The Chemin de Compostelle is clearly marked, and travels on trails and gravel roads more than the Del Norte and the Portugues Caminos did. It has rained for the past three days off and on, and flood warnings have been issued. The issue for us is that these waterlogged dirt trails have become slick and muddy. A layer of mud coats the bottoms of your shoes rendering treads useless. Climbing hills is two steps forward, one step back down. Descending hills is like watching a novice skater trying to use ski poles to remain upright. As a result, we have started looking for road alternatives with little traffic.
Google maps enthusiastically shows us alternate walking routes but it’s hard to tell exactly what surface it is sending us on. Two days ago we waded through tall grass at the edge of a farm field. Today it tried to send us down a logging road with water-filled craters. It even sent us down a named road, Chemin des Trels, which petered out past some farm buildings. We laughed and continued down the meadow on the hill. I led. Mark D said he felt safe thinking that the farmer would shoot the first trespasser, not the second or third. Sure enough, we reach the bottom of the hill and there was the Chemin de Compostelle trail again. Up yet another slick mud hill we went.
We stayed at Gite de Soleil Levant, what I would describe as a “rustic” Gite. It appears to be constructed in the two-car garage portion of the house. It is functional, but my wife Kelly would definitely say no to this spot. I’m in the loft with a four foot ceiling, spiders, and a sketchy set of ladder steps. We had to call ahead to the only bar/restaurant in town and preorder dinner. We had no idea what we would be served. More petite Poisson?
Claude is from France. He started his Chemin yesterday and walked 36 km from Cahors. He plans to walk to Pamplona.
Chris is the host at Gite de Soleil Levant in Durfort-Lacapelette. He built a pyramid for meditation in his back yard that pelerins are welcome to use.
Dinner was like a cold plate at a church picnic: chicken, pasta, salad, beets, blue cheese, quiche, and a boiled egg. We ate in the cramped Gite kitchen with four pelerins new to us – Claude from Cahors who walked 35 km today, and a family of three – grande-mere, grand-pere, and grandson (we think) who we saw at lunch in Lauzertes. Grande-mere spoke no English but loved to talk, the frustrated grand-pere kept asking her to stop talking at dinner, and grandson thought it all pretty funny. Mark K charmed her with his excellent French. It reminded me of the dinner scene from Eddie Murphy’s “The Nutty Professor”, except there was no farting.