WHEN WALKING

Home to Santiago – Day 25

Melle to Brioux-sur-Boutonne: 16km

I’m worried I could get used to this shorter day business. It is quite nice, arriving in time to lounge about on your own little gite, to get your washing done in time for it to dry, to write up the day while it’s still light. Although I’ve noticed, I still go to bed at exactly the same time. I still wake up at exactly the same time. And my ability to do the super early starts I planned for hot days has yet to develop.

I’ve worked out that if I arrive before midday each day, then I don’t need to hit temperatures above 34 degrees, which I have decided is my upper limit. Today it’ll be 38 degrees by two o’clock. Tomorrow it will be hotter. So, must try harder.

I’m pleased I saw the sights of Melle yesterday, and I can walk past the Church of Saint Hilaire without guilt. It’s a shame I can’t see the old silver mines of the Frankish kings, after learning so much about them recently, especially the awful feud between the queen regents, Frédégonde and the original Brunhild. Extraordinary women, nasty stories, brutal times. But the mines aren’t open to visitors until 9 and it’s getting hot already at 8 and I have no wish to meet a horrible Frankish end.

My plans to cover ground are somewhat waylaid as I reach the first village of Saint-Romain-lès-Melle, and meet a man by the old laundry pool on the village green. He’s from the area, he’s lived here five years, but he says he’s never visited these places and he’s as much in awe of them as I am.

I go into the church, again with beautiful carvings, and this time a friendly little fellow up in the roof waving a cheery hello, before ascending, and that’s the only issue with this village, ascending to the village centre itself on the top of a small hill. In every other respect, the village is perfect. A bar attached to a shop with cold drinks, chairs out on the square, a boulangerie, everything.

I don’t succumb to the temptation to sit down for too long, but wander around the village green to fully appreciate it before carrying on, cold can of drink in hand.

The path from here is shaded, old stone wash houses everywhere, paths along streams, little bridges, tunnels of leaves. And only on the final stretch into the cutely named Brioux-sur-Boutonne am I out in the full sun for a while, and I am melting.

It’s 34 degrees as I’m arriving. An hour later than I’d planned, one o’clock, not midday, but still I’m meeting my plan to get there before the 35 degree mark has passed. I head in along the main road to save spending too much time in the heat. Sadly, this is just at the time when the free tastings for local cheeses and biscuits at the out of town warehouses have closed for lunch, probably for the best, but I am able to catch an open bar-tabac at the edge of the village for my restorative panaché.

When I arrive at Les Maisons des Arts in Brioux, I can’t believe my luck. It is a beautiful house and grounds set aside for actors’ residences, but now it would seem, all set aside for me.

Françoise, the woman in charge today, comes to find me. I’ve been looking forward to meeting her. In reply to all of my inquiries or notices that I’ll be late, she always sends a cheery, “No worries, see you later!” which has reassured me. She’s just as good in person.

She’s given me the double room and told me to treat the place as my home. She does tell me though that two men may be joining me tonight, although she doubts they’ll make it all the way from Chenay doing a double stage in the heat.

But sure enough, after I’ve showered, done the laundry, been to the shops and had my lunch, at five o’clock, Jean-Baptiste and Matthias arrive. They’ve walked here in heats of 38 degrees, poor things. They offer me the blackberries they’ve picked en route. Marie is one village behind, Jean-Charles is at the campsite. All caught up.

After a little rest, I come downstairs for my supper and chat with the boys a little. Much to my surprise, they thank me for speaking English clearly with them. I hadn’t realised I was and I do remind them that it’s them who are doing me the favor by speaking English with me. But I’m very pleased. I have learnt English as an international language, just as they have.

We talk about the eclipse. I tell them it may not be quite as dramatic as they think, as I remember the eclipse of 1999, where we barely noticed the change.

“Ah, I wasn’t alive then”, says Matthias.

At eight o’clock, as the eclipse is about to reach its height here, 98%, I believe, I go outside, and there is a strange dusky light on the square. Very few people out, but one man sitting on a bench on the far side with his special glasses on, looking at the sun.

When he sees me, he asks me if I want to have a look. And so, for the first time, I get to see the sliver of the partial eclipse, and it is beautiful. I thank him warmly and go back to the house.

An early night tonight. I have an early start planned, and I’m determined to beat the heat. To be honest, I’ve been quite enjoying the challenge.