The Day After

No more having my suitcase out for the 8AM transfer. It’s like getting ready everyday to catch a plane. However, the baggage service is indispensable. At a certain age, you just can’t carry 20 pounds or more for 20 miles. For a reasonable cost, add that service if you are planning to do the Camino, Chemin, or Via Francigena.

Just before 10AM, Jean-Baptiste picked me up for the drive to the Pamplona airport. I could not take the bus because it would arrive an hour after take-off. We spent the next hour and half talking mostly in French. He laughed that he was the professor’s French professor. The trip cost 200€ (my most expensive taxi ride ever). The alternative was to buy a bus ticket, pay for a hotel and dinner in Pamplona, and then a taxi to the airport. The cost would probably have been more. You have to do, what you have to do — sometimes.

We passed Roncenvalles, the end point of the climb over the Pyrenees. As we passed the hotel where I stayed that night in 2024, I had a fresh appreciation for the mountains and my fellow pilgrims who were milling about. I also had a bit of nostalgia as we past a few villages along the Way.

I added two images of the Swiss credential (Monique’s gift) that I used to document the journey. Most stamps incorporated some icon of the Chemin/Camino — the scallop shell, a pilgrim, or in some cases, the logo of the business as the Penguin. One needs such stamps as proof of walking the last 100km before Santiago in order to qualify for a Compestella (the certificate of completion). For me, it is a booklet of memories.

Observations

More than 95% of the walkers were Francophones. I talked with or heard second hand about 20 Americans during the 31 days.

With minimal French but with a charming and patient personality, one can do just fine. French does help in getting around and engaging in conversation. But not necessary.

A significant percentage of walkers were women (75% by consensus with whom I spoke). Most were in pairs or small groups though at least 5-10% were single women. I was a rarer bird — a single male after Monique left me at Conques. Most of the time, after saying bonjour or bonsoir at breakfast or dinner, I sat alone listening to a book on tape (Percival Everett was outstanding), to the songs of Diana Krall, Rod Stewart, Blossom Dearie, or Joe Pass, or writing the blog of the day. I was content to enjoy the solace and peace.

To a person, the walkers said the Chemin was safe even for single women. I can attest that is the case for other Camino routes.

People are people and contrary to general rumor, French people are quite engaging but I had to ask them to speak slowly. As the days went on, I picked up more French and words were coming back. I took French in college over 55 years ago. So, don’t let a lack of language deter from going on a Camino.

Have the right gear. Given the rocky terrain between Le Puy and Moissac, I suggest boots over the ankle and water-proof. Get them at least a half-size larger than your usual size. On really long distance stages, one’s feet will swell. You need the space to avoid feet rubbing the sides of the boots which will reduce the chances of developing blisters. Although I experienced four days of rain, two really heavy days, a good rain coat and rain pants are essential. For older hikers, bring poles especially for the rocky ascents and descents which were many.

I found that I am still capable of walking 20 miles a day but not five days in succession. I will need to review the length and difficulty of stages more carefully. I half kiddingly have said that one can always call a taxi or Uber if one was needed. But what happens if you are in a rural area with poor mobile coverage? Try to describe where you are to a dispatcher in broken French, “I am at a farm with cows and a big tractor in a barn.” Right. In the future, shorter legs (I already have those) or if a 20 miler is necessary, I’ll make it a single event.

Europeans are liberal users of credit cards. However, several bars and restaurants accepted credit cards (Visa, Mastercard, American Express is shunned) only if one spends 10€. In the rural areas, no credit cards. Cash is needed for that cup of coffee, beer, or sandwich.

In France, the best ATM exchange rate with commission is the Postal Bank. In Spain, BBVA. Always select euros for the transaction, never dollars.

The other interesting quirk is that many hotel receptions especially small ones or B&Bs are open only later in the afternoon. So, I timed my departures to arrive around 3PM. On the 20 milers, no issue because I always arrived no earlier than 5PM.

