20th Day

20^th Day

            Bonjour!!!

            Each of us has our own Everest to climb.  Our personal journey is unimportant but if we don’t take it no one else every will.

It is Sunday, a day for heading north, free of trucks.  Thin white clouds lay in ripples on the blue sky like the sands on a beach as the wave returns to the sea.  The sun is peeking over the eastern horizon, a glimmer of the great day to come.  The best day is the day you are in!

Claude, the French photographer, warned that the route of the day would be tough using his version of the hand jive.  True to his word the ascent out of Beaumont de Lomagne was a doozy, steep and long.  Once again the lay of the land was like fingers jutting out from an unseen hand. 

Lavit de Lomagne was still waking up.  A few people were lined up at the bakery.  Fewer were attending mass in the village church.  It was 9:45 and the service was well on its way.  With the service in French I was the only one in the Church not comprehending.  I miss the old days when the service was in Latin and no one understood!

Auvillar was the Hope diamond!  Standing tall on a sheer cliff the town overlooked the river valley below.  Judging by the number of people sitting in the outdoor patios of the many restaurant, a lot of people have Auvillar on their must see list.

The lady in the Office de Tourisme was friendly and very helpful.  She helped plan the afternoon trek, indicated where different stores were in town, and most important the right way out of town. 

At first, I was going to buy a pre-made sandwich and soda from a mini-Casino but decided for the gold.  I bought bread in a bakery.  With all the choices I opted for the choice of the customer ahead of me.  From there I hurried back beneath the ancient stone archway and on the stone walkway to the village square where a scaled down farmer’s market had stalls inside an unique circular Les Halles.  The burly butcher trimed four thin slices of ham from a large hock.  The charming cheeseman trimmed a narrow wedge of Brie from a round.  A fancy farm lady offered a tomato and I was off to the park overlooking the valley.  There I was greeted by a picnic table in the shade of a large leafy tree.  I lavishly layered the brie onto the baguette and blanketted it with a slices of ham and tomato.  A taste of heaven swept into my mouth!

Three English ladies were conversing while sitting on the stone benches jutting from the stonewall.  I always wonder in these groups of tourists who is the engine and who is the caboose. 

After I had finished licking my fingers, two French men meandered over wishing to talk.  With their limited English and my nonexistent French we were able to mine pieces of information.  One was a salesman for escalators and had been to New York and Los Angeles on business.  And neither knew who Pierre Fermat was. The number of French people who have engaged me in conversation has been different this trip.  I do wish that I would learn more French.  The fact that I can survive so amiably in France for five weeks is totally due the graciousness of its people.

Passing back through the square I recognized the young man in the stall selling olives from the day before.  He waved hello, hurried over, and with the friendliest smile handed over a bag of olives.  His only word was, “Enjoy!”

Ever since seeing that WW I memorial in that ultra small village that listed many family members I have looked at the memorials in other towns.  One family had fiv names on the column.  There has never been more than a pair of brothers.

What a different voyage this has been!  After being mired by rain in Eymoutiers for eight days, the zig-zag trip has changed from the jagged hide of the lizard to the smooth skin of the snake.  Finding that campground in Eymoutiers was heaven sent.  I have not found one since that was better suited for waiting out the weather.

A wonderful road with simple undulations and curves followed the steep descent out Auvillar.  At times it followed a river, then a railroad, and finally a canal. 

For the first time on this trip I passed by two nuclear towers spewing white smoke in the blue sky.  I had actually seen the smoke from the other side of the mountain and wondered what it was.  The smoke from an ordinary fire would never be this white. There were several fishermen on the banks of the river near the reactors.  They are fishing with those long poles and I am thinking about the Homer Simpson movie with mutated fish whose pupils bulged with a million eyes.

Many of these Churches are part of the La Compostella, the walk that begins in north western Spain and ends in north eastern France.  I have seen several walkers, most carried the standard backpacks but one pulled a contraption on one wheel hooked to his waist.

Around two I chugged up a mountain to Puymirol.  The town itself was disappointing.  There was a nice Church and the view of the valley was as stunning as any Van Gogh landscape.

The road to Laroque-Timbaut morphed from the fingers of an ordinary man to those of a mythical giant.  Growing sleepy I stopped for a nap inside a large abandoned barn on the side of road.  In spite of a concrete floor and incessant traffic I dozed off for over 45 minutes.

Back on the road fully energized I made quick work of the final climbs into Laroque-Timbaut.  A taxi driver, not Robert DeNiro, gave the proper directions to Monbalen.  The tourist map had a campground in Monbalen.  Not to be found.  I did find a Church with running water and a clubhouse of a fishing club on the limit of the town.  There was nice overhang and two picnic tables in well kept grassy area.  What’s not to like at 6:30?  I would learn to survive with out electricity.

After sponging off at the spigot, I had a nice supper.  Afterwards I read and enjoyed the quiet.  The setting sun had dyed the clouds the pink shade of the blush of innocence.

I am reading a book by a Bellarmine graduate called the “Sympathizer.”  So far it has been a very good read.  The author, Vant Nguyen, has garnered several awards for the book.  And being his first novel it is largely autobiographical.

I slept like a baby!

Au revoir!!!