Castres Farmers Market

For all my foodie friends, a journey through the Castres Farmers Market on Place Jean-Jaures...


On the way to the market.


Don't get distracted by the chocolatier! Keep walking.


Things are hopping on the square.


We decide against anymore bread, but we do buy lovely Chevre tortes and potato pancakes for lunch.








Fresh handmade pasta.


Vats of steaming paella.





We buy purple olives marinated in onions for tomorrow's olive break (see "Camino Lingo" for definition.)


Chevre. My lactose intolerant heart sings!


A local winemaker. People bring all sorts of containers, which the wine is then poured into via a hose. These particular containers look like something you would carry lawnmower fuel in. Let's hope not for health's sake. Not having our Nalgenes with us, we buy a bottle instead.


On the way home we stop by the charcuterie and by Bougnettes - a specialty of the Tarn region made of bread, milk, eggs and pork.


A walk through the gardens before heading back to the hotel.


A bit of street art that has nothing whatsoever to do with food, but I love it just the same!

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Location:Rue Victor Hugo,Castres,France

3 French Anecdotes

1.) 'Riders On The Storm': One evening, while attempting to check on our laundry, the owner of the Gite informed us that there was a hold up and that it wouldn't be done until tomorrow morning (unfortunate, as my nightgown was in the bunch). Seems as though some bicyclist pilgrims had rolled into town, and I quote, "They have no legs, and it's raining tomorrow!" Two people biking with no legs seemed a rather unlikely feat, so our translation of Monsieur's broken English was that the cyclists must have no clean pants to wear tomorrow. What this had to do with the rain or why that put their laundry needs before ours (we too would brave the downpour) we had no discernible idea. We simply nodded our heads in agreement, trying to be hospitable, while smiling our toothy American smiles. A few days later we learned that Monsieur's English was just fine. Two handicapped bicyclists, paralyzed from the waist down and wearing crisply laundered pants, were indeed pilgrim riders on the storm. And, subsequently, our new heroes. To follow Olivier and Jonathan's adventure log onto http://handreves.eklablog.com/m/

2.) 'A Friendly Hello': As mom and I sat down to eat our lunch at a sunny picnic table overlooking a sparkling blue lake, two friendly, local hound dogs came to sniff us out. They didn't beg or bark. Just sort of stared at us with a mixture of love and curiosity, and then went back to their yard only a few feet away. Just as we were wondering where the owner was, a man came out of the front door on cue, smiled at us while nodding his head hello, walked over to the small stone wall by the front gate, undid his belt, proceeded to take a piss, zipped up his pants, gave us a polite "bonjour" and then went back inside. What did we learn from this surprising incident? That when it comes to friendly hellos, sometimes animals are more civilized than Frenchmen.

3.) 'The Turning Of The Cork': A few nights ago in Angles, while scavenging at the Epicerie, we met a young, American pilgrim couple by the wine section (and by "section" I mean 3 shelves). They had been living in France the last few years, teaching English, and were taking their vacation on the trail. After chit chatting for some time, we got down to brass tax - what kind of wine should we get to soothe the pain tonight. We explained to the couple that the rigors of the Camino were "causing us to become alcoholics!" "No," the young man with his Nikon camera dangling from his neck answered back, "you're becoming French."

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Pictures from Angles to Boissezon to Castres.

















Plaque to commemorate American parachuters during WWII who landed in this area August 1944 and were hidden by French Resistance fighters.





Massive timber harvesting has become a regular eyesore on our journey. At first it made me sad to see it; then mom so eloquently reminded me, "but maybe these are the wonderful trees used to make our toilet paper."





Strolling into Boissezon. Our Gite is the first building on the left. It was locked with a sign that said to get the key from City Hall. City Hall was closed. For the day. There was a number to call. My cell phone was dead. There was a woman walking her dog with a cell. It got no reception. There was a pay phone. You needed a special card. Finally the man at the butcher shop took pity on us and let us use his landline. The Gite is unlocked for us minutes later.





View from the church. As if our legs needed that extra climb.





Our nest for the night.





Wheat fields - where the baguette begins.





Another California native greets us on the trail.





Castres.





Our hotel where we will spend two nights. Here's to a day off!

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Location:Hotel Renaissance, Castres, France

Prayerful Steps

Kay:

Like St. Gilles, La Salvetat-sur-Agout - a hilltop walled city - dates back to the Roman era. It was one of the important stops for pilgrims making the journey to Santiago during the middle ages from Italy. Here I feel the tug and weight of history, experiencing the views of the valley and river Agout, much as pilgrims did 1000 years ago. The cathedral has an iconic "Black Madonna" whose origins are shrouded in the mists of history, but which legend attributes to being unearthed by a bull in a field. Right next to the cathedral is a tiny bit of the historic road, now on private property, but which can be viewed.

Reflecting on being a modern pilgrim with a contemporary point of view, yet feeling connected through prayer to the most ancient traditions, I think of those of you who have entrusted me with your prayers for my journey. There are 19 of you, and I think of you and your loved ones each walking day.