Finally, the typical high point for tourists is a first class museum, an architectural gem, or a stunning viewpoint. This Chemin and most Caminos start in a historically significant site. I have started in Porto, Oviedo, Pamplona (after crossing the Pyrenees from SJPP), Burgos, San Sebastián, and Le Puy. Once on the road, most places visited are small cities to hamlets with a house or two. Long stretches of only fields are common. But I am convinced that every walker will find beauty that will affect their spirit.

Reflections

Some of what I write is trite and self-evident. However, one may know these principles but never have felt them in one’s core.

Every day is a new day. Every step, turn, view is new and will never be seen again in the same way even if the walk is repeated. Aoyama-san introduced me to Ichiro-Ichirei. Every interaction is unique. My favorite photo that I took was of the sole cow on the Aubrac plateau. I have been on the Plains in the US and have seen cows in the pasture and the on the horizon. But it was early morning and the light had a yellow hue that gave mood to the photo. It was moment of beauty as was so many instances on the Chemin such as seeing a really dark sky with thousands of stars, churches over a 1,000 years old, the sounds of birds, the stands of trees along the Garonne-Tarn canal.

Having traveling companions regardless of the amount of time is another gift of the Chemin. When will I hike with Monique again? Will I ever meet Jeff and Nick in the future? Even for a day or for brief encounter, I began to know fellow hikers like Miriam, Stefan, Thierry and Isabelle, Jean-Jacques and Fred. Thank you to the hotel and B&B receptionists who were gracious to a weary hiker. I felt their kindness and encouragement to finish this journey.

Stay in the present. Sharon has talked about this principle over years. My 88 temple walk finally convinced me to follow it. The past is over. You can think about the future but you can’t control it. So, when it rains, it rains. Don’t waste energy worrying about it. Be prepared with the right gear and go with the flow.

During my 88 temple walk, I marveled at this man who was 80 and walked with Aoyama-san and me (I was 71 in 2019) for a week. He said that we were fortunate to have the health, time, and money to go on such walks. I look forward to a few more Caminos and other multi-day walks. The next one will be a segment of the Camino Norte in April 2027. Amen.

I walked gingerly to and from breakfast. I made a command decision to walk the paved highway as long as it had a shoulder rather than the adjacent Chemin trail that oftentimes wander afield on rocky paths. I began the final stage at 9:20AM.

Getting warmed up this way helped with stretching out my back and hips. After three miles, I felt like my old self and rejoined the official Chemin. No Tylenol needed.

I am glad that I did because the highway bypasses the narrow valleys and its hills that create the natural texture and beauty of the land.

The first hamlet that I came to was Gamarte (Basque spelling). Look how some of its buildings fits into the foreground of the photo below. The photo does not do justice to how green the fields were. They had a shimmering glow in this light.

One can never mistaken that Gamarte was in farming country. I walked past some gigantic John Deere equipment. I think that the tires were at least my height.

Inside what I think was an open air gathering place, I saw this triptych. I didn’t know what the designs meant. I did recognize the Basque flag in the bottom right corner of the left panel. This was the first display of the Basque flag in the past two days while in Basque land. On my Camino this past spring, seven days were spent in the Spanish Basque province. The Basque flag was everywhere. When I get home, I’ll need to do research on how the Basque in France and Spain differ politically.

However, they do have their language in common. Throughout the French Basque province, Basque is used along with French. The same in Spain. As I left the hamlet, someone had painted over the French version of the hamlet’s name. Some activists were expressing their views.

The sign was clear that I was closing in on SJPP. Less than two hours away. I was excited but also walked with a heavy heart that this adventure was coming to a close.

The Église de Madeleine is the final landmark before SJPP. Built in the 12th Century, it was a rest stop for pilgrims and an excellent example of a Basque styled church. The bell tower and the entryway are certainly different from the Romanesque, and Gothic churches encountered on the Chemin.

One more slight uphill and then down to the Porte St Jacques. Two years ago, I walked through the Porte from the opposite direction. I thought then that one day, I will walk through it at end of my Chemin. Here I was 456 miles and 31 days after setting off from Le Puy at 2PM.

