Pilgrim's Progress – Long Distance Walks in Europe and the UK

Tout vient a qui sait attendre

Poem by Violet Fane

You know you are getting old when you have been walking for nearly 12 hours non stop from 6 am you feel completely knackered when you reach your destination and feel like crashing out at about 8pm!

With 39 km to cover and some fairly hefty climbs beckoning, it seemed prudent to make an early start. One of the few things that the gite at Le Bousquet d’Orb (just down the hill from Saint-Martin-d’Orb) had going for it, was its location – a stone’s throw away from the local bakery.

I was awake at 5am, packed and ready for a couple of pains au chocolat and a bowl of coffee by 6am. Jacques, the other walker, was as taciturn as he had been the previous afternoon. Attempts at small talk had proved futile as he had been glued to his mobile phone from the moment I arrived. Perhaps he was shy. Perhaps he had personality problems ( I heard him muttering to himself on a regulat basis the previous day). Perhaps he just resented my invading his space. Who knows. I bade him a cheery adieu and made my way up the hill in pitch darkness.

There was another lung busting climb shortly beyond Saint-Martin-d’Orb. In the half light I could barely make out the shape of three walkers threading their way up the hillside on the path in front of me. When I caught up with them I realised that it was the 3 French walkers I shared a gite with in Lodève on Saturday night!

Thankfully it wasn’t raining but the narrow path up the mountain was treacherous. The route was littered with debris from Saturday’s apocalyptic downpour. Stones, leaves and fallen trees were a constant impediment.

The route notes in my guidebook suggested that it would take me around 12 hours to make it to my destination for the day Fagairolles. Determined to reduce this, I decided to ‘tab’ some of the downhill sections en route to the Col de Serviès, praying that I wouldn’t pull a muscle or take a tumble while doing so!

I made good progress during the morning and reached the town of Saint-Gervais-sur-Mare shortly before 1pm. According to my guidebook, the town boasted a large number of accommodation options, a tourist office, several restaurants and food shops. I was already salivating as I descended the hillside towards the town in search of food and drink.

It is fair to say that Saint-Gervais-sur-Mare proved a disappointment. The tourist office was closed. The bakery was closed. The pizzeria was closed for 2 weeks holiday as was the café in the main square. The whole place seemed completely deserted. Sadly there was absolutely nowhere to buy any food or drink in any shape or form. I gritted my teeth, tightened my belt and headed on towards Fagairolles.

There didn’t much sign of life in any of the little villages I passed through during the day. Yes there were quite a few houses with ‘for sale’ notices on them, but there was absolutely no sign of real people chatting in the street, taking their dogs for a walk or going shopping.

I’d been looking forward to visiting the chapel of Saint-Eutrope en route to Fagairolles. It looked a stunning spot.

The origin of the chapel is not known, in its last state it was undoubtedly a hermitage. The current construction may date from the Middle Ages (14th century) and seems have replaced an old pre-Romanesque building. Adjoining the chapel is the hermit’s accommodation. Legend has it that Saint Eutrope withdrew alone into the mountains to pray. Nowadays, on April 30 of each year, the inhabitants of Castanet le Haut climb the mountain to come and honor the memory of this Saint.

My guidebook suggested it would take the best part of an extra hour to deviate from the path and visit the chapel. Tempting though it was, I simply didn’t have the time.

With 30 minutes to go before reaching Fagairolles, I rang Odile, who helped manage the gite. She was expecting me. The door to the gite was open and she would pop round at 7pm with my supper!

The gite itself had once been a farmhouse. The local tourist department had decided to restore the building and convert it onto a gite for up to 19 people. The cost of a night’s stay? The princely sum of €15!

As good as her word, Odile appeared at the door at 7pm sharp bearing gifts! Supper comprised salad, a bottle of wine, a delicious piece of roast pork with potatoes in emmental cheese and onions. Bread, cold cuts and a couple of delicious puddings were thrown in for good order as was breakfast for the next morning. And as if that wasn’t enough, when I asked Odile if I could borrow a charger for my phone, she kindly rushed out and borrowed one for me from a neighbour.

It was a definite step up in class from the previous Monday night at the campsite in Arles – supper had consisted of a tin of mackerel in mustard sauce, while much of the night under canvas had consisted of trying to block out the cacophany of road and rail noise.

It had been a rewarding first week on the Chemin d’Arles, full of ups and downs in every sense of the word. I’d walked 240km, braved some hairy weather conditions, got to practice my Ftench and yes (horror of horrors!) started growing a beard!