But Monsieur Concierge (who told me he would like to be included in my Camino book should I write one) is not the only person to offer us a helping hand on our Camino journey. Villagers from all over southern France have acted like pilgrim stepping stones by keeping us going on the right track. There was the little old lady with her fluffy white dog in a tiny hamlet on the way to Aniane who applauded our efforts, giving us the courage to go on, and told us proudly of her son-in-law in Boston, as if, being American, we might somehow know him. There was the man on a sunny walk with his family in Mecle who gave us the tip to take the road instead of the pilgrim route to St. Gervais-sur-Mare the last few miles to save our legs. The cheerful epicerie cashier in Angles who let us know that another American was staying in town for a month who we should meet and that "he's nice, just like you two!" She barely knew us, yet had a compliment to give.
Then there was the man as we left Revel via the Canal du Rigole who was so excited to hear of our adventure and then exclaimed "ooh-la-la!" and threw up his hands when we told him our final destination was Santiago, Spain. In fact, all the people on our journey whose eyes get as big as saucers and mouths drop open when we tell them where we're headed, as each one makes us feel that much more badass (while simultaneously increasing our trepidation.) The exuberant gentleman who appeared out of nowhere on the way to Dourgnes - fly halfway down, shirt unbuttoned and flapping in the breeze - whose friendliness was contagious despite his manner of dress.
The lady in the pharmacy in Castres who told me my sunburned fingers (which at this point looked like charred hot dogs) were "beautiful!" and were healing nicely. And the male pharmacist in St. Gilles who helped us pick out the most potent mosquito repellent known to man. In reference, again, to the 'walk of misery,' there was the hottest farmer known to man - his thick, wild brown hair, movie star face and megawatt smile as he maneuvered his tractor around us - who became our only ray of sunshine in a day of rain and gloom. I kept imaging his tractor before me, leading the way to shelter... and, what the heck, a candlelight dinner by a roaring fire.
The sweet elderly couple holding hands on their evening walk who pointed the way to our gite in Boissezon, uttering the phrase we most like to hear, "you're very close!" Roger in Vauvert who happily gave us a place to rest our heads when all felt lost. To all the villagers who gave us directions even when we didn't understand them at all and simply smiled, nodding our heads as if we did. To Annie in Aniane who patiently helped us figure out the bus schedule and whose husband gave us a ride the next morning to the station. Maribol in Murat-sur-Vebre who put her shiatsu knowledge to work on the walnut-sized knots in my shoulders. The tourist office representative in St. Gervais-sur-Mare who went out of his way to help mom figure out how to cut miles off a very long day.
To each and every one of these village people and all those I've left out due to the fact that I'm writing this after a 16 mile walk, we thank you from the bottom of our hearts for being kind, generous and positive and for forgiving us our poor poor French.
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Pics of our rain-free walk along the Canal du Midi from Aire de Port Lauragais to Baziege.
It was a day of boats.
Our kin, as we too carry our homes on our backs and move at a slow pace. This one's mom...
And this flamboyant little guy is me.
The boat I selected for myself. The bikes sold me.
The town we were at when we were told we had 2 more kilometers to walk in the rain. Here it is at daybreak the day after the deluge.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Location:Baziege, France
That little snail—très chic!
ReplyDeleteOuch - soldier on you two - sounds like the adventure of a lifetime. Not anonymous - really Mama J!
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