Golinhac to Conques

Rudolph (from Belgium) and I were worried about the weather, but somehow the sun managed to overcome the clouds on Monday (28 March).

After breakfast we headed for the holy city of Conques.

Conques is known as a holy city because it has long been the site of pilgrimages in France. The church itself has hosted many a pilgrim in its walls, and is the site of the remains of Saint Foye herself.

Getting there we were buoyed by the hope of passing though some towns that had bakeries or grocery stores, so that we could buy some provisions.

Unfortunately, our hopes were dashed in the first town, as it was a Monday, and the vast majority of bakeries are closed in small towns on that day (I'm learning all this stuff). Undaunted, our next stop was a town with a grocery store. We arrived at 1:10 in the afternoon, only to see that the grocery had closed at 1 o'clock, and didn't reopen until 4.

Monday was a lot of bad timing. We did find a café that was heated and open, where we bought some cheese and a Coca-Cola, and ate the bread that we had saved from several days previous.

Back on the route we imagined with great anticipation what Conques was going to be like when we finally arrived. We heard a voice from the trees call to us -- no it wasn't an angel -- it was a German man in a house overlooking the trail. He spoke no French, but when he discovered that I was American he burst into English. He asked whether I was "Joseph, the American priest who walks very slowly." Talk about getting a reputation and having it spread! I had never met this man ("Reine"), yet he knew about me. The Camino is indeed a small world.

We passed through the village of St. Marcel, with a parish church bearing the same name. It was a gorgeous jewel-box of a church, with magnificent Stations of the Cross and statues. You could just tell that so much faith had gone into making that place what it is today.

Finally we began the long descent into Conques (and I mean long!). Descending is hard on the knee joints, as they are working to break a fall. It's akin to a trucker driving down a long descent with his breaks on or the truck in first gear. It took about 45 minutes just to descend to where the town was, but we couldn't see it until the last moment due to the heavy overgrowth of flora and fauna.

Then, finally, there it was!


It was indeed beautiful, but I was surprised at how few people were there. Less than 300 live in the village.

The church couldn't hold but a few hundred, but it was built to lift the eyes and hearts of the pilgrims to heaven. The ceilings are very high, as is the case in true gothic churches.

We checked in at the Norbertine Fathers' guest house, and then toured the church. It was quite a site being there.

Here's the famous "Last Judgement" front portal of the church.



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Estaing to Golinhac

Sunday morning started out pleasantly enough. I celebrated Mass for the community at 7:45, then we had morning prayer, followed by breakfast.

On the trail, Rudolph and I found the going easy... until the rain arrived. Rain is almost the worst thing that can happen. We would spend the next five hours drenched, cold and tired as we made our way to Golinhac, some 10 miles down the road.

I found the name of our destination very coincidental. For if I had had children, I always wanted to name my first-born "Golinhac" (son) or "Golinhaque" (daughter).

Yes, I'm kidding!

I say this frequently, but will add it again: 10 miles doesn't sound like a lot of distance, until you think about the uphills and downhills, and the winding roads in the mountains.

We arrived at Golinhac in the late afternoon, soaked. Golinhac is a little hamlet that is trying to be a resort village. There were numerous lodging options, but we feared that they may all be closed until summer. The town looked deserted with everything closed. We were soaked to the bone and tired, and wondering what we were going to do. There were signs that said to go to the local restaurant, but that too was closed.

We decided to tale refuge in the parish church (always a good idea), which was unheated, but at least had a sturdy roof.

We waited and waited, hoping that someone would come. I felt that this was a test in trusting God. Would He deliver or not? Of course it's easy to say "yes" in hindsight, but when you're soaked and sitting in a cold church...

Finally around 5:45 we heard a car drive up. The owner of the restaurant seemingly owned everything in town, as the place came to life. We were lodged in... Well, there's no name for it in English, but at least it was warm.

Our lodging included dinner at the restaurant, and it was heavenly. The soup was followed by a vegetable course of beans and salad. Then came the pièce de résistance: mashed potatoes and roasted chicken. It was really superb.

Then it was off to dreamland, knowing that the next day would be a real treat: visiting the holy city of Conques.

Espalion to Estaing

As mentioned in the previous blog, Rudolph (from Belgium) stayed in the same gîte (hostel) in Espalion. On Saturday morning he "coerced" me to go to a pastry shop before starting out on the route. The doctor told me to leave for the Camino later in the morning to avoid getting cold morning air in my lungs, and I was milking that excuse to the max. We also bought some fruit, so I guess it was okay that I gobbled down two pastries..

