a few tables of Brits, and it makes me think a little of the Costa del Sol, but not in a good way. In front of me there are three British couples; each guy has a dog on a leash. I wonder if they'd be taking dogs to a restaurant in the UK? The guys are all sitting on one side of the table, opposite what I guess is their respective partner. The guys have their backs to me. It's decided that the guys will all take a picture of the three women, who pose while making some comments, which I can't quite understand, but which seem to involve boobs. Then I see the guys comparing their photos (since I am sitting behind them, I can see what they are looking at), and they are zooming in on the boobs, making comments which I also can't quite catch. I wonder if this was a French group whether they'd be doing something similar? Probably not.

The restaurant is full, with quite a few groups. There's about a hundred customers and the whole thing is being handled by two waiters. It's something that always impresses me in France; how few wait staff they need while still managing to provide an efficient service, even if not particularly friendly in this case.

View from a mobile home

I ride back to my mobile home glad that I have good lights on the bike. Being in the middle of nowhere, the road is pitch black. Luckily I've had the forethought to leave the outside light on at my mobile home. I notice a camper-van has set up for the night nearby, so I am not the only one on site tonight.