constanttrek

New album

3 comments October 23rd, 2004

Just a short note after the previous post – there is a new album at the bottom right of the screen, if you scroll down to it.

Chateaudun

2 comments October 23rd, 2004

It is strange how so much can alter in a very short space of time.
The same day that I uploaded the last entry, in Chartres, Gary and I wandered into the bookshop next to the Cathedral, to ask if they had any information about accommodation along the Compostela route. The kindly store owner immediately sprang into action, and put us in touch with a man called Frank, who she said would be able to help us.
What an understatement that was!

I had read quite a lot about the Camino de Santiago, or the Way of St Jacques, as it is known in France, before we left. I knew that although it is still walked by many
Christians, it is also now a popular walking trail in it’s own right, walked as frequently for a travel experience as it is in search of spiritual enlightenment. I knew, also, that this change has proven a challenge for the traditional network of accommodation for pilgrims along the way – with the increase in popularity comes also the risk of abuse. Obviously there are those who will take advantage of the relatively cheap, and sometimes free, hospitality offered, in a manner not in keeping with the spirit of the trail – for example, people who are not actually walking or cycling, but driving and pretending to walk in order to get a cheap bed for the night. As we are not, strictly speaking, overly religious people, I had not anticipated much in the way of assistance. But, as has seemed to be the case since we landed in France, nothing could be further from the truth.
From the moment we met Frank, who together with his friend Jacques is the local authority on the route from Chartres, we have been shown unstinting warmth, kindness and generosity. It is entirely due to Frank and his lovely wife, Rebecca, that I write this in utterly wonderful surroundings.
When we met, Frank found the time to sit with us in the magnificent Cathedral in Chartres and explain the intricacies of the 12th century stained glass window there, which tells the story of St Jacques. As he is something of an expert on the Cathedral itself, it was a joy to listen to him talk about the symbolism used throughout the ancient building, and to understand some of the politics in place at the time of it’s construction. I have often looked at the windows in these Gothic Cathedrals in admiration but total incomprehension; I may be aware that they tell a story, but unless it is a blindingly obvious one, such as the Nativity or Last Supper, I tend to be left rather in the dark. Frank was able to explain every panel in the window in a way that brought the stories and history to life. We were both fascinated.
Apart from driving me to the camping store – which was great as I would never have found it otherwise – he had also photocopied detailed maps of the trail from Chartres. As if all this were not enough, he then pulled out a list of people who live along the route, and are prepared to receive walking pilgrims into their homes.
Now take a moment to consider that last statement.
These are people in private homes, not trying to run an illegal bed and breakfast, or turn a buck in any way; indeed, people who may not even be connected to the church or to the Way of St Jacques itself; but rather people who, out of simple kindness, are prepared to accommodate and feed those attempting to walk the route.
I think it is marvellous. Absolutely, heart-warmingly, tear jerkingly, marvellous, and I hope with all my heart that it is a tradition which continues.
For the first night after walking from Chartres, we were heading for the home of Madame Henry. Frank kindly offered to walk with us, for which we were grateful, as the walking routes in France are notoriously circuitous.
We set out from Chartres at a respectable (for us) 9.00am. It is the first time since leaving England that we have walked with someone else. And within the first hour, we came face to face with a cold hard fact:
We are slow, man. Really, really slow.
After all these weeks of patting ourselves on the back and feeling proud when we covered the distance, we realised that in actual fact we are literally going at a snail’s pace. We watched Frank stride out in front of us, head high and obviously enjoying the walk, and for the first time we both felt the horrible, leaden weight of our enormous packs.
I guess that ever since we put them back on after Paris we have been feeling the strain. It is not like the first few weeks, where we kept on thinking that we would get used to it eventually; we have been walking for long enough now that we should be comfortable with the weight – or, if not comfortable, at least accepting. Instead, it has become an increasing burden, and after the long break in Paris, we have been all the more aware of the pressure on our bodies. The walk was only 25km or so, but we both found ourselves struggling through it, and were exhausted at the end of the day. I had picked up a few extra kilos in the pack from Chartres and could seriously feel the extra strain.
But more on that later.
