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.

Le Puy-En-Velay (1)

Entering Le Puy.

The bell tower of the cathedral is on the left; the bronze statue of Our Lady, Notre Dame de France, is on the right.  

A warren of backstreets and alleyways takes you steeply up to the cathedral.

Inside the cathedral you come across a wooden statue of Saint James near the altar. It was in this exact spot four years ago that the Bishop of Le Puy invited me to take from a basket some folded notes containing supplications from parishioners and visitors who were suffering or in distress. I was asked to pray for these people on my way to Santiago.  

Leaving the cathedral via the west porch.

Looking out over Le Puy from the west porch.

The western facade of the cathedral is magnificent. Note the Arabic influence on the architecture. The arches, pilasters and geometrical patterning of the stonework reminded me strongly of Córdoba cathedral in Spain. The white stone is sandstone; the brown stone is volcanic breccia.

I stood in this place four years ago at the start of my two month pilgrimage from Le Puy to Santiago.  This is the photo I took then.

The Road To Montesquiou

Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness. SØREN KIERKEGAARD

Yes, it was another day, and a much better one. For a start my feet felt renewed. What a difference a day makes! I'd removed the 'Superfeet' insoles from my boots which afforded some temporary relief from the foot pain. (Though I know these insoles are very well thought of, I suspect ideally you need to have special custom-made ones moulded to the shape of each foot - particularly if you have a foot problem. Would be interested in any comments.) Also - how could your spirit fail to be uplifted on walking through lovely countryside such as this? I love the curve of the field. It's like a rolling, green wave ...

Later I came across this rustic box-like structure attached to a tree. The wooden cross seems to be intentionally a Christian cross - but I'm not really sure. I've still no real idea as to its purpose. Any ideas, anyone? Below it is a beautifully clear waymarker. Would they were all like this! The white and red stripe (balise in French) denotes a GR (Grande Randonnée) long distance footpath - there's a network of these paths covering much of Europe. The path I'd been following from Arles was the GR653. And of course the yellow starburst or scallop shell sign on a blue background indicates Le Chemin de Compostelle.

This old Massey Ferguson tractor had just been left to moulder away. I think it must be around 50 years old. Any tractor enthusiasts out there to give the model an exact date?

The signpost showed conclusively that the trials of Barran were now far behind me. The Virgin and Child were pointing the way ...

... to another sculpture, this time of a one-armed Saint-Jacques, on the outskirts of Montesquiou (note the scallop shells on his cloak). The sign above Saint-Jacques reads: Arles 540 km Compostelle 935 km. So I'd walked more than 500 km already!

A sudden rain shower descended on the sleepy village of Montesquiou. I retreated into the bar below for a beer ... or two ...

... and later passed this wayside calvary ...

... on the way to the campsite of Le Château de Haget. I spent the night there in a chalet which I shared with 2 other walkers. It was quite common for campsites to provide chalet or caravan accommodation for pilgrims on a nightly basis in the out-of-season months. This is a pic of the turreted castle at the campsite. Not bad, huh?

Auch

The following lunchtime, after a short, leisurely, lazy morning's walk, I had similar luck and found another wonderfully isolated gîte d'étape - this time a barn next to the old farm of Lamotte just before the hamlet of L'Isle-Arné. The owners, M and Mme Vives, had completed a long and loving renovation. It had a high, timbered roof, limewashed walls and an enormous fireplace - the chimney built of unfired bricks. One cave-like corner - containing a library of books - had been decorated with a Moroccan theme. I spent a very agreeable night there, despite the nocturnal skitterings of a resident mouse ...

Next day a ridge-top path over high heathland led to the village of Montégut, picturesquely perched on a hillside (the château was private and lived-in but the church was open) overlooking more parcels of oak woodland and agricultural valleys. By late afternoon I'd reached Auch, capital of the department of Le Gers, historic capital of Gascony, and, with a population of 25,000, the biggest place I'd visited since Toulouse. I crossed the river Gers (lots of French departments are named after rivers: Ariège, Aude, Dordogne, Indre, Loire, Tarn, Tarn-et-Garonne to name but a few) and climbed the narrow streets up to the old town. The highlight of Auch is, without a shadow of a doubt, the extravagant Baroque Cathedral of Saint-Mairie. This is the west front of the cathedral. As you can see, it was in the process of being cleaned (the jet-cleaning began as early as 7.30 am):

Inside I marvelled at the carvings on the wooden choir stalls (there are 113 stalls with 1500 carved figures - including one of Saint-Jacques) and the hugely impressive 16th century stained glass windows. It was highly unusual to see so much old and intact stained glass in one place - and artistically worked and designed to such a high standard of craftsmanship. Here's a depiction of Saint-Jacques which gives some idea of the brilliant colours and intricate detail of the glass (notice the scallop shell on the saint's hat):

I stayed the night at the presbytery in the lovely winding street of Rue Dessoles. (A Canadian pilgrim told me it reminded him of the old town in Montreal.) Here bunk beds had been laid out in 3 large rooms; and there was a small kitchen and shower room annexe. It was basic but comfortable. The shower was see-through! However, I'd long gone beyond all the conventional proprieties - you had to, living in such close proximity to other pilgrims - and I didn't care one jot. It was enlightening to see how, despite communal and sometimes cramped night-quarters, everyone subtly respected each other's privacy when necessary. It occured to me that, in some small way, such intimate and sensitive interaction with like-minded people sharing common goals and interests was a model for a kind of ideal, utopian society.

