Improving Accommodation
It had been a joy to walk across France on Sunday, warm and dry with good views, pleasant paths and a bar at the end.
About 2am on Monday this perfection was spoiled by the arrival of hammering rain.
There is strange pleasure to be had, lying warm and snug in a small tent while the rain bounces off the fly sheet. There is an odd feeling of security and safety and falling water provides a soothing lullaby.
Ideally the rain should stop after an hour or so, the clouds should bugger off and by dawn the early sun should be drying the tent.
Ideally rarely occurs and by 7:30 it was still raining, moreover, I was awake and I needed the loo. This is not a good combination in a small tent, a quick dash to the facility and I was cold, wet and awake
Packing up in the morning is normally easy, the main things are taken out of the tent, arranged on a table or other available surface then checked and packed away in a leisurely fashion, ensuring nothing is left behind.
Packing getting everything sorted and packed while lying inside the tent, with it zipped up to keep the rain at bay can best be described as hard work.
Eventually it was done and it was off into the rain.
What followed was five hours of miserable trudging, in rain and through mud.
At first the rain was a playful, blustery drizzle with occasional wetter patches.
After an hour or so it got serious, horizontal rain, driven by a freezing wind. Half an hour of this and I was very cold, soaked and thoroughly fed up. Then blessed relief, walking past an old farm I noticed a barn door open, with no one about I slipped inside, borrowed a plastic chair from a stack in the corner and sat down to wait it out.
I sat for over half an hour in that bloody barn before the rain eased and I was able to get on.
The forecast was for the rain to pass in the afternoon and it did ease a bit, for a while, but as I reached Le Boucher St Nicolas it be an again, with a renewed fury that sent me skuttling into a bus shelter to review my options.
Le Boucher was the intended end of today’s walk, so I could sit out the rain; however I had intended to camp the night and that was very unappealing. Putting up and getting into a wet tent, in the rain is an option of a last resort. Fortunately there are other possibilities, the Stevenson Trail, like many routes is well provided by various forms of accommodation.
Normally I camp out of choice, but several steps up in terms of comfort are various grades of auberge and gites. These fall into the general category of bed and breakfast but often include an evening meal.
After a couple of attempts I was taken pity on by two very nice ladies who run the Gite La Retirade.
They had one bed left, in a mixed dormitory of eight; in fact there were five women and three blokes and the single most important rule in these circumstances, don’t look.
After a shower I went down to the main room, there were a few sofas and easy chairs and two long tables set for the evening meal.
There is generally only one set menu and this place was no exception, we had a fantastic salad for starters, a rich pork and carrot stew with rice. Pudding rounded off the meal with fresh apple and a chocolate tart.
All washed down with a much wine as you wanted, provided you were not seen to be greedy.
It was all delicious home cooking in the French hearty peasant fare tradition and tasted delicious.
One of the great delights of the twin big tables is you end up sitting next to complete strangers and talking to them.
And so to bed.
I had been worried when I’d been offered a place in a mixed dorm, not from any false modesty, but because a snore, apparently a great deal.
I needn’t have worried, if I did snore no one heard me above all the other people snoring!
A statue of Stevenson and Modestine, I think he’s wondering when it’s going to stop raining.
Tuesday continued the cold, wet and blustery weather, but it was slowly improving, the rain showers were getting shorter and the sunny spells longer which was promising, although a couple of short sharp hail showers were an unwelcome addition to the mix.
What was also promising was in improvement in my fitness and my knee showing no signs of falling off or seizing up. Consequently I made much better progress than I’d originally planned for.
I reached my planned stopping point for the day at about 11:15, which was far to early, so instead of just 14km I strolled on to 21 and the town of Pradelles, while enjoying improving weather.
Here things went rapidly down hill on reaching Pradelles, another freezing shower blew in and the camp site was closed.
Cold and wet I decided to repeat yesterday’s gite triumph so went knocking on doors. After trying 3 and finding them all full, things were getting desperate.
So I tried something I’ve never done before, I walked into the tourist information office and asked for help. Florence, the very nice lady then spent a good 15 minutes working through the accommodation listings until she found one with a vacancy.
She showed me on the map, it was miles away, far to far to walk, no problem, they would send a car!
Half an our later, time for a beer, a battered Citroen arrived, it wasn’t a 2CV but was its spiritual descendent and the driver, an old farmer looked like he’d owned one in his youth.
It was about a 20 minute drive to the auberge, this being a big step up from a gite, like a uk B&B but with an evening meal included.
The Chambres d’Hotes ‘La Grange de Pradelles, with my tent drying between showers.
The main room, the dining table was over seven feet long three wide and three inches thick, it was a single plank of wood.
My room, note the size of the ceiling beams.
The meal was as impressive as the house, four courses.
Aperitif of two sorts of herb infused white wine.
Put lentils (local delicacy) with tomatoes, sliced egg and walnuts.
Roast pork in gravy with a cheese pasta side.
Three types of local cheese.
Tart tattin.
Wine, bread etc.
All of that for the family and just four guests, me and three others.
And good conversation, my French isn’t up to much, but it’s slowly improving and they spoke slowly and added bits in English where they could.
After a great night’s sleep and the traditional, underwhelming continental breakfast the old farmer returned me to Pradelles and my journey.
And the price for all this kindness, help and luxury?
Only €75, Bargain!