To put the distance in perspective, my friends, Neil Sullivan and Mike Sremba, drove from LA to San Francisco during our colleges’ spring break. The car distance to San Francisco was 380 miles. If someone said to me then, “You’ll walk from here to San Francisco one day,” I would have had a good laugh. You never know where one’s life journey will take one. (Bethlehem, PA to Columbus,OH is about 456 miles in car miles.)

Past the gate and about 200 meters away was the SJPP pilgrim office. I had my credential duly stamped and made my way to SJPP’s main street passing by a shop with hiking gear. The cape is a popular item though the bottom of your pants can get wet. Only rain pants will suffice.

I had a delicious green salad with grilled squid at Café Ttipia as I did two years ago. I lingered sipping my final beer of the Chemin by the stream that runs through SJPP. My hotel did not open until 4PM.

I will post an Epilogue in a few days summarizing the highlights and offering some reflections.

Thanks to all who “walked” with me on the Chemin St Jacques.

My guidebook ppstated that this stage was 11km or just under 7 miles. As usual, an underestimate. I ended up walking 10 miles. Not as much a rest day as I expected. But thank goodness, not another 20 miler.

These walks always unearth surprises. I wondered how appealing it could be to eat “Dangerous Tacos.” Perhaps the image and name were supposed to appeal to the male ego.

It reminded me of the hamburger joint I passed in Logroño, Spain two years ago during a Camino. The sign overhead said “Bad Food.” No one was in the restaurant. Perhaps these owners watched too much American TV.

Of more interest was the Beaux Arts building that housed the post office. Above the lentel, the words telegraf and telephone were written under postes. Those were days in the early 20th century when you went to a central building to use these communication devices. The telegraph? How times have changed.

As I made my final turn to leave Saint Palais, a modern version of the pilgrim stood in front of a church built centuries ago. Cultures do adapt to changing times.

One of featured stops of this stage is Christian Lapie’s wooden sculpture atop Mount Saint-Saveur. I met four women when I arrived as they were departing on the descent. I had the area all to myself. A crude bench, one of the few over the past 80 miles, was placed where I took the photo. I sat there for 30 minutes or so taking in the sculpture, and the scene before me. The figures and I contemplated countless miles of nature’s beauty. How privileged was I to savor this moment.

Before I left, I saw an interesting cloud formation to my left. Was that a flying saucer or the Starship Enterprise?

Down I went past a mural that marked the junction where three main French Chemin routes meet: Tours, Vézeley, and Le Puy. Then up again where I got a perspective of Saint-Saveur. That mount stood out on its own from the flat areas surrounding it. Reflecting on the entire journey to this point, other than day 19 walking the Garonne-Tarn Canal after leaving Moissac, I had rarely walked on flat ground.

I was nearing my destination when I took this photo of the stones (that some pilgrims leave) on this cross. The lighting and clouds gave this photo gravitas. I was clearly on The Way.

Thankfully, I made it to the hotel in reasonably good shape. When I sat down for dinner, a French couple from Nantes (city at the mouth of the Loire) were at the next table. I saw them last night during dinner and at breakfast this morning. We talked about wine and food, of course. He was very animated about Nantes and the Loire wines. One of his favorite white among many was Chablis. I agreed that Chablis was superb. He was surprised at the prices we pay for French wines. Fees for agents, transportation, and now higher tariffs. “Ah, oui” he said.

He and his wife take long distance hikes several times a year — few number of days and shorter distances per day. Tomorrow, they will stop 5km from SJPP. Why? To savor those last few kilometers into SJPP. Another lesson.

Dinner was ok. A mixed green salad with champignons on the side, a BBQ quarter chicken with roasted potatoes (really good), and cheesecake. Although Thierry does not prefer Jurançon wines, I like the flavor and texture of the sec. Jurançon is known for its sweet wines. The grapes that are not thought capable of reaching the “noble rot,” are picked earlier for a dry wine. This process reminded me of the Bordeaux Sauternes wineries who use some of their grapes for dry wines. Chateau d’Yquem is an example with its “Y” wine.

