A Story In Two Parts

Part I: Thirst

As the gite owner in Joncels once remarked in regards to staying hydrated on the trail: "You must drink or perish." These were the foreboding words ringing in my ears as mom turned to me, after walking nearly 13 miles on an 85-degree day, and said bluntly, "I'm out of water." Problem was, I was just about tapped out myself, there wasn't a single mention of a pilgrim oasis (i.e. watering hole) in our guide, AND we were still about 3 miles from the day's destination in Auch. With every step in the crippling heat I began to fashion MacGyver-esque devices in my head by which to carry, drag or lug my mother's limp, dehydrated body the rest of the way. Hmm, what could I make from a clothesline, backpack rain cover, 5 safety pins and an anti-chafing stick?...

Just as our fear began to reach a boil, we turned the corner and saw before us a small farm/gite with roosters pecking about and lambs grazing on a sunny patch of grass beside the barn. Idyllic, but was there water to be had? Timidly, we began to walk down the drive, dogs barking at us as we inched closer; perhaps sensing we were near death and soon to make for some tasty pilgrim Kibble. That's when a man suddenly emerged from the front door waving and smiling - Marco - his goatee fashioned into a single long dread lock that swung back and forth like a pendulum as he talked animatedly.

Here's why we love Marco: 1. He spoke English; 2. He was more than happy to get us water; 3. He offered to put freshly squeezed lemon juice into it; and 4. When we told him we were American, he exclaimed loudly, "We love your president Barak Obama! He killed Osama!" We assured him, we were Obama fans, as well. He was so excited by the discovery of our citizenship, in fact, that he yelled for his wife and daughter-in-law to come outside to meet us. They greeted us with kisses, ice cold beers in hand (for them, not us, unfortunately) as we sat in the shade of their picnic table gulping down lemon water. They were so enthusiastic about our presence that we felt like Camino celebrities. Well hydrated and very thankful Camino celebrities.

Pics of the day's blistering journey from Aubiet to Auch.


"Layer Cake"


"Patriotic Rooster"


"Snack"





Bridge into Auch.

Part II: Culture Shock

Mom and I are no stranger to the communal gite but so far have had the luxury of our own room or sharing a single space with only a few other women. This was not the case in Auch. After struggling through such a hot and grueling day, we had no clue what lie waiting for us inside the municipal gite. I can hear Jeff Probst's voiceover narration now... "3 Bretons. 1 Swiss. 1 Québécois. 2 Americans. And only 2 bathrooms. Watch these pilgrims battle it out on this season's 'Survivor: Camino'."

It was obvious right away that mom and I didn't know the rules. As mom tried to hop in the shower, she was quickly overtaken by the woman in the Breton trio, who told us, when mom informed her that we had been waiting, "We are all waiting. Un. Deux. Trois. Quatre. Cinq. Six." Since numbers are about the only French I know, I got her drift. Apparently, the first people to step foot in the door of the gite are the first to get dibs on the shower, even if you, yourself, are ready before them, towel in hand, anti-athletes foot flip-flops on and fingers firmly wrapped around the doorknob. When she was done and mom tried to step foot again inside, she told her, "My husband goes next." Fortunately, he had already used the second shower. She wouldn't leave the bathroom, though, telling mom to go ahead and hop in the shower while she brushed her teeth. Awkward, yes, but mom kissed personal privacy goodbye and went for it. If that isn't Camino courage, I don't know what is.

The next challenge was the scantness of clothes washing basins, which went like hot cakes on Sunday morning. Within five minutes of walking through the door everyone else had managed to shower, unpack and wash their clothes. We were dumbfounded by their efficiency. Team American Escargot was obviously lacking. Finally, a Québécois man wearing only underwear brought over his washbasin and offered it up with a smile. Broad bare chest proudly displayed to us, it was as if Gaston from "Beaty And The Beast" had walked off the screen and into our gite wearing nothing but a smile and boxer briefs. I watched for mom's reaction, as I assumed it would be an entertaining one, but alas, she was able to neatly contain her surprise.

Nighttime brought a whole new set of culture shock. We came home from dinner with the kind and friendly Swiss pilgrim - who, I kid you not, goes the entire day on the trail consuming only cookies and Diet Coke; my hero! - at 9:30pm to find everyone already nestled in bed sleeping. Averaging 20 miles a day and waking at 4am each morning meant an early night for them. So we had to tiptoe around, trying not to make noise when merely a heavy sigh caused the old stone building to scream out in the night. Mom didn't even brush her teeth in the morning for fear that we would wake up the few remaining pilgrims. And don't even get me started about the cacophony of snores that provided the soundtrack to my sleep.

So there it was. Our entrance into a whole new world where rules must be abided and speed is the only skill set that matters. Just think, in Spain you often share a refugio (Spanish gite) with 200 fellow pilgrims. Now that's an extreme reality gameshow worth watching.


The staircase.


The living room/bedroom of a man from Quebec.


View from the balcony/laundry hub.


Our boudoir/portal to the communal bathroom. Notice mom's intense concentration as she studies tomorrow's 20 mile trail.

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Location:Auch, France