New friends and pine trees
8 comments December 10th, 2004
Walking through the
Landes forest is a little like the Bill Murray movie “Groundhog
Day” – the same thing, over and over again: Pine trees! Oh
look! More pine trees! And, just for something different
today….pine trees! 
Every now and then, for a touch of variety,
there is a road. Sometimes even with tarmac. 
But mainly – it is
just pine trees. Two hundred years ago this part of France was a
desolate wasteland, mainly swamp and marsh. Then some bright spark
had the idea of planting a million or so hectares of pine trees, and
- voila! - now there is a seemingly endless trek through perfectly
planted logging forest. I wouldn’t call it thrilling territory.
So we set off from
Bordeaux through the Landes and our first stop was the classily named
village of Le Barp. It had been a long haul – over 25km – so we
were pleasantly surprised to discover that the local Mairie had a
little room especially reserved for pilgrims, equipped with shower,
stove, toilet and bed. Truly brilliant discovery, particularly given
that the accommodation is provided by the Mairie free of charge. It
was the first indication we had of the change in perception regarding
the pilgrimage south of Bordeaux. Now, it seems everyone knows about
St Jacques; there are statues of pilgrims, designated resting places,
and most of the churches are adorned with either statues or pictures
of St Jacques the pelerin (pilgrim). 
The trail is becoming
increasingly popular in Southern France, which is great for us, as
there seems to be a lot more accommodation designed for travellers.
From Le Barp we had
a couple of long and pretty tedious days tramping through – you
guessed it – pine forest, before arriving in the sleepy village of
Labouheyre. We had little expectation of any accommodation, but went
into the Mairie to ask anyway; to our amazement, the woman told us
there was an actual pilgrim’s refuge around the corner. Sure
enough, we discovered an entire house decorated with the Scallop
shell insignia and inviting pilgrims to ring the bell.
The refuge is
actually the home of Jacques and Jaqueline, a French couple who,
after returning from Santiago themselves, decided to give something
back to the trail by converting a large section of their home into a
refuge for pilgrims. Like those in Spain, it is run on a donation
basis, and provides pilgrims with a bed, bathroom, and kitchen. But
given that it is out of season, Jacques and Jacqueline welcomed us
into their own part of the house, and treated us to a fabulous home
cooked meal, and a glass of their specially brewed “pilgrims’
drink” – brandy, fruit, spices and wine – a bit like a sangria.
Very yummy and highly potent. They also talked us through the route
to the border and beyond – which brings me to the next major
development.
Like everyone else
we meet, Jacques and Jacqueline were horrified by our enormous packs.
They told us we would have no need of camping gear from now on, as
there are regular refuges for pilgrims all along the route to
Santiago, and if they are closed, there are hotels. We had come to
this conclusion ourselves, as for most of the preceding nights we had
found accommodation cheap and accessible, but we had been reluctant
to shed the tent “just in case.” But that night we made the
rather momentous decision to leave the tent and much of our heavy
gear at Labourheyre. We are still carrying sleeping bags, as we will
need those regardless of where we are, but we figure for the time
being we have no need of tent, cookwear, etc. It will be more than
six weeks until we are through the mountainous part of Spain to
Santiago, at which point we can buy a tarp to sleep under again; but
for now, we seriously need to lighten the packs in order to walk more
comfortably. We are completely fed up with carrying upwards of 30kg
each. It is just too much, and means we are constantly in pain and
exhausted. It is time to travel light, so to speak!
So, with vast relief
we dumped our enormous excess load, and set off for Onesse with
mini-packs. It is the fastest we have ever gone – it took us less
than four hours to walk 22km, and we had much less foot pain at the
end of it. For the whole day all we could talk about was how much
easier it was to walk. Even though we thought we had off loaded
heaps in Chateaudun, this time the difference is really huge, and for
the first time since we left our packs don’t look like outsized
monsters, but more like normal backpacks. It is impossible to
describe the sheer relief of being able to walk upright and without
massive pain – it makes the whole exercise less of a feat of
endurance and more of an adventure.
Ah – but it is not
all good news.
In we waltzed to the
small town of Onesse, full of joy and self congratulation at our
brilliance in discarding our belongings – to find that the sole
hotel, which we were relying on, had just that week closed it’s
rooms upstairs. In vain we pleaded with the humungous fat old bag
behind the bar to please, please let us sleep on one of her stinking
mattresses – or even on the floor of her revoltingly filthy bar –
but, “oh non”, as she directed her stream of cigarette smoke in a
steady flow from her whiskery nostrils, “c’est fermee! C’est
impossible!” I suspect that anything which would have involved her
actually having to remove her vast derriere from the comfort of her
bar stool and engage in physical effort of any kind, would be
considered by her sophisticated self to be entirely unreasonable.
She was the kind of devastatingly attractive female who would be
completely at home arm wrestling miners in an outback bar whilst
skulling rum and coke. Feral does not begin to describe it.
