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

Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.

Ian Fleming- Goldfinger (Goldfinger to Mr Bond)

I had envisaged an easy day. 27km to Nimes. Fingers in the nose (doigts dans le nez) as they say in France. I would be in Nîmes by mid afternon, more than time enough for a leisurely late lunch and an extended tour of the Roman amphitheatre!

Things started to go slightly awry mid morning. The path towards ‘La Calmette’ turned out to be less than brilliantly waymarked. The red warning signs of ‘falaises’ (cliffs) were less than encouraging as was the absence of red and white signs which betokened I was on the right track (GR700) for La Calmette and Nîmes.

Despite the lack of GR700 signs I navigated my way off the hillside into the village of Dions.

A helpful sign outside the Chateau suggested I head north to La Calmette (5.5km distant). The problem was that my map suggested a course due west would be more optimal. Half an hour of heading north, I encountered a couple of middle aged walkers who suggested I would be better advised to ignore the signposts, do a u-turn and head in the opposite direction. This advice proved wise. Within 30 mins I had reached La Calmette, replete with windmill, church and a complete lack of amenities (it was Monday morning when everything is shut in France!)

An hour later I was equally lost, foundering around in the Clos de Gaillard ( a 275 hectare mountainous enclave nort of Nîmes) vainly searching for a track with red and white flashings that might indicate that I was headed for Nîmes.

After a bit of Sherlock Holmesian deduction, I managed to recalibrate my bearings and rediscover the path to Nîmes. But maybe the previous night had taken its toll of my senses.

Certainly, the Mistral wan’t helping matters. The north westerly wind that is supposed to plague the region in winter and spring appeared to be in full force in late summer. But maybe my clodhopping incompetencies had less to do with a premature sense of victory than the previous night’s chronic lack of decent slumber!

To claim that I enjoyed an uninterrupted night’s slumber at the La Fougourières gite would be an exaggeration of Boris Johnson-esque proportion.

To be fair to Louis, the portly 65 year old from Toulouse who was walking the Chemin de Stevenson in the opposite direction to 99% of walkers who undertake the journey in foot, he had warned us that he had a snoring problem. Périnie, a 30 something, insurance broker who was spending her 3 weeks holiday walking the Chemin de Stevenson had brought some earplugs with her. So had I. The main difference between the two of us lay in the fact that I was occupying the bunk bed adjacent to Jean-Christophe and she wasn’t!

I did manage to get off to sleep ok but by 1pm I was wide awake listening to the pneumatic drill like snoring of Jean-Christophe which was loud enough to bring down the walls of Jericho! There was very little to be done short of grabbing my bedding and redeploying it in the garden. Luckily the day’s walk to Nîmes was a short one and I would have ample time to recover this evening.

Louis was already ensconced in the gite when I arrived yesterday. His walk had got off to a less am inauspicious start. His attempts to wild camp in the Camargue had been thwarted by two factors: the high winds, which had prevented him pitching his tent, and a visit to the tourist office in Arles where he had been informed that it was illegal to wild camp anywhere in the Camargue!

Louis  had then developed problems with his new boots. By the time he had reached Russan, his blisters had become so severe that he’d be forced to recuperate for a couple of days. Undaunted, today he was determined to struggle on to Ners, some 10km away. I wished him well but wasn’t willing to wager large sums that he would be able to walk to Le Puy and then back to Toulouse, wild camping most of the way!

Over supper of boiled bull and camargue rice (a local speciality that was in all honesty pretty tasteless!), Marc the proprietor of the gite and president of the Friends of the Chemin de Régordane, regaled us with a variety of interesting anecdotes.

According to his rough estimates, each year around 3,000 people embark on the Régordane. That is a fraction of the number who walk the Chemin de Stevenson. Such is the onslaught of walkers on the latter path that it is placing increasing pressure on accommodation. In some sense the Stevenson has become a victim of its own success (partly due to canny marketing) and is now suffering from over tourism.

As the president of the Friends of the Régordane he is on the horns of a dilemma. Should he promote the path and risk it facing the same issues as the Stevenson path? A thorny issue to which there is no answer.

Over breakfast Louis revealed that he was planning to traverse the GR10 next year. His main concern was the proliferation of bears across the Pyrennees. Heavy snoring and adept urine deployment around the tent was enough to deter most wildboars and wolves when wild camping. Bears (of whom over a 100 have spread across the Pyrennees) were more of a concern.

Meanwhile, Marc, the proprietor of the gite, regaled us with stories of truffle hounds in the area that were worth as much as €10,000 per puppy! Forget gold panning, truffle hunting was the new path to prosperity in the area!

And I added a new bit of  vocab to my repertoire – the French for ‘walky-talky’ is ‘talky-walky’. For some reason, I found this infinitely amusing!

I eventually made it into the centre of Nîmes by late afternoon. A visit to the amphitheatre lay ahead of me tomorrow, but what I did see en route to my accommodation at the diocesan house, was mightily impressive.

I descended from the northerly heights of Nîmes via a Roman oppidum, some ornate 18th century leisure parks and a stunning 1OOAD Roman temple callec the Carrée Deus.

With a tour of the Roman amphitheatre booked for 9am tomorrow before a gentle 23km amble to St Gilles-du-Gard, it seemed a good opportunity to rest my weary feet and enjoy an early night before the final leg of my pilgrimage to St Gilles du Gard.