WHEN WALKING

Home to Santiago – Day 38

Pissos to Labouheyre: 17km

We leave our little holiday chalet and set off very leisurely. It is short stage tempo. The path will take us in one straight line to Labouheyre with almost nothing in between to distract us, . I fall behind to look at the church and the supermarket, as usual.

Later, I catch up and find Chantal and Gérard chatting to someone on a bench. “Ulrike,” I say excitedly, anticipating the German pilgrim I’ve been told I’ll be sharing the house with this evening.

“No,” she says. “I’m Annabelle.”

“She’s walking back!” Chantal tells me excitedly. And this is exciting, especially as she’s doing her Camino section by section, but each section both ways. So, for this section, she had started in Bordeaux and walked to Burgos, and then had been trapped on the other side of the Landes, waiting for the fire alert to go down. I cannot help but admire the fact that she did this. No going home to wait. She understands the importance of pointless self-imposed rules.

Walking through the woods, damp after the latest shower, I notice the colours of the forest, the bracken and the leaves, are exactly the colours of the enamels of my celebratory ring from Moustey. I look down at my hand to admire the symbolic purchase. Only the band remains.

As I carry on, moving from woodland paths to the one long final road into Labouheyre, all I can think about, between putting my raincoat on and taking it off, is what I’m going to do for two hours before I can get into today’s lodgings. Apparently there’s a famous village square, with trees of historical importance planted in it. So I decide I shall spend two hours sitting beneath them, preferably in a café.

And a little later, here I am now, having totally outdone myself, on the terrace of the restaurant Le Brémontier, ordering my three-course menu.

I was pretty lucky with the rain. On entering Labouheyre, the church of Saint-Jacques was very handily placed for one small shower, and then, having got into town two hours ahead of sign-in time, I came straight to the covered terrace of the restaurant and sat down the very moment that the heavens opened.

I quickly send a message to Chantal to see how they are, and she tells me they are sheltering under a chestnut tree. I am glad they are okay. I am even more glad that I recognise the word for chestnut tree, and I settle down to order the most French things I can find on the menu.

The first course is something I have never heard of from the Landes, which is described as similar to rillettes. This is an excellent choice, something I don’t understand, compared to something I only half understand. For the main course, duck confit with haricot beans and extra chips, because, as the waiter says, why not? Finally, some fromage blanc and a coulis, because that’s even French in English.

However, the greatest triumph is ordering a Monaco from the drinks menu. I’ve noticed it before, lurking under the panaché, and look it up. Panaché with grenadine – it is the business.

As I finish my coffee, I find it is precisely three o’clock. The sun has come out again, and I make my way to sign in, where I meet Chantal and Gérard in the little courtyard. They’re taken off by Jacques. I’m taken off by Jacqueline to my beautiful little house, which I will be sharing with the much-anticipated Ulrike, although I am starting to doubt her existence.

Because it’s a house run by pilgrims, it’s got everything you need, which is mainly a cold drink in the fridge, washing powder for your hand washing, and an excellent length of washing line. A comfy bed is a bonus.

When Ulrike finally arrives, I let her settle in before joining her in the kitchen. She is also walking from home, her home being north of Hamburg. Her route from here is the same as mine all the way to Santiago. I wonder if we’ll meet again after my week by the sea.

I offer her one of the horrible zero-alcohol fruit beers I bought from the highly recommended local épicerie. She’s very polite, so I go out for a short evening stroll to give her a chance to pour it away without me seeing.

And now the bells are ringing, I have cotton sheets on the bed, and a borrowed TinTin book waiting on the bedside table.