Early to bed tonight stretching to prepare myself for the final day of arriving in SJPP.

The forecasts said rain early, then cloudy late morning with showers in the later afternoon.

I was prepared in full rain gear as I left Hôtel Le Commerce in Navarrenx. Today would be the fifth and last 18+, mostly 20 milers, in a row.

Le Commerce is at the opposite end of the square to the building that is part of Porte Saint Antoine, the picturesque gateway through the bastion. Here is a sequence of photos showing my progress through the Porte and ending overlooking the Pont de Navarrenx. I said, “Pretty cool,” to myself as I looked back after crossing the bridge.

The weather condition was partly cloudy at this time. The air was fresh and birds were singing all around. As I saw the glow at the end of this forest stand, I thought that I was to have good day. Symbolically — the end of the tunnel? I found out the tunnel was really long.

Lots of thoughts go through one’s mind when walking alone. When I saw these cows, my mind got twisted trying to recall the nursery rhyme, Little Boy Blue. Where were the sheep? Or was it, the cows are in the meadow and the sheep are in corn. Was this another example of a senior moment?

About a third of the way along, I came across this sign by the side of the road. The first line is in French, the second in Basque, and the third in Catalan (had to look the word up). I had just entered Basque land. Note the white and red “X” on the stone to the sign’s right. That symbol means wrong way as opposed to the horizontal white over red blazes meaning the correct way. In this case, it meant don’t go straight, take the downward path to the right.

At that moment, you can see that sky was partly cloudy with brilliant blues. Within five minutes, I luckily found shelter when a fierce downpour started and lasted 20 minutes. Getting up, my back acted up and was sore for the rest of walk — nine miles to go. It was 1PM.

It took me six hours to walk the nine miles. I took some Tylenol at a few rest stops. My lower back ached. I no longer walked with a normal gait. I thought that I was the tin man from the Wizard of Oz.

But through the ascents and descents of the valleys, the beauty of the Basque land revealed itself. The dark clouds provided such a dramatic backdrop.

I staggered into the Hôtel de las Paix at 7PM. I had been on the walk for almost 11 hours. I was glad that I made it before sundown. Sharon called me at 7:30 to find out if I was ok. Flat on my back, my condition was questionable. For my next walk, I’ll make sure that I don’t have consecutive 20 milers. One is enough at this age.

After resting and cleaning up, I went to the hotel’s restaurant with its charming and relatively quiet dining room. I could not miss dinner which was included in my package.

I went with the pâté maison, the local pink trout over creamy noodles, and fruit with a dollop of sherbet. This meal was very good to excellent. I complemented the dishes with a blonde (not blanche) Basque beer (what a superb taste) and a glass of Jurançon white produced about 8 miles away. I was contented.

I’ll take my time tomorrow. Only 7 miles.

Heavy rain during the night; heavy rain at 8:30AM when I started; heavy rain until 1:30PM when the rain became sprinkles and eventually the sun broke out. Rain predicted for tomorrow. My luck on having no rain days had run out.

Yiannis, my taxi driver, picked me up promptly at 8AM and delivered me back at the Penguin by 8:30AM. His parents migrated from Greece. Yiannis is French through and through, Alternating between French and English, we talked about French politics, and most importantly, our favorite French cuisine. He loves Gascogne food. He likes Armagnac. Fine tastes.

I was launched for the day. The first stop was the mairie with its breast cancer awareness display. I have to ask someone about the pink umbrellas. They appear to be part of the display in most towns and cities. Later, you will see an exception in Navarrenx, my destination.

The Chemin went along a ridge and then plunged into my first valley. At the bottom, another monster machine confronted me. Risk management, I was thinking. Can you imagine getting that close to big machinery in the US? No way. Road signs would have blocked the road until the work was done. But here life carries on.