After a self-prepared evening meal of salad followed by a dish of finely-diced carrot, tuna and rice, I slept very soundly. And early next morning, after leaving a donation in the honesty box, I set off for Montesquiou, 30 km away. Little did I know then the problems I would face ...

Real Love Is A Pilgrimage

The road goes on for ever... Notice the little yellow coquille marker (the scallop shell is a symbol of Saint-Jacques and the Camino) on the dead tree.

This is a simple map showing the main Ways Of Saint James (from John Brierley's A Pilgrim's Guide To The Camino De Santiago).

Real love is a pilgrimage. It happens when there is no strategy, but it is very rare because most people are strategists. ANITA BROOKNER

Last year I walked the pilgrim route from Le Puy in south-west France to Santiago de Compostela in north-west Spain - a journey of 1500 km which lasted exactly 60 days from mid-October to mid-December.

But the Camino had not finished with me. It had gripped me. It had got under my skin. It called me again this year. It drew me back. Be warned, Camino lovers, it does not let you go.

This is an account of my 2nd Camino - this time from Arles in the French Camargue to Puente La Reina on the Camino Francés in northern Spain (combining the Via Tolosana or the Voie d'Arles with the Via Aragonés), a journey on foot of between 800 and 900 km (depending on which statistics you believe). I calculated it was about 870 km. This I walked in 46 days at an average of 19 km a day - slower than my 1st Camino. I didn't want to rush. I wanted to stop from time to time to reflect on things and look around. Also I had some foot problems so I took more rest days.

As usual I had no real strategy. My preparations were fast and minimal. I would see in the due course of time what might unfold, what the Camino might reveal...

Le Puy: The First 60 Steps

After a sleepless night on coach and cross-Channel ferry - and much excited conversation with fellow travellers - I arrived in Lyon at dawn the next day and took a local train to Le Puy-en-Velay. Midday found me sitting in a sleepy square outside a small bar-restaurant in Le Puy eating delicious chicken and rice in the warm sunshine.

Le Puy. Famous for lace and lentils. A spectacular place high up in the Massif Central, that huge granite plateau in south-central France dotted with extinct volcanoes and hot volcanic springs. It's been a pilgrimage centre since the Middle Ages, and its Romanesque cathedral is one of Europe's oldest and most beautiful pilgrim shrines. 60 steps rise steeply to a facade of white sandstone and black volcanic breccia (see photo). Around and below it the narrow streets of the old town twist and turn.

I stayed the night cheaply at the Maison Saint-François, a gîte d'étape in one of the old alleyways, but once again hardly slept. Early next morning I made my way bleary-eyed to mass. Even though I was practically in the cathedral's shadow, I managed to lose my way through a maze of dark and silent streets and passages. Finally I crept into the gloomy interior of the cathedral by the south porch. It was just 7 o'clock. I genuflected before the statue of the Black Madonna. In the pews were a scattering of devout elderly Catholic ladies and 4 other pilgrims.

After mass we were blessed by the Bishop of Le Puy in a special pilgrim benediction ceremony. He gave each of us some plastic rosary beads and a plastic cross and a tiny silver medallion of Our Lady of Le Puy. "We have been criticized for not doing enough for the pilgrims" he said, smiling. "These are my gifts to you. May God protect you. Please pass on my greetings to the Bishop of Santiago." This most humane and charming man then invited us to take some folded pieces of paper from a basket. On these were written heartfelt supplications from people in need and distress. We were entrusted with these touching little notes. We would pray for these supplicants on our journey.

I bought for €5 a scallop shell pendant from a nun in the sacristy. The scallop shell or coquille Saint-Jacques is the single identifying symbol of the pilgrim bound for Santiago. This motif recurs consistently - in religious and secular architecture, in shop windows, on road signs - during the whole route. I also picked up my pilgrim passport, or Créanciale, which would be stamped in churches, tourist offices, town halls, bars and gîtes along the Way. This passport would prove to the cathedral authorities in Santiago I had covered the route so that I could obtain a coveted Compostela, the official certificate of completion of pilgrimage. Then I was off down the main staircase marked Grand Escalier, Direction Compostelle.

It was the start of a 1000 mile journey along the French Via Podensis and the Spanish Camino Francés, a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela; a pilgrimage made by many 1000s of travellers for over 1000 years, travellers on foot, on horseback, on donkeys, on bicycles; a pilgrimage to Santiago cathedral, reputed burial place of Saint James the Apostle, Saint James the Moor-Slayer, Saint James the Pilgrim (portrayed with wide-brimmed hat, staff, Bible and scallop shell), Saint James the patron saint of Spain.

I climbed the hill out of town and left Le Puy behind me.

I had begun my journeying, my quest. But what I was seeking, what I was travelling towards, I was not sure...