WHEN WALKING

Home to Santiago – Day 11

Saint-Loup to Bonneval: 20 km

It is forecast to reach 38°C today. And how do you walk in that? You don’t.

As negotiated the night before, to ensure an early start, I’m up at six for breakfast at 6.30 and, for once, I’m actually on time. Breakfast is in the garden, and Flo and Frédéric join me.

Breakfast over, I meet the donkey, the goat and the chickens as Flo goes to feed them. There’s something about people who take in pilgrims. To them we’re just another stray animal that needs looking after for a while.

After getting my credential stamped with a beautiful stamp of Flo and Frédéric have designed, with my little chalet integrated into a conch shell, I leave, accompanied by Frédéric and Pepsi, who will be walking with me for the first two kilometres.

Frédéric is a quiet man, but full of information. He shows me the small stained-glass window of Saint-Jacques in the local church, he tells me about the maize crops, he points out the various features of the landscape. He has a lifetime’s knowledge of the place.

As we’re walking, I realise Frédéric’s eyes must be extraordinary. He keeps pointing out tiny dots in the distance and telling me they’re little goats. I still can’t see them, even after he points them out. He also tells me he can see a pilgrim in the distance. I can see no one, but the van driver parked by the road confirms it when Frédéric asks him.

I’m slightly worried that people in these parts have such good eyesight. I happily imagine I can’t be seen when up to middle-of-nowhere pilgrim things.

Further confirmation that I’m not alone comes as I continue walking and get a message from my host for the evening saying she can accommodate me, but I’ll be sharing with another pilgrim, Denis. Today’s name, tomorrow’s person.

The rest of the walk after Frédéric leaves is a case of chasing the shade, as by 8 it’s getting hot already. It’s not a very shaded route for the most part, so every time I see a small copse I head for it, take off my bag, have a drink and a rest. Walking through villages, I stick close to walls, even if the shade is only a few inches out into the road. When the roads pass between the maize fields, I take full advantage of the crop-watering systems, letting them shower me as I walk past.

It’s half past twelve when I reach Bonneval. I’ve read that it is a pretty town, but I’m still pleased to arrive through a proper medieval gate into a bustling square dominated by a huge church which, miraculously, is open and cool.

I go to the local shop and buy an Orangina. As soon as I’ve finished it, I go back in and buy another. I tell the girl I’ll be back.

And at 1 o’clock I get a message from Eva Maria telling me I can arrive whenever I like and that she’s made a salad for us to share. I walk through the door to her home and into the courtyard she’s transformed into a oasis. There are plants everywhere, in pots, climbing the trellises, and a little covered seating area in the corner where we sit outside together and eat.

She’s given over part of her house to pilgrims: a little bathroom, a twin room to share, and use of the kitchen downstairs. Her artist studio is next door, these are her two worlds and they must remain separate.

To my great surprise, in the bathroom she even points out bottles of his-and-hers perfume that we’re welcome to use. I’ve never worn perfume, but after a shower I decide it would be rather nice to smell of something other than the road.

Leaving Eva Maria happily sitting in the courtyard with her feet in a bucket of cold water, I head back into town to sit at a bar and write. Even under the canopies it is hot, but not unpleasant. A bowl of mandarin and coconut ice cream and two slowly sipped beers, see me through the afternoon.

In the evening I return and finally meet Denis, a Frenchman who’s also walking from home, although his home is in the Paris. He offers to speak English, but kindly agrees to let me attempt to converse in my version of French. I aim to remember my grammar by Biarritz.

The room is stiflingly hot. But heat of the day has been survived.