The heavy rains created a sublime moment while on the bridge crossing the Pau. I was thinking whether my iPhone could capture the beauty of the gray blue light that I have seen in Jean Baptiste Camille Corot’s paintings. I think it did a good job.

By 1:30PM, I was wet from wearing my rain gear and wanted some warmth and relief from the rain. I was a bit more than halfway through the stage. I passed the Abbey of Sauvelade from the 12th Century, now a local church. I made a hard left turn and there within 200 meters was an oasis that was open.

Jef met me with a big smile and invited me in. I ordered the local craft brew and a sandwich of omelette natur. Just what I needed. I stayed inside for 30 minutes to warm up and dry off. What a brilliant decision. The rain had tailed off while I was inside. Within 30 minutes, I had my raincoat off and was able to have the wind whisk away the wetness on my t-shirt, and rain gear. It was good to feel cool and dry again.

It was 2PM and I still had eight miles to go with an unknown number of valleys to cross. I went as fast as I could. I made it back to my hotel at 5PM on the dot. Heavy rain was predicted to start again then.

I need to digress for a few paragraphs. Three encounters require some attention. The first was during a major downpour a driver of a small truck called out to me. He said that he could drive me 3km down the road which was the GR65 route. I respectfully declined. He wished me good luck. We high-fived before he drove away.

About two minutes after that, a car tooted me. On this entire trip, no car honked at me. I interpreted the sound to be friendly. The intent was clear when he gave me a five finger wave.

The final encounter was with the gendarmerie on a single lane road by a duck farm. I wave at every car that goes by. Two young gendarmes in their crisp uniforms pulled up in a small SUV. They might have thought I was waving them down. We exchanged bonjours and çavas. They asked where I was from. I told them the US walking the Chemin. They were very cordial and smiling. Then, I used the Ron Yoshida oo-la-la. I asked if could take their picture for my blog. They politely declined. They smiled again and drove off. My first encounter with law enforcement on any of my walks.

Back to the day’s sequence. Navarrenx recognizes Breast Cancer Awareness on their main street not with umbrellas but with ….. I wondered how these displays would go over in the US. En pointe, no?

When I arrived at my hotel, the door was locked. If you need assistance, please call this number, a written note on a blackboard next to the door stated. I was told to keep my key to unlock the front door and my room’s door when I checked in. Yes, I was told this but I thought that it meant if I returned late at night.

A good samaritan who was a guest of the hotel came out and called the number for me. In a few minutes, the owner opened the door and gave me my key. However, when I returned to lobby area, it was closed and did not open until 6PM.

During this trip, I encountered signs that reception was closed until 2:30, 3:30, and once 4:00. At the larger hotels in cities, someone was available at the desk during daytime hours until 9:00 or 10:00. Keep this custom in mind. No early check-ins and no night clerk in this part of France.

Dinner commenced promptly at 7:00. Today’s menu was fish soup (a richly flavored creamy broth), a filet mignon of pork with puréed sweet potato (I still don’t know where farmers kept them, the pigs, that is), and three squares of dense chocolate cake.

The quality was excellent and the quantity was just right.

Instead of wine, I tried two beers. The first was a blanche (meaning a wheat beer) from Affligem, a Belgian producer. I must admit wheat beers are not to my taste. Nevertheless, I did not leave a drop.

So that you don’t embarrass yourself if you order bier blanche in France, blanche is not pronounced like our current Attorney General’s name. You need to give the “a” a more nasal sound like in aunt, not ant. This is not trivial distinction — like your tomato and my tomato.

The other beer was local artisanal. Excellent. I did not catch the name. It tasted like an ale. It came in a Heineken glass but that it was not.

Off to bed. However, at 3AM, I “watched” the 9th inning of the Dodgers-Braves game. The outcome? I can sleep in peace for the next few nights.

Madame Roxanne laid out a beautiful table for breakfast. The pieces of baguette were crunchy and their insides firm. We were served a croissant ring that was cut into six pieces. This was the first time that my croissant was not an individual crescent. Even the French people exclaimed about the originality of the ring. It was flakey and airy like the best of croissants.

