It was a cold morning when I departed from Faÿ (around 25ºF), accompanied by the proprietor of the gîte « Le Refuge ». She walked me back to the GR 65 (GR is short for « Grande Randonée », which is French for long distance hiking trail, in this case the Camino de Santiago/Chemin de Saint-Jacques/Way of St. James). She told me to be careful, because there are many twists and turns to the route, including a junction with the GR 40, which leads to... well, an even more rural place than I was. She also pointed to a high ridge on the mountain, saying that that's where I would be hiking to. All I could think about was Dorothy, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man going into the Forest, dreading the "Lions, tigers and bears" that they might encounter. Following the yellow brick road seems to be a recurring thought for me.
I did end up taking a wrong turn. The route is well marked, but there are exceptions. I continued down the wrong path for about a quarter-mile, and not seeing any other waymarkings, l I knew that I had to turn around. So I retraced my steps and got back on the correct path. After about five miles on foot I came upon the hamlet of La Chier, which was about eight farmhouses. I spoke to one of the farmers, hoping he would say something to his dog that was about ready to make me his mid-morning snack. Continuing on the path I encountered some of the most beautiful scenery that I've ever seen, all the while walking along streams, ascending and descending hills, following rock paths, etc., through high country. I finally arrived at the town of Saint-Privat d'Allier. I saw a sign for a coffee shop, but I figured it to be a mirage. When you're cold and soaked, the idea of a coffee shop is as appealing as a man in the desert thinking he sees an oasis. Could there actually be a warm place open for business?! I walked in and almost broke into an alleluia chorus. I spoke to the couple who ran the bar. They spoke of the economic privation, and how a lot of the businesses are closed permanently. Business was scant while I sat sipping tea.
While I was there I began shedding all excess baggage that I possible could from my backpack. The websites about the Camino advise you to carry no more than 16 lbs. I think that I was a little over that. Every pound becomes important, as you have to carry it for so many miles. So I shed about two pounds. After I felt dry again, I headed out. I still had another 3.5 miles to make it to Monistrol d'Allier, where I would stay the night.
Those 3.5 miles seemed like 10, as I was feeling worse and worse, the day was becoming colder, the trail seemed endless, and and it began to flurry. I came upon the town of Pratclaux, which I thought was Monistrol d'Allier, but because I was too cold to stop and take out my guidebook, I assumed it wasn't. A little dachshund alerted the town to my presence. I saw a guesthouses, but closed due to season. I thought I might be lost, but I kept seeing the white and red waymarkings (which are painted on trees, rocks, whatever).
I finally made it to Monistrol d'Allier, and found the hotel « Pain de Sucre » (which means "sugar loaf" in English). It was the only thing open in this town of 213 people. The town is economically depressed, with a falling population. There is little industry and few opportunities to find work. I was warmly received at the hotel, which functioned as 1) a guesthouse for pilgrims, 2) the town's restaurant (mostly to feed the pilgrims, in-season), 3) a coffee bar in the mornings, and 4) a bar in the evenings. I was taken to my room, and very glad to be kind of warm again (as long as I stayed right next to the heater). I asked what the weather forecast was for the next day, and was told sunny. I washed my clothes in the sink, and tried to feel better.
In the morning, I felt cold coming from the window. I looked outside and saw snow coming down -- hard. The road had disappeared under the white stuff and I didn't have any cross-country skis. After breakfast, I headed out. I almost slipped and fell on the snow on the stairway, which wasn't a good sign. I stopped at the town's post office to mail home a letter to my mom (no, not my last will and testament). The postal clerk was incredulous that I was going to attempt the trail in the snow. Barely able to navigate walking uphill on the streets (and providing comic relief to the local denizens), I was soon out of the city limits and on the trail.
The departure from Monistrol d'Allier is difficult as the trail rises 400 meters (1,300 feet) pretty quickly. The trail was basically rocks and stones, and I was slipping badly. After a little progress, I looked down upon the town. I was thinking that with one bad slip, I would be back in the town. I thought, this is ridiculous, and possibly crazy. I returned to the hotel, asking for advice. I saw the manager ironing uniforms (possibly a side business to sustain the hotel during the lean, winter season). He recommended that I regroup, for a weekend or longer. Since I was feeling worse by the hour, I thought about returning home, getting well, and trying again in the spring. He told me that whatever I do, the train from the town left in five minutes (fortunately it was just down the block). That train would take me to a bigger town (Clermont-Ferrand), and then I could get a train connection back to Paris from there. Well, I made that train, then made the train to Paris by the skin of my teeth. In Paris I got to an internet café run by an Italian ("Alessandro") whom I befriended when I was in Paris previously. I found a relatively bargain flight from Paris to Washington-Dulles (non-stop, no less!) that departed the next morning. I could not believe how seamless this all was, all at the last minute. And so, on Saturday, January 22nd, barely 24 hours after being on the trail in a secluded part of France, I was winging my way back home.
P.S.: I believe that I had a bad chest cold and serious congestion while on the trail. Fortunately, I feel a lot better. Hopefully I'll be feeling perfect when I return to France and tackle the Camino again on March 15th.