While eating the pastries (and fruit!), we got into a heavy conversation about economics. We saw this wonderfully aged lady running the fruit stand next door, who probably works 10 hours a day, six days per week. Now I wouldn't want those hours, but it seems that everybody loves that she works there, as she knows everyone by name. It's a great place to go because of her. Nowadays, people want the big salary but not all the hard work, hours, and years of dedication that it takes to get there. We prefer immediate results.

The route started off well enough, just following along the banks of the river Lot. Soon enough the signs pointed a turn to the left:


I love these wayside signs and devotionals. It gives such spiritual warmth to the route. If you look very closely at the photo above (or enlarge it), you can see the white and red horizontal bars that is the official route marking of the Camino de Santiago in France.

We passed by the 12th C. romanesque church of St. Peter in Bessuéjouls



The the climbing started. It was some difficult ascents that Rudolph and I had to master, but we relied on each others' courage to get it done.

Soon we were having lunch outside some rural church. He shared his bread with me, I shared a blister pad with him.

Then it was on to our destination of Estaing. Of course before you arrive in almost any city on the Camino there seems to be a difficult ascent into the mountains followed by a tricky descent. Estaing was no different.

However the view of the approach made the sweaty toil worth it. Estaing is a medieval city with lots of beautiful nooks and crannies.


We checked into our gîte, which was run by a Christian community, dedicated to helping pilgrims on the route to Compostella. We had a very warm welcome.

We had a delicious, simple meal that night (soup followed by lentils with carrots and sausage). Then the community invited us to pray in front of the Blessed Sacrament. What a great moment!

Saint-Côme to Espalion

For this blog, please don't look on the map. Because if you saw what miserable progress I made today (on another beautiful, sunny day mind you), you would laugh.

I wanted to see a doctor for my cough and chest congestion. Sr. Marie Robert at the convent arranged an appointment in the next town along the route: Espalion. Sister assured me that I could stay for the 11:30 Mass at the convent and have plenty of time to hike to my 1:30 appointment, as it would be "an easy walk along the route -- barely an hour," she told me.

I concelebrated with Père Marcel, the eighty-something chaplain of the convent. The Mass was attended by the active and retired members of the community and a few local lay folks. It was an honor to be in the company of so many women who had faithfully served God for so many years.

Following the Mass of the Annunciation, Sr. Marie Robert gave me a little "goodie bag," which contained an orange, an apple, three slices of bread, two wedges of cheese, and a big blob of something sweet.

So I left at 12:15 on this "easy walk along the route," towards the doctor's office in Espalion.

At first the route followed the River Lot, and since I knew that the Lot flowed to Espalion, I thought that I would just be walking along the river banks. Wrong! Soon the trail had me once again ascending into the hills overlooking the town and surrounding countryside. I ascended and ascended and ascended. I just didn't understand the logic of the Camino's route. But making a 1,000 mile walking pilgrimage isn't necessarily logical!

This brings to a point. The Camino in France follows a path that has been taken by pilgrims for roughly 1,000 years. You would think that the medieval pilgrims (hungry, tired, cold, and their feet poorly clad), would have found the quickest, easiest, and most direct route between point A and point B.

Now I know that if you are walking alongside a river the mileage can add up as it twists and turns. But ascending so far in the hills to eventually descend to Espalion, some 4.3 miles away just defies logic.

Perhaps the motivation was to give the pilgrims of yore a beautiful, scenic presentation of the country; to inspire them along the route; to show them the handiwork of God. And if that's the case, they did well. I would have to really study a topographic map to understand all of this. But then again, maybe God just wants me to stop thinking so much and just joyfully admire his creation?

Coming into Espalion I was overwhelmed with the view. The Camino enters the town through a large city park. On this warm spring day people were sitting on benches, riding bikes, painting, and some men were even playing pétanque (bocce ball) on a soft gravel surface. I would have joined in, except for the doctor's appointment.

As you approach the town's center, the architecture changes from modern to older to medieval. The "Old Bridge" (which is being renovated) crosses the River Lot, and has beautiful houses right on the river. The foundations of the homes are in the water. That might mean a wet basement, but darn it's beautiful! Oh to live in one of these treasures, which have been decorated so beautifully. I would love to watch the world go by from my porch-perch in a house on the river on a nice summer night.



It took me 2.5 hours to make this simple jaunt, basically because of the ascents. I was way late for the appointment, but the good doctor saw me anyway.

He said I had what's going around: a chest cold, and gave me some prescriptions.

I had no idea where to stay, but I saw a sign for a gîte right down the block. I was the first one in and got the bed next to the heater. Later, Rudolph a pilgrim from Brussels arrived. Getting there early also assures a lower bunk bed. The upper bunk would not be my thing!

Since the gîte didn't offer a meal, I went to a local restaurant, which offered a specially-priced pilgrim's menu. It was outstanding! Three delicious courses, including a piece of fish that just melted in your mouth, and a dessert that somehow combined pineapple, