The day started off cool enough. I traversed the bridge to the older part of the city. Like Montcuq with its pink umbrellas, these signs provide a more explicit message of breast cancer awareness.
Centre Ville soon gave way to a steep hill from which I looked back to the horizon. I had walked from there to here. Gave me perspective of how far I had come.
At the far reaches of the town, I came across a street named after Nelson Mandela. Got me thinking about renaming Martin Luther King, Jr. streets. I would have thought that King street would be too woke for the current administration. I guess that I am surprise that an executive order hasn’t been signed rescinding the naming of streets in the US after MLK.
I was again in the country. A major nature and recreational site in this region is Lac du Broussau. Its length is over a mile with a width of about 300 yards. The photo below captured most of the water in the lake. The lake looks more like a pond. Southern France has surely faced drought conditions since spring,
As I exited the park, I came upon five men with orange coats and caps. They were wielding rifles. If you recall, I ran into a hunter earlier in the Chemin. They have permission to reduce the wild boar population. Apparently, wild boar do significant damage to crops and grazing land. These were the only times when I have encountered hunters with live ammunition on the Camino. Laird Evans and I ran into one at Jacobsburg State Park near Wind Gap, PA. We did not stick around to ask questions.
The rest of the walk was along the boundaries of very large farms. The land was like being in Iowa — a grain elevator, dramatic morning clouds. All was well until I reached the halfway point when the sun came out and the clouds poofed away. It became very very hot.
The rest of the 10 miles were brutal. I drank up my three liters of water. Luckily, Roxetta Bar was open in the hamlet of Pimbo. I fortified myself with 50cl of beer.
Next to Roxetta was Pimbo’s church built in the 13th Century. Note the worn stone at the bottom of the church’s right door. Lots of the faithful have entered this church.
I had to concentrate because the heat and humidity became oppressive. Even a gradual climb up a hill became a chore. I reached Arzacq at 5:10PM. According to the marker, Santiago de Compostela is still 911 km away. My guidebook stated that I had 127 km to reach St Jean Pied-du-Port. I am beginning to taste the end.
I reached my La Maison d’Antan in another 12 minutes. Madame Roxanne (remember your Cyrano d’Bergerac) met me and showed me to chambre #1 (only three rooms in the B&B) which was furnished with what I would call country French. Can you see the sketch of a cat above the bed? Madame has many others of cats in the entryway and up the stairway to her living quarters. You can’t see the armoire in the photo. I did include the plate of fresh fruit on the desk; I ate both plums. A nice touch.
After cooling down and resting, I joined three others for dinner. They were French living in a suburb of Paris. The couple started two days ago. The wife’s brother began in Le Puy on 3 September. They had worked with refugees throughout the world during their careers.
I asked Victoria about her most interesting professional experience. She related some stories about meeting Afghans at the Khyber Pass on the Pakistani side of the border. The Taliban were not pleased with her being there helping women settle after crossing the border. The men did not want her help either — she was a biologist/radiologist specializing in infectious diseases — until their leader ordered them to allow her to minister to them. The journeys of life that we have all taken.
Madame prepared dinner herself. She is a one person operation. Since her husband passed on four years ago, she does almost everything from cooking to reception. The only exception is cleaning the rooms.
Dinner was certainly freshly cooked in mom’s kitchen. I had a chopped salad of endives and pieces of ham and onions in a vinegar based dressing.
Madame then brought out les plats. When was the last time, you had someone lift sterling covers from your plate? I had veal stew. Delicious and just the right amount,
We all ended with a tart of mirabelle plums. Every plum was pitted and were at the right balance between firmness and softness. I walked up the stairs with a smile.