Also note that the butter was served in a block on a plate and at room temperature. Unlike the foil wrapped rectangles usually served buffet style and hard, this butter spread so smoothly. We had the choice of nine different jams including kiwi and figs. The napkins were monogrammed cloth, not the thin paper ones. What a wonderful way to start the morning.

On top of that, I left with kitty love. She melted in my arms like Rooster did.

Since I left just before 8AM, I was in time to experience sunrise over the small lake next to the village. I stood for a few minutes admiring radiant glow of the sun as it emerged over the horizon transforming the sky from reds to blues.

As I left town, another distance marker appeared. To that point, I had covered 614km or 381.5 miles. If going to Santiago, 908km or 564 miles left. To St Jean Pied-du-Port, I had only 127km or 79 miles to go. Whew.

I thought that I had left the hills after Moissac. The hills and valleys were back in waves as I neared the Pyrenees. I crossed four of them today — 1900 feet of elevation gain.

Another moment reminded me that I was in an active agricultural area. As I waited to get my bearings on which way the Chemin turned, a huge combine made a K-turn at the intersection. The rear axel did the work. On the country roads, tractors and combines frequently made pedestrians take several steps off the road.

Then, it happened. The Pyrenees were in the far distance. I wondered what the pilgrims over a thousand years thought when they saw them. Spain and Santiago beyond. A milestone reached.

Although I had cloud cover during the final third of the stage, the high reached 83F. Madame Roxanne mentioned that hotel and gîte managers talked about the slew of cancellations in July and August because of extremely high temperatures. Even 80’s are high for long distance walking but tolerable (?) as I can attest. Perhaps the new high season will become October into November.

I made it to Arthez-de-Béarn by 4 PM and had my celebratory beer, a locally brewed blond at the Penguin. The fellow in the background is Bertrand whom I met two days ago. I nicknamed him TGV (Train Grande Vitesse) — France’s bullet train. He is fast.

Yiannis, my taxi driver, picked me up at the Penguin and drove me to my hotel in Navarrenx. Such transfers are necessary because the supply of private en suite rooms are limited. As I mentioned before, dormitory gîtes are out of the question. This was my second transfer. Do remember (so long ago) my first that rescued me from Decazeville back to Conques?

Dinner at the Hotel Le Commerce was excellent. The tomato focaccia was piquant — the mustard seeds added the French touch. I loved this rendition.

Although I paid a supplement of 7€ over the menu price, I had my super protein fix of steak tartare with pommes de terre on the side. The steak was not ground but sliced into thin strips. The French do it right.

My ending was a very light meringue with a vanilla flavored sauce.

This dinner ranks up there with the best that I have had on this Chemin.

Time for bed. Yiannis will pick me up at 8AM to drive me back to Arthez-de-Béarn. Then, I walk back to Navarrenx. Crazy, no?

I did wake up around 3AM to see the last two outs of the Dodgers win over the Braves. The boy can leave LA but still loves his Dodgers.

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.

I made my start time at 8AM. I think that I was the first person to leave the hotel. I caught up with Jean Jacques and Fred who were just ahead. (I did not know that Fred is a French name.) I have seen them everyday since Condom when I took their photo eating lunch on the D’Artagnan statue at the cathedral. You can tell the temperature went back up — they were in shorts like the majority of the walkers.

I bid farewell to Nogaro and Bib, the Michelin man, before I left the town limits. I dove into the forest following the white over red blaze. I appreciated that the blaze stood out. It was larger and used a brighter tone of red than other blazes from earlier stages. Somebody got the memo.

The tree tunnel lasted for about two miles. Most of the rest of the way was either open fields or trees on one side of the path. I saw 10 others on the trail during the day. I do know that others were farther ahead or behind me. But in my immediate zone, I was alone for almost the entire walk.

The no peeing sign was a surprise — the first this far along in the Chemin. It was about as effective as the curb your dog signs around town. On this stage, the one available toilet was at nine miles — the halfway point. No bar/restaurants were open. We were warned to carry adequate food and water.

