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

If people don’t like Marxism, they should blame the British Museum.

Mikhail Gorbachev

I’m not quite sure what I expected when I booked the pilgrim accommodation at Augirein. A hearty meal and convivial conversation with a kindred spirit? A decent night’s sleep with a fair number of creature comforts – shower, flushing loo etc? A hearty breakfast to set me up for the day ahead, which included the ascent of the highest pass on the entire chemin du piémont pyrénèen? What I did not expect was to be greeted in Augurein shortly after 5pm by the spitting image of Miriam Margolyes and then informed that I would be spending the night, on my own, in the village museum!

The day got off to a decent enough start. I’d spent the night sleeping on a sofa in the communal gite at Saint-Lizier but had enjoyed a decent enough night’s sleep without the accompaniment of Andy’s Swiss snoring.

Neil, Sarah and myself headed off shortly after 7.30pm in search of sustenance. Coffee and patisserie would have been ideal. The problem was that the amenities in Saint Lizier didn’t extend to both coffee and croissant in combo. It was one or t’other.

Undeterred we headed off to Saint- Girons on search of rocket fuel. The problem with walking on France in September, is that half the local shops are closed because the proprietors have disappeared off on holiday!

Eventually we tracked down a patisserie that was open and could serve us a coffee and a pain au chocolat in tandem! It was a struggle though and I could feel sympathy for France’s current prime minister, Francois Bayrou who is facing a no confidence vote which he will almost certainly lose, for having had the temerity to suggest that it might be a good idea to cancel a couple of France’s annual public holidays with the aim of boosting economic productivity. Who would be a French politician!

The day’s walking had passed pleasantly enough. Despite overcast conditions and unremarkable landscape, the day passed quickly as we chatted about everything from the moral philosophy of Iris Murdoch to the career of the Reverend Richard Coles after his time in the limelight with the Communards in the early 80s. Anybody in the vicinity would have been surprised to hear the strains of that pop classic from the 80s, Don’t Leave Me this Way, blaring out from the middle of a field of sunflowers with Jimmy Somerville on vocals and Richard Coles on synthesiser!

The morning walking was mostly undemanding and unremarkable but after lunch the hill climbs started. I’d hoped to reach Augirein by early afternoon but as it turned out I didn’t get there until after 5pm. What I was greeted with was not something I had bargained for!

It turned out that my accommodation for the night would be in the local village museum surrounded by 19th century artefacts of village life, vintage art deco posters, a n early 20th century kitchen and a series of mannikins illustrating life in SW France during WW2! Modern comforts such as a microwave oven, shower or a tumble dryer were conspicuous by their absence. I was only thankful that the accommodation ran to a flush toilet and I wouldn’t be forced to use one of the museum’s antique porcelain chamber pots!

Supper comprised some ratatoiulle which I was required to prepare on an ancient gas stove. A box of miniscule eggs had been placed on the formica kitchen table together with a minuscule lump of cheese that had seen better days. These I added to the ratatouille in the hope of consuming enough calories to get me through the challenging day ahead and spend the night with the museum’s mannikins in relative peace of mind.

There was one saving grace though – a refrigerator bountifully stocked with beer. No doubt the Miriam Margolyes lookalike would be shocked when she popped in the next day to, but I felt I had little choice.

With no internet access, no way of contacting family or friends, and a stomach that was still growling furiously, I decided that there was only one way of making it through the night at the museum – drain the fridge’s supply of beer and hope that I lived to see the morrow!