the final week in France

I haven`t been able to get on a computer for a while, and as a result the last week and a half are all a bit of a blur! But here's a basic rundown on my final week in France...

So after 3 huge days back to back I made it to Navarrenx and was feeling physically and mentally drained. I'd been walking with the same large group for a while and dinner times had become very loud and raucous. After a long day I needed some peace and quiet (I know that must sound strange - I walk alone all bloody day and I want peace and quiet...strange but true!) So the following day I was booked to stay in the communal gite with the others 20kms away at Aroue but I knew there was a small private gite a little way before. THe sky was grey and it was forecast to rain and, at around 11:30 I came to Bellevue I knew I wasn't going any further. This lovely little farm, set on the hill above the village was so beautiful, with fruit trees and flowers all around. I went in and soon the couple who live there came along and settled me in a little room with a bathroom and kitchen all to myself. I was in heaven. I curled up in the armchair under a blanket (note to self - buy armchair and blanket, best thing ever) when Emil from Norway appeared in the garden outside. He's a lovely man and he was the only person of the group I was happy to share this place with. We had both needed a break and found it at Bellevue. After a quiet dinner and a blissful sleep I went out to have breakfast with the owners and Emil. I got home made bread with four types of home made jam from fruit in their garden. They talked with us and encouraged us to stay until the rain lightened a bit. When we finally set off we both felt absolutely refreshed and filled with the joy of genuine hospitality. Amazing!

We continued on our way to Ostabat and the rain stopped. I climbed up to a summit overlooking the town and the Pyrenees with a tiny chapel on the top. Cold but gorgeous. I reached the farm where we were staying around 2pm and walked in to find the lady watching TV. I seemed to be interrupting her because she installed me very quickly then disappeared. There were no facilities to make tea or coffee so I asked for hot water, but I just didn't feel that welcome sitting in the main room so I sat in the dorm until dinner time. We were joined by a French guy who was re-starting and a german guy, Chris, who'd walked the Vezelay route through France. He'd walked 800kms and met 4 other pilgrims... guess that's where the solitude is! At dinnertime we headed out and sat around the table, waiting. Out came the farmer of the house with a home made apperitif who proceeded to lead us in a few rousing Basque folk songs. It was all quite weird but fun. The food was all made on the farm and it was delicious. Any idea that I was still a vegetarian went right out the window - this meal was meat, followed by meat with a side of meat. I had to check the cheese to see if there was bacon in it or something! More Basque songs, then French ones, a german one, a Spanish Basque one and finally I sang the chorus to "Six White Boomers" as the only Australian tune I could think of at the time (the apperitif was strong). We went to bed full, a bit drunk, and laughing.

The next morning I was up and out early in the beautiful morning mist for my walk to St Jean Pied-a-Port, the border town between France and Spain. It felt like an ending, much more than I expected it to. I got there by lunch time and went up to the gite. I meant ot do some things in town but it all got a bit muddled - the knowledge that I was finishing the French road and beginning the Spanish one was a little overwhelming. THe Pyrenees loomed large wherever I looked and I prayed the good weather would hold until I crossed them. I met Bob again that evening and he, Emil and I went out for a final meal - they were both finishing at St Jean. For the first time, the Spanish road became real for me. Until then Santiago had been a name, an idea, but not quite a reality. Suddenly the fact that I was crossing into another country dawned on me.

The next day I prepared my bag and headed up to Orisson for the night - but that's a story for the Pyrenees post!