The scenery was wide open for much of the walk. I included some images that interested me like the irrigation equipment. This was the first time that I had seen these watering monsters. I did not see them in vineyards or crop fields or on the Aubrac plains.

Within five miles of Aire-sur-L’Adore, I made a right turn before what are now unused train tracks. Along the tracks were two rest stops that some kindly people tended. Besides drinks and food, chairs and benches were provided. Most of the time you lie out on the side of the path. If you are lucky, a stone wall or some logs may become a make shift seat. I love the trumpeter with his scallop shell, the symbol of the Chemin/Camino. Thank you good people.

I arrived at my hotel at 3PM on the dot. Seven hours that included a few water breaks and one for fifteen minutes in a shelter during a quick rainstorm. So far, it has rained three days of 25 days; only once required rain gear for two hours. Even though the high temperatures have often been in the high 80s, I would take that condition over heavy rain.

The hotel did not offer dinner. The desk clerk recommended an Italian restaurant across the Adour in the old section of the town.

The hotel is located on the Chemin route. As I started down the street, I spotted a metal marker. Like the pebbles of Hansel and Gretel, I followed the arrows to the bridge. At the roundabout, one of route signs said Pau, the major city in southwestern France. I was closing in on the Pyrenees.

The first course of calamari was ok. But the lasagna was top notch with tomato sauce complemented by a layer of béchamel. The pasta was al dente and it came in its own bubbling pan from the oven. Once it cooled, I dove in. After 18 miles, my body needed some substantial nourishment. A petite pichet of white Gascogne wine enhanced the lasagna’s flavors. No dessert – just another Armagnac. Perhaps my last because Aire-sur-d’Adour is the last town in the southwest corner of Gascogne.

I started dinner at 7PM. By the time I finished, I was able to capture the river just after sunset as I walked back to the hotel.

Today was the last of three short days before starting a stretch of five consecutive long days. I have been spoiled with starting at 9AM or later and not be pressed in completing the stage.

Yesterday, I showed an example of Eauze’s houses along one of its randomly laid out streets. Before leaving the center, here is one of several timbered buildings built in 16th Century. It is on the main square opposite the cathedral.

I had to remind myself that we are past the summer growing season. My guidebook emphasized the corn growing in this area. Yes, corn is grown here but it had already been harvested. Although I have been to Iowa with Sharon countless times, I had never seen a harvested field up close and personal. Not a pretty scene with shorn stalks and cobs strewn about. This is what makes walking special. You aren’t whizzing by and seeing the environment from afar.

The upshot of the discussion is that much of any walk is a sample of daily life. Sometimes the scenery and interactions are unusual whereas most often, they are ordinary. Even in the ordinary, the beauty of the moment presents itself.

In Manciet, I came across a bull fighting ring. According to the guide, athletic cows are in the ring rather than bulls. No animals are hurt; none are killed. The goal is show the grace of movement when humans confront animals. Seems like a civilized activity. Too bad the season begins in a few weeks.

In the same town, I came across the first pedestrian bridge on this Chemin. Monique and I had used population to classify various clusters of buildings as hamlets (fewer than 100 people), villages (no more than 500 people), towns (5,000 to 10,000) and cities (more than 10,000).

After walking through so many places and after crossing the bridge, I came up with a different scheme. Hamlet — about one car per hour; village — cars driving slowly or complying with the speed limit; town — cars driving fast in an area with no traffic signals; cities — places where cars drive slowly because there are lots of traffic lights. What’ya think?

See what walking alone occupies the mind!

Back out in the country, one of the landmarks of the stage is the Église-Hopital Ste Christie which was once a major way station for pilgrims on the Chemin.

Further down the road was an art project that posted portraits of past pilgrims. Periodically, Chemin sponsored art depicted various aspects of the Chemin. Public art is vibrant throughout France and on the Chemin.

