WHEN WALKING

Home to Santiago – Day 20

Châtellerault to Dissay: 25km

In a strange effort to prove my love to Châtellerault, I break the basic rule of using the cooler part of the day to get some kilometres under my belt. Instead, following the advice of the lovely young woman in the tourist office, I head over the river to visit the old industrial area famous for its long history of making the swords and guns of France. Now the site has been converted into a beautiful modern museum and cultural trail ‘La Manu’. I feel it should be twinned with Woolwich Arsenal. Maybe it already is.

The visit is facilitated by another young tourist office employee, based on the site, who offers to look after my rucksack while I go up the old chimney viewing towers, follow the cultural trail and visit the museum. I had only planned a 15-minute detour, but I am desperate for everyone at the Châtellerault tourist office to see I love their town.

So, having climbed the towers for my beautiful view, and completed the cultural trail in full, I do another unheard-of thing, and pay for (a very reasonably priced) ticket to enter the Exposition in the Grand Atelier Museum.

And what I thought would be another 15-minute whizz around, barely worth the five euros I paid, instead completely absorbs me, watching the history of bicycles, cars, and motorcycles develop side by side as I walk through that part of the museum. It is odd how tied up their developmemt once was.

I have a rather grumpy tendency to see modern cars as, aesthetically, a form of litter strewn across every road, spoiling my view. But seeing these few cars built with craftsmanship, I realise one or two of these would only add to the picture. Then I get tied up in all sorts of mental knots about consumerism, affordability, craftsmanship and exclusivity, so decide to just enjoy the exhibits and take a thousand photographs. Below are two slideshows: ALL the four-wheeled exhibits, followed by ALL the two-wheelers.

It seems that around 1950 there was a bit of a sweet spot where the cars are elegantly designed, at the same time as becoming more widely available (cue more mental agonies about whether or not this was a good thing). But this soon passes, and the museum exhibits slowly bring me back to the modern era.

I have to drag myself away when I get to the arsenal part of the museum or I’ll melt before I get to Dissay.

Crossing the bridge back from the Manu, I look for fish way down below. The waters of the rivers here are so clear, and every time I cross a bridge I keep an eye out, but no luck until now. But maybe the fish know there’s a no-fishing sign at either end of the bridge here, and hang around in this little sanctuary, because I see a giant splash, and looking down, fish bigger than my head, are milling around by the reeds.

I try to take a picture, but a close-up on a mobile phone through the water by the reeds isn’t the best image. Even so, I’ve caught a fish.

As I’m walking further out of town, I see a large group of fire vehicles and fire personnel shooting a massive arc of water out over the River Vienne. I don’t want to ask them what they’re doing, as they seem to be busy in the middle of some large operation. But I stop and look at the extraordinary effect the jets of water in the bright sunshine are creating. I decide to myself, this is the reason. They’ve had a hard time recently. They’ve been told to take a morning off and make rainbows.

It continues to be a lovely day, just wandering along, dipping in and out of shady patches. Just enough shade when you need it. And it’s hot, but not unbearable.

Apparently this is the Roman road out of town. Not completely straight, but near enough, so hard to get lost. And I’m very happy to come across the remains of a Roman theatre en route.

There’s a figure on the path behind me, and I’m not quite sure who it is. I think it might be Belgian Marie, but I don’t stop, because it could just be any walker, and they’re quite a way off. But they catch up with me soon enough.

And it’s not Marie, but it is another Belgian, but this one doesn’t want to speak French. She’s quite definite about that. She’s a flemish speaker from Ghent, and she’d rather speak English. And so, for the last two hours of the walk, I have company in the form of Annemie. Annemie, to rhyme with bon ami. I say I’ll remember it this way. She says it also sounds a bit like “enemy”, but that seems inappropriate.

This is her last day walking, from Tours. She’s a wonderfully fast-walking, chatty mother of three, who’s decided to take a holiday just for herself, although her 16-year-old son calls up as he’s got in trouble at summer camp, and she’s using her husband’s dodgy rucksack, because she gave her daughter her good one for her school trip.

During the walk, I’ve been telling her about shandy, and I’m proud to be able to teach her the word panaché. So when we get into Dissay, she decides to go for a later train, and we have a lovely sit-down outside the Auberge de Dissay, and have a couple of shandies each.

“You’re Belgian”, I say “Maybe it’s sacrilege for you to do this to a good beer?” But she says, no, they mix Coca-Cola with beer in Belgium, and aa it’s dark it has the same name as heating fuel.

Annemie goes off to catch her train after I’ve shown her around the Halte Jacquaire (she had been walking, unaware of their existence). At the Halte, Marie from last night has just arrived. She’s dropped off Elsa at the station, who was unable to walk any further, and is going to be carrying on on her own. I don’t think this will be an issue for her.

A little later, the two guys from last night’s stop arrive, and I get to see them more than just the fleeting dawn hellos: Jean-Baptiste and Mathias.

Jean-Baptiste, or JB, as his friends in Australia decided to call him, is doing a lovely walk. He’s brought Mathias with him to visit his grandmother in Tours, near to where Mathias lives, and together they’re walking to Jean-Baptiste’s home in Bordeaux.

For the first time on the trip, everyone switches to English for me. It’s interesting. Until now I’ve had non-English who have just gone ahead with French and decided they understand enough, and I’ve had people who can speak English have agreed to my preference to practise French. But these three young people, as fluent in English as they are in their own languages, don’t consider for a second that they should speak to me in French, and switch the moment they hear my accent.

We have a nice chat while they share the melon which they picked up from a charity giveaway. And Marie hands around the ham she bought at the charcuterie round the corner, despite all of us being told by the lady of the association that we’d need to pack everything before getting to Dissay, as there was nothing there.

It actually turns out to be one of the most well-supplied villages I’ve come across. As well as having a massive castle spa restaurant hotel, it has the bar restaurant opposite, a small tabac next door, a pharmacy, the charcuterie, and a chocolatier-pâtisserie just round the corner.

There is also a pizza van on Fridays (today) which parks almost immediately outside the Halte Pèlerin. But Marie tells me they’re rude and you have to wait too long, so we shouldn’t have that.

Meanwhile, JB and Mathias have discovered a guinguette, a new word for me, a place where you can get snacks and drinks and have a lovely time. Which is exactly what they set off to do.

For these two days, this has been my little pilgrim group. I will lose them tomorrow as I’m walking a little further again to stay with the monks, but who knows if and when they’ll crop up again.