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Now some pictures from Murat-sur-Vebre to La Salvetat-sur-Agout to Angles.





The cross of Saint Jacques found at nearly every twist and turn on the route.








Property I can afford in southern France. Nothing a little paint can't fix.


La Salvetat-sur-Agout where, at the end of a long hike, we were heartbroken to find out that our hotel was 3 more kilometers away. The woman at the tourist information center seemed to find this quite amusing.


Grandmother and granddaughter crossing.


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Camino Lingo

As mom and I become one with the trail, we have both found and created words and phrases for our growing Camino vocabulary. We'll share it with you now, so that in future postings we're all on the same page. Here goes - The Camino Lingo. (Coinciding pictures underneath definition.)

French Breakfast: Bread, jam and coffee. Not a hiker's best friend, as it generally leaves you hungry about an hour later. Juice is a wild card. Once we were only given the empty juice glasses, as if to say, 'Here's what you're missing out on, suckers." Another time I took a huge swig of what was referred to as 'apple juice' only to realize too late that it was fermented and about 80 proof. A shock to the system, but did help ease the leg pain.

Worm Sign: Inspired by "Dune", the name we've bestowed upon the red and white trail way markers. As in, "Mom, look! A worm sign! We don't have to backtrack!" Sometimes also called Worm Tail in moments of trail delirium. Worm Signs signal straight ahead, left, right, and my personal favorite, an X (do not go this way!) just in case you were thinking about getting lost for a few hours.








Sticks!: A commonly used phrase when your absentminded trail buddy
nearly impales you with a trekking pole.

Big Boy and Long Guy: The toes that give mom the most trouble.

Hot Spot: A sore place on the foot that needs immediate attention to avoid a blister.

Moleskin: The savior of feet. Adhered to hot spots.


Gite: A pilgrim hostel in France. Sometimes your own room; other times shared dormitories.

Pelerin and Pelerine: Male and Female pilgrim. I have certainly made the mistake of using the wrong one. Raised eyebrows ensue.

Chemin Caillote: A rocky trail, of which France has MANY, that makes us consider having Aunt Liz bring us new boots in Spain.

Dessert: Cheese, cheese and more cheese. I awake each morning unable to breath out my nose. Is it worth it? Yes, yes it is.


Olive Break: A snack break often involving a package of olives. Green... Black... Pitted... Unpitted. We don't discriminate - is not the way of the Camino.


Top Notch, Side Zip, Bottom Rung, Main: The parts of our backpack. Often used when trying to get the other person to pull something out of your bag so that you don't have to take it off and put it back on again.

"Hught. Ugh.": The sound made when putting on said backpack.

Mireille: The author of one of our guide books. Phrases include, "Thank you, Mireille!" or "Damn you, Mireille!" depending on situation.

Oasis: Fountains intended for pilgrims to refill their water.


Joint Lubricator: Wine and/or beer.

Sleep Sac: A portable sheet-like sack used when bedding looks skanky or the heater doesn't work in the room.

Scavenging: Scouring the village for food be it for dinner, tomorrow's breakfast or food for the next day's hike. Scavenging is usually accompanied by bickering and/or expletives as we discover places are closed for 3 more hours or entirely for holiday.

Pulling A Shirley: Drawing from Shirley MacLaine's metaphysical journey on the Camino, a moment when we venture into the great beyond - i.e. when one must hover above one's own body because the pain is too great or when one hallucinates on the trail (like when mom mistook the sight of sky through the trees for a set of large white buildings.)

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Location:Gite d'etape La Gariguette, Angles, France

A Walk Amongst Giants

It's late, and mom is already sawing logs, but just wanted to share with you some pictures from yesterday's hike from St. Gervais sur Mare to Murat sur Vebre; another grueling adventure, but at least we undertook a few miles by car. Sure, it's cheating, but I dare you to ask me if I care.

The highlight of the day was the overwhelming feeling of being so utterly small and insignificant as we walked for miles on mountaintops amongst massive, looming, swirling windmills. As the rooters propelled the slender white blades round and round overhead, giant shadows swung at our feet like pendulums threatening to cut us down. I leapt over a few. Just for fun. Until my baby toe blister cleared its throat and politely asked me to knock it off.

The windmill picture is one of a hundred we took, none of them managing to capture the awe we felt tiptoeing beneath these majestic steel beasts. Perhaps we should have tried a video, as I would have loved to have bottled that distinctive sound - the steady whoosh of electrified air being pushed through the trees and echoing off mountainsides. It's like no sensation I've ever known. And it made climbing the tallest peak before the Pyrenees very well worth it.
























These slate slabs are a popular style in the region. No accounting for taste.





Our home for the night and a wonderful Gite. Sunbathing. Easter chocolates on the dresser. Fantastic dinner with an avocado app I promise to share the recipe of. Warm fire. Great conversation with our hostess Maripol (so sorry if I've butchered the spelling!) And two cats that gave us lots of love, proving that not all French cats are snobby.





If mom wasn't snoozing, I'd get the artisanal cheese plate pic we took at dinner off her camera. But I guess it's always better to leave your audience hungry for more...


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Location:France