Monistrol-d'Allier

A final farewell to the sublime view from Rochegude.

A lunch spot to die for by the Allier river in Monistrol.

Monistrol-d'Allier.

Monistrol-d'Allier.

A bizarre and intriguing volcanic rock formation above Monistrol.

From Rochegude you descend a challenging, natural pathway of rocks and tree roots to Monistrol.  But of course — pilgrim routes being what they are — you have to climb up again on the other side of the valley. This is the view back to Monistrol from the other side.

Climbing up.

Half-way up a steep and stony track you reach the Chapelle de la Madeleine, built under the rock.

A metal cross punctuates the Way.

Approaching Sauges, you pass this tall tree sculpture. Here's a part of the lower section featuring Saint James.

Rochegude

At the rocky outcrop of Rochegude (967 m) all that remains of a 13th-century castle is one round tower...

... and a tiny chapel dedicated to Saint James...

The prospect from here across the Allier valley is simply breathtaking, one of the finest viewpoints of the whole Chemin...

Grateful

Next day the path from Montbonnet to Sauges led stonily up and down through a delightful landscape of deep forest, green meadow, river gorge and volcanic dome...

Although it's the humble dandelion you can see in the picture below,  I was soon to pass fields carpeted with wild daffodils and white narcissi...

In the small settlement of Le Chier I was amazed how the village had resurrected since I'd last come by here four and a half years ago. At that time many of the houses seemed forlorn and tumble-down, the village in its death throes; now most buildings had been sympathetically restored using the local stone. Though perhaps this one still has some way to go...

A descent through woods took me to Saint-Privat d'Allier where I sat outside a bar in the strong sunshine and drank a coffee. Once again Saint-Privat appeared 'smarter' and more prosperous than I remembered it, with numerous chambres d'hôtes and other accommodations...

I wandered on past these three stone crosses...

... and more fields full of wild flowers and trees full of white blossom...

... and sudden long views across green and wooded valleys...

... and felt immensely grateful just to be alive on such a wonderful spring day...

Next Steps

I was walking again the Via Podiensis, that outstandingly beautiful pilgrim path which runs diagonally for nearly 750 km across south-west France from Le Puy-en-Velay in the Auvergne to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port near the Spanish border. This time, however, I only had two weeks, and I quit at Limogne after completing 300 km. But I can honestly say that most every day was a blessing, and most every stride was a footstep of love.

The weather was kind in the end: rarely did I have to put on my rainshell, and the majority of days were warm, even hot. I'd walked all my former Caminos during the autumn and winter months — a time I preferred, as I liked the solitude of the path in those seasons. Walking a springtime Camino was a first for me. And I loved it. Although there were many more pilgrims — at least until Conques — the wild flowers, the burgeoning of leaf and bud, the clarity and translucence of the air were a revelation...

    

That first day, the Sunday, I followed a high rocky pathway above the gorge of the Gazelle, a river as lovely as its name...

I ate my picnic lunch in the shade of the 12th-century church tower at Saint-Christophe-sur-Dolaison, then continued along old and waterlogged trackways between the tiny hamlets of Liac and Lic...

Before long I'd reached the Chapelle Saint-Roch, which I clearly remembered from my first Camino...

My first night was spent in La Grange, an excellent new gîte d'étape in Montbonnet. After five years I discovered this time many more gîtes, auberges and herbergements along the route. Presumably to cope with demand, as each year these pilgrim ways become more and more popular. This was the view from the huge panoramic window of the gîte...

Not bad, don't you think? A small group of us — Australian, French, Swiss, me the sole English person as ever — had dinner in front of this stunning backdrop. And later in the evening we watched on TV François Hollande being elected the 24th President of the French Republic...

Setting Out

A welcome splash of colour outside Saint-Étienne railway station.

Sometime in the early evening of Saturday 5 May 2012 I stepped outside the railway station at Saint-Étienne and admired again the artificial tree stuck in the middle of the station forecourt. I'd been there before — on Saturday 1 October 2011 to be exact — on my way home after a fortnight's trek along the Via Gebennensis from Geneva in Switzerland to Le Puy in south-central France. Now, as then, the tree was a welcome burst of colour lighting up a drab, urban wilderness. This humble yet pathetically touching arboreal firework seemed to say: Trust me. Things are going to get better.

However, a heavy, grey sky glowered above, pregnant with rain. The weather here in the French Massif Central had been wet for weeks. I considered the prospects for my walk along the GR 65 pilgrim route I'd planned to start in Le Puy the next day. They were not brilliant. After an early spring of drought and fine days, the weather over much of northern and central Europe had settled into a pattern of cold snaps, bitter winds and thundery squalls. The UK, for instance, had just experienced its dampest April on record.

Oh well, que sera, sera. It's no good worrying about the weather if you're a walker. I had Goretex raingear in my pack and waterproof boots on my feet. A previous time I'd walked across Spain in January during the wettest winter in living memory. If I could do that, I could do anything. In a suddenly excited and optimistic mood, I stepped back into the station and boarded the local, two-carriage train to Le Puy. Trust in the tree, I thought, fake as it is. Trust in the tree.

If trains still chug these days, this one chugged — through tunnels, through remote rural halts and through deep river gorges cut by the Loire. Rain lashed down. Thunder grumbled distantly and the occasional flash of lightning sparked over some far, rounded peak. But, as the train eased into Le Puy, the weather eased too. The sky cleared and brightened a little, and I could pick out some familiar sights: the cathedral's seven-storied bell tower, the chapel of Saint Michel d'Aiguilhe perched high on a volcanic plug, the almost obscenely huge red statue of the Virgin Mary, Notre-Dame de France, half-hidden by scaffolding...   

Virgin and Child in Le Puy.

Sunday dawned warm and bright and full of promise, and I wandered contentedly up and down the narrow alleyways of Le Puy-en-Velay. I bought bread, cheese, tins of fish. Some fruit. A tomato. I was given a brand new créanciale (pilgrim passport) by a nun in the cathedral's sacristy. And then I was off, in the pure, clear morning sunlight, under a sky of forget-me-not blue, down the cathedral steps, along the Rue Saint-Jacques and the Rue des Capucins, climbing first gently then more steeply out of town. A sign confirmed it was a mere 1511 km from here to Compostelle, but this time I wasn't walking so far...

1511 km to Compostelle.

I passed Saint James in myriad forms and representations, though which was the real, most authentic Saint James is anyone's guess. Perhaps the true one hovers like a religious touchstone in our imaginations... 

Saint James.

Another Saint James carved in wood.

On the plateau above Le Puy I simply felt glad to be alive, to be there, to be in that place and at that time, on that fresh and pristine day in early May, with the crickets singing and the wild flowers coming into bloom...

  

An old stone cross above Le Puy.

A scallop shell points the way.

Farewell, Farewell

Farewell, farewell to you who would hear
You lonely travellers all;
The cold North wind will blow again
The winding road does call.

Writer: RICHARD THOMPSON. Singer: SANDY DENNY.