Frank was a terrific walking companion, as was his very gutsy little dog, Trix, who trotted gamely alongside us all day. 6.00pm that evening found us on the doorstop of Madame Henry’s beautiful home in Bouville, a small village in the Beauce. We weren’t sure what to expect. It is a little difficult, when you are tired and your feet hurt and all you can do is fantasise about bed, to face meeting a new person. At that end of the day, it sometimes seems easier to just pitch the tent and fall into bed, than to try to communicate in stilted French and go through civil niceties with a stranger. But Madame Henry is such a wonderful person, that meeting her was more like falling into a warm feather bed than anything to do with effort.
She is a tiny person with an absolutely enormous smile, which made us feel instantly welcome and relaxed. Her home is a lovely old farmhouse, full of odds and ends sent to her by her brother and son who live in Polynesia. It is opposite the church, and in the evening and early in the morning the bells chime with a mellow, melodic tone; otherwise it is entirely peaceful.
Rebecca arrived to collect Frank, and we enjoyed talking with her for a while before she, sensible lady, got back into the car. (A much more civilised way to travel, and far less painful.) Then Gary and I settled in at the large dining table, where between our pathetic attempts at French and Madame Henry’s very good English, we managed a pretty good kind of conversation. She had actually gone to the trouble to prepare a wonderful meal; after we had wallowed in the luxury of a hot shower, we were treated to a delicious soup, fish casserole, and beautiful homemade fruit compote, not to mention cheese and wine. We were amazed that someone could be so kind as to open their home and heart to complete strangers in such a fashion, simply because we are on the St Jacques route.
These French – they truly are wonderful.
After a heavenly night’s sleep – like Cecile’s village of Montreuil sur Breche, Bouville is utterly quiet at night – we awoke to the ringing of the bells, and packed up. One of the (many) things that both of us have truly enjoyed and appreciated in the French homes we have been welcomed into, is the lovely way breakfast is taken; Madame Henry treated us yet again. Small fine bowls of coffee and hot chocolate, toasted baguette with truly miraculous fresh butter and homemade jam…to sit at a table beautifully laid out, simply for breakfast, for me sums up what makes France such a wonderful place.
Madame Henry is one of life’s beautiful people. Her home was a joy to be in, and her company even better. We left feeling rested, refreshed, and, above all, overwhelmingly grateful.
We had intended to walk all the way to Chateaudun, 30km away; but after only 10km we were both struggling. We decided to stop at Bonneval. Frank, in his usual thoughtful manner, had already telephoned ahead to confirm that the campground there was open, so we knew it was a sure thing. It was an extremely fortuitous decision.
After walking all day through lovely sunny weather, with barely a cloud in the sky, we had no sooner erected the tent than the heavens opened with enough force to make Noah run for cover. Fortunately for us, there was a large games room about 10 metres from our site, where we sat for the rest of the day drying out our clothes. It was at that point that we decided the great Pack Culling of 2004 had to happen.
Fight it as we might – and we have – it was inevitable. Everyone we know or have met has gasped in horror at the sheer magnitude of our packs. Despite every piece of advice to the contrary, we have been carrying well over 30 kg each – Gary’s is 40 – without the added weight of food. No matter how we may believe that everything in the packs is necessary, the time had come when we just couldn’t carry them anymore. We sat in that games room and suddenly found ourselves wondering why on earth we thought we needed a stove…or a leather bound journal…or sheets. Out into a heap went all of the things we figured we could do without. And I tell you, the bag with the rejects in it was heavy enough to sink the Titanic. God knows how we were carrying it.
Unfortunately, like it or not, we still had to carry the stuff to Charteaudun the next day before we could dump it; although the walk was an absolutely beautiful one, through picturesque woods and by the meandering river Loir (not to be confused with the big Loire with an “e”), we were horribly conscious of the fact that we were carrying this weight we had decided to discard. It was a long walk.
But the prize came at the end, when we arrived at the Gite Frank had told us about. It is on the bank of the Loir, next to a medieval stone bridge, with the enormous 12th century chateau literally across the road. The friendly Gite manager is cheerful and helpful, there is a fabulous Boulangerie up the road, and a brilliant restaurant located in the caves (les Grottes) down the road. From our window we can see the river winding past, and at night the spotlit façade of the chateau. It is an idyllic setting.
So our lives as pilgrims have begun. We have the scallop shells which Frank gave us tied to our packs; traditionally pilgrims collected them from the beach near Santiago, and hung them on their packs so they would not be confused with common tramps. Now the scallop shell is the symbol of the Compostela route, and forms the way mark used along the Trail. There is one such placard on the ground outside Chartres Cathedral – it says 1625 km to Santiago. A bit daunting, that. There is a photo of it in the Chartres album. I try not to look at it too often.

Later in Chateaudun

I have just spent an unsuccessful hour trying to upload photographs, but the system doesn’t seem to be able to handle it, so I will have to do it down the track. Maybe it just doesn’t like the look of our ugly mugs.