After a few minutes
of useless exchange, we departed her classy establishment, after I
had engaged in my first ever attempt at swearing in French. I think
I did quite well, actually; I guess it is one Australian social skill
that exports successfully.
It was getting
dark, and the next town was 12 km away. At least our packs were
lighter. We hoisted them on and started hot footing it through the
ubiquitous pines.
Not long before we
reached Lesperon, a car pulled up beside us to offer a lift. Now,
this is always tough for us, as it is very kind of people to make the
offer and we don’t wish to seem ungrateful; it is also bloody tough
to knock a ride back when it is dark and cold and you are surrounded
by pine forest. But we explained as best we could that it was
necessary for us to walk, and the gentleman in the car- Michel – was
very understanding. He insisted, however, on phoning the hotel in
Lesperon and ensuring that we had a room for the night, and
repeatedly offered to put us up for the night at his home in Dax,
another 35km down the road and our destination for the following day.
He was really lovely, and we were sorely tempted to take him up on
his very kind offer, but eventually we carried on and he drove away.
But it was not the
last we were to see of Michel.
Yesterday we walked
from Lesperon to Dax. It is a very long way, and even with our
lighter packs we were struggling by the time we reached the city.
There is a refuge in Dax, but we were unsure exactly where, and had
almost decided to forget about it for the night and fork out for a
hotel – we had been walking for ten hours straight – when who
should pull up beside us, but our lovely gentleman from the night
before!
As it turned out, it
was not entirely coincidence. Michel had in fact driven down the
road knowing that was the way we would enter Dax, and hoping to find
us. This time he would brook no refusal, and we found ourselves on
the way to his home. As I am forever saying – these French, they
are amazing!
After stopping at
the Boucherie to buy some local produce – Foie Gras is a regional
speciality, as is duck – and another quick pause for aperitifs at
the local very friendly, bar, we arrived at the home of Michel and
his partner, Monique. As you have probably guessed, they are
wonderful people, and made us feel totally at ease and welcome.
Before we knew it we were happily quaffing bucket loads of glorious
local wine with the most amazing Foie Gras we have ever tasted,
whilst Michel cooked up Magret de Carnard so good it deserved a
moment’s silence. The cheese was a local Basque variety, and the
Armagnac made Hennessy’s finest appear cheap plonk. It was an
altogether incredibly good meal, and the conversation was brilliant –
it is nice to be able to converse enough in French now to be at least
understood, if not always expressive. Michel and Monique speak only
French, which is great practice for us. They are very patient with
our basic grasp of the language.
So – today we are
resting in Dax at their lovely home, wallowing in coffee and
pastries. Tomorrow we are on our way again – four days until
Spain, so our next entry may come to you from the land of Rioja! (I
realise it is very sad to classify entire countries by the type of
wine they produce, but such are the workings of a dissolute mind.)
In the meantime, Dax is a thermal spa town, so we intend to hit the
hot springs for every treatment under the sun. Or rain, as the case
actually is. Gone are the days of sun, I fear, until well after the
Pyrenees.
As this is our last
entry – probably – from France, we would like to take this chance
to post some messages of thanks to all of those who have helped us
during our time in this wonderful country:
-
Monique and
Alain, the farmers in Flixecourt -
To the man in
Amiens who bought us a cold drink on a hot day – we will never
forget your kindness -
THE
INCOMPARABLE CECILE, FOR EVERYTHING! -
Frank and
Rebecca in Chartres – we are indebted to you for your ongoing help
and support -
Madame Henry
for your wonderful hospitality -
Le Colonel and
Madame Verrier, also for your kindness and hospitality -
The manager of
the Gite in Chateaudun – a top bloke -
The Mairie and
people of Civrac de Blaye -
The family who
put us up in their backyard near Tours -
Fanny and
Ghislain and family for your incredible kindness, generosity and
hospitality -
The Mairie in
Le Barp -
Jacques and
Jacqueline for all of your support, hospitality, and assistance -
Michel and
Monique for everything. -
Bernard in
Cognac
If we have forgotten you here, we are sorry – and thank you.
Too all of the people, too numerous to name, who have helped us in so
many ways – by giving directions, allowing us to camp, attempting
to understand our French, stopping when we looked lost, honking and
waving to us on the road, stopping to talk to us and wishing us
“bonne chance”.
So, for now, goodbye to this beautiful, wonderful, friendly country.
To Boulangeries full of delicious treats and amazing bread;
Boucheries and Epiceries with mouthwatering dishes; church bells
ringing the Angelus in the morning; smoky cafes and great, great
coffee and hot chocolate; awesome wine and cheese; people who always
have time to smile and talk; unending courtesy and old world charm;
beautifully kept tiny villages; country tabacs and restaurants
serving extraordinarily fabulous food.
We have loved every second of France, and hope very much to return.
And finally, thankyou also to all of those people who have emailed
their support from France and all over the world. It is wonderful to
receive your messages and good wishes.
See you in Spain!