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

In the Philippines they have lovely screens
To protect you from the glare
In the Malay States there are hats like plates
Which the Britishers won’t wear
At twelve noon the natives swoon
And no further work is done
But mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun

Song by Noël Coward

There were times today when I didn’t think I was going to make it. I knew that it was going to be hot but I hadn’t quite appreciated the physical effects of walking quite challenging terrain in temperatures that at times hit 92C. But two things saved me from a fate worse than a mild case of heat exhaustion – a kind couple who lived in a house in the hills and a bar in Tuchan which was miraculously open despite the fact that today was a public holiday in France.

Before supper the previous evening I got chatting to Alexia the genial proprietor of the Occitanie gite in Durban-Corbières. She told me that she hosted most walkers on the Cathar way in April, May and September. Prospective walkers were advised to avoid the months of June to August when temperatures could reach as high as 42-44C.

Alexia divulged that she had bought the gite the previous year and moved in with her sister and niece. She had opened up a café on the ground floor of the gite where she hosted musical soirées and art exhibitions for local artists of which the local area was jam packed.

There were 6 of us staying in the gite and I was the only man. I felt a bit like an intruder in a nunnery! But they were a sociable bunch and one of their number regaled with the story of her recent 2 month bike trip from France to Turkey through the Balkans.

Supper itself wasn’t the most calorific meal I’ve ever consumed: grated carrot salad for starters followed by a rather anaemic attempt at chicken curry which comprised a couple of spoonfuls of rice and two ( my  reward for having walked 35km!) rather scrawny chicken legs with enough meat on them to feed a small cat! A small slice of coconut cake completed the somewhat underwhelming fare! But at least there was a silver lining in the form of a couple of small pitchers of local Corbières wine which went down a treat.

The other walkers in the gite were only going as far as Tuchan so we went our merry way after another rather underwhelming meal – 3 small slices of baguette and fig jam.

As I headed out of Durban-Corbières I couldn’t help notice that the sizeable river which flowed through the town was completely dry. Alexia had told me the previous evening that although they had had some rain in the autumn and spring, the water table waa still 50% lower than where it should have been. For the rest of the day, until I reached Padern, I didn’t see any river beds that had any water in them.

As I left Durban-Corbières I peered up at the ruined castle that towered over the village below. It wasn’t technically a Cathar castle but it had been in the hands of the Durban family until the final family member died childless aged 82 just after the French revolution.

For much of the day I couldn’t help tbinking about the iconic figure of Michael Mosley, the English health guru who tragically lost his life nearly a year ago on June 5 on the Greek island of Symi.

Michael Mosley was one of those inspirational presenters who had the ability to connect intimately with his audience. Kind, witty, self-deprecating but fiercely intelligent and intensely curious to communicate the latest medical advances to his audience. He had the gift of being able to communicate complicated medical issues to his audience. Because of all these talents it is no exaggeration to say that he was loved by many viewers across the world and his untimely death (aged 64) came as a shock completely out of the blue.

The greatest tragedy in my eyes was that Michael Mosley was at the top of his game and had so much more to give the world. What possessed this highly intelligent man to leave his wife on the beach and take the decision to walk 8km back to their apartment in Symi in 40C of heat? He ended up taking a wrong turning, heading off across a sun baked plateau and dying from heatstroke yards from a beachside cafe. It seemed like a Greek tragedy.

Thankfully, despite the intense heat and some pretty arduous ascents, I managed to avoid a similar fate to Michael. In a sense I was lucky – after three hours walking I chanced upon a house in the middle of nowhere and a charming couple offered to fill up my water bottles with ice cold water. It was a godsend and got me through to Tuchan.

It was noticeably less windy than the previous day and for this reason it was a good deal hotter. I did pass a few walkers heading in the opposite direction. None of them were exactly what you would call ‘spring chickens’!

There were some spectacular views of the snow capped Pyrenees from one of the passes that I crossed. I was relieved that I hadn’t decided to embark on a solo 800km traverse of the Pyrenees on the GR10!

By the time I reached the ruined Cathar fortress of Aguilar I was completely pooped. I had to take a 30 minute break to recharge my batteries. I’d decided to skip lunch but I felt as sick as a dog so couldn’t have eaten much anyway.

Built in the early 11th century the in 1210, it was invaded and occupied by Simon de Mobtfort whose soldiers took and held the owner Raymond de Termes in a dark dungeon in the Carcassonne. In 1246, a royal garrison was installed to supervise the Aragon frontier. The castle was returned in 1250 to Olivier de Termes, the son of Raymond who had made peace with king Louis IX, for his good services during his crusade in the Holy Land. In October 1260, Olivier de Termes sold the castle to Louis IX, along with the villages of Termes, Davejean and Vignevieille.

Now on the border between the Kingdoms of France and Aragon, Tuchan experienced many skirmishes and battles during the following centuries. In 1525, the castle fell into the hands of a Spanish army. It is likely that the castle was then dismantled and not restored.

I reached Tuchan at around 3pm and had a brief stop at the local inn for a couple of cans of ice cold, lip smacking thirst quenching Pepsi which felt oh so good!

For the final 8km into Padern I decided to stick to the main road and avoid any further murderous ascents and descents. I finally crawled into Padern at around 4.30pm and spent half an hour like a zombie on a bridge into the village with my feet dangling in the ice cold river which flowed through the town. It was Paradise!

So what did I learn from today’s 36km walk? Slap on as much SP50 as you can. Take every opportunity to refill your water bottles. Don’t take any crazy risk and, oh yes: Just one thing – hope for the best and plan for the worst!