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

The word tonto is used in Spanish for ‘stupid’ or ‘foolish’, but one of its suggested origins was it’s use by Apache Indians as a term for the Western Apaches – meaning ‘wild ones’.

For the last five years, since I started my first long walk across France on the Via Francigena in August 2022 and on all subsequent walks, I have relied on the French language Topoguides to inform me and guide me.

Like the guides to long distance footpaths in the UK, the Topoguides give you historical and cultural insights about the places you pass through, have integrated maps which show you the route. They give you an idea of the distances between points on the route, how long it takes an average person to walk stretches of the route as well as detailing the facilities available in each village and town and the contact details of all accommodation options. In a word, they are invaluable and without them, I would, to coin a sordid colloquialism, have been right royally stuffed!

I have been following the Topoguide to the GR4 all the way from Grasse. The only problem is that the coverage stops at Pont St Esprit. Another couple of Topoguides to the GR4 exist for the 350km stretch between St Flour and Aubusson. But for the 200km stretch of the GR4 between Pont St Esprit and St Flour there is no guide available in any shape, form or fashion!

So my itinerary over the next couple of weeks has been cobbled together from the only source I have been able to locate on the internet – somebody who walked this stretch if the GR4 in 2014 and logged each day’s walk onto a GPS app. I was originally going to follow his itinerary but due to the hot weather, decided to cut several stages down by 50%. All of this means that to some degree I’ll be ‘going full tonto’ over the next couple of weeks and each day’s walk may not be as well planned as has been the case in the past.

On paper, today’s walk looked a bit of a doddle – 21km from the campsite near Mondragon to La Bastide-de-Virac. Easy peasy. Lot’s of time to look around the villages en route. What could possibly go wrong….

The previous night under canvas had been interesting. There had been a thunderstorm which had continued unabated for the best part of two hours. Thankfully the bell tent had proved impermeable to the lashing rain.

I grabbed a croissant at reception before I headed off. The site manager asked me if I’d heard the fight in the tent next to me! I confessed that I hadn’t!

It took me a couple of hours before I crossed the Rhône and made it into Pont-St-Esprit.

I decided to head into town to find something to eat as well as a pair of hiking socks to replace my old ones which had developed holes in all the wrong places. For the next couple of weeks I decided to adopt the survival strategy of a thirsty camel – eat and drink whenever the opportunity arose.

I spent half an hour exploring the old medieval quarter. Founded in the 13th century, Pont-St-Esprit occupied a strategic position on the banks of the River Rhône. The cathedral was impressive but not in a great state of repair. I noticed something which resembled a cannabis plant growing out of the belfry. The bats in the  belfry were onto a good thing!

Speaking of bats, word from Olivia back home was that in my absence, as well as a large snake which had appeared near the swimming pool and scared the living daylights out of ‘Puzzle’ our working cocker, the house had been invaded by a colony of errant bats. Olivia had rung me up one night to frantically enquire where my salmon net was so she could  attempt to catch one of the blighters that was whizzing around our bedroom!

Located just opposite the cathedral, the facade chapel of the penitents definitely stole the show. But why was it built in the first place I wondered. Surely that was the point of having a cathedral in the first place. Maybe the chapel was reserved for those who had been particularly wicked and deserved an extra helping of spiritual self flagellation!

I passed through more vineyards and a couple of deserted small villages before I reached Aiguèze shortly before 2pm. But this time I worked out that I had already walked some 20km but was still hours away from La Bastide-de- Virac. Clearly something had gone seriously wrong with my route planning!

Now there are an awful lot (ie thousands!) of villages in France which  lay claim to being amongst the ‘100 hundred most beautiful’. Similar to spiritual sites un Europe during the Middle Ages which claimed to be repositories for pieces of the ‘true cross’. If you added them all up they’d probably comprise a significant slug if the Black Forest!

Anyway, as far as Aiguèze is concerned, the claim is warranted. Nestled above the Ardèche and enjoying spectacular views of the river below, the village boasts a number of little side streets and shady squares with bijou hotels and small restaurants packed out with tourists. It would be tempting to return one day!

As I was approaching Aiguèze I saw a family of four wandering up the road. They were clearly Brits on holiday. With a cheery ‘bit hot for a walk isn’t it!’ I struck up conversation and told them about my walk across France. I am not sure if they were impressed or thought I was utterly bonkers but it was clear that they thought enjoying a long leusurely lunch in Aiguèze was a better idea than walking four hours through endless forestry plantations in the baking afternoon heat!

It’s only when you walk across France that you realise how much of it is forest! The entire afternoon was spent walking along rather featureless forestry tracks. There weren’t any views to speak of, there was no wildlife and I didn’t encounted another human being. It was one of those times when I could have done with some good old ‘New Romantic’ songs from the 80s. Well at least the route was reasonably well marked and my GPS app showed that I was heading in the right direction!

Shortly before 6pm I reached the charming fortified hillside village of La Bastide-de-Virac and made my way to my chambre d’hote Au Vieux Porche , a charming medieval lodging with a terrace restaurant enjoying spectacular views of the surrounding countryside. This was more like it, I thought to myself.

The cheery patron couldn’t quite believe I’d walked all the way from Mondragon. He plonked a large beer on my table, and announced that tuesday nights were paella nights. The Spanish bunting and the strains of ‘Viva Espana’ blaring out from the restaurant tannoy left one in no doubt that the fiesta was about to begin.

The paella was delicious as was the ice cold sangria. As I gazed over the panoramic valley below the rooftop terrace, I mused to myself that as long as you didn’t do a Michael Mosley, ‘Going Full Tonto’ had it’s own rewards!