The town sign as I entered Nogaro took me aback — the town under surveillance? One of my photography projects is to take images relating to surveillance. Many cities in Europe have surveillance cameras. But this sign was a first for me in advising locals and tourists that they (we) were being watched.

My hotel was just down road from the town limits sign. Here was the sign on the hotel’s front door. I went in. I found my name on the board next to the reception counter with a key under it. Picked up my suitcase and went to my room #4. Imagine that in the US. Unless a big hotel, many of the small hotels and B&Bs had signs saying that no one was on duty until 2:30PM or so. When in France, go with the flow. I learned quickly to time my arrivals no earlier than 2:30.

The three course dinner menu was very good. Green salad with tuna, roasted pork and potatoes, and crème fraîche with strawberry syrup. I ended in an Armagnac.

Time for bed. Breakfast starts at 7AM. Good because I have 18-20 miles ahead tomorrow. I want to be on the road by 8AM. This stage is the first of five 18+ plus mile stages in a row. We are starting the home stretch.

I started at 9:45AM and ended at 2:30PM. Definitely short but filled with satisfying moments.

I am continually amazed how churches built over 500 years or more ago have weathered the physical environment and cultural earthquakes that surrounded them such as the religious wars and the French Revolution. But they stand from a small village (Montréal-du-Gers) to the Cathedral in Eauze.

The first half of the walk took me on a tour of vineyards and farmlands. The vineyards produce the grapes for Armagnac, of course. I walked through hectares of what appeared to be lush vines. However, upon closer inspection, many of the vines had shriveled grapes or none at all. I have already mentioned that southern France suffered unseasonably high temperatures and no rain during the summer. Even old vines with deep roots can’t draw water from what looked like dry hardened soil. It will be interesting to read about the 2026 harvest and its impact on Armagnac production,

Interspersed among the vineyards were vegetable fields. The most popular crop that I could observe was kale.

It was about noon when I reached Lamothe — the approximate halfway point. A lone but popular bar, La Mille Bourne, appeared to serve all of the walkers on the Chemin. Among the customers was Serge with whom I had shared a beer two days ago. Sitting with him were the two fellows who were eating lunch at the base of the d’Artagnan sculpture in Condom. They laughed when I showed them the photo. As far as I could tell, I am part of a group of 20 hearty pilgrims who have said that St Jean Pied du Port was their final destination. Only a handful started in Le Puy and they will all end after me.

The path completely changed after Lamothe. For the final five miles, I was on a rails to trail. The path was flat and smooth and in the shade. I love this surface. The pilgrim ahead of me preferred the dirt surface next to it.

I made great time reaching central Eauze by 2:30PM. I went into the cathedral where Pope Leo celebrated mass a few days before. Eauze must be a big deal because Leo celebrated mass only in Paris, Lourdes, and Eauze. As noted before, he made an appearance at St Etienne in Cahors.

Literally around the corner from the cathedral was my Hotel Henri IV. My room was on the 2ème étage across from the tall tree to the right. Should be a quieter room than those above the outdoor dining area and the streets.

Eauze was once a major Roman town. The artifacts from excavations are housed in a museum nearby. Taking photos was prohibited. The museum did have some superb small pieces of sculptures that I would have shared with you. Before I left the hotel, Newton, part sheep dog, wanted some petting. I certainly obliged. Later, he kept nudging me to play with him. This dog needs a job.

Eauze central occupies a very small circular area. I did not see any ramparts but centre ville is clearly different from the rest of the town. Streets have limited vehicular traffic and are laid out in a warren-like way with many dead ends except for very narrow pedestrian paths that provide access to other streets.

On my tour around town, I spotted this cart of Armagnac at a restaurant in the main square. Hotel Henri IV has an excellent collection as well. I availed myself of a glass after dinner.

As the cathedral bells signaled 7PM, dinner service began at Henri IV. Pâté canard, Demi Magret de Canard with a different presentation than the Hotel Continental in Condom and a wonderful cup of ice cream with prunes soaked in Armagnac. Canard and Armagnac — the premier products of the Gascogne. Glad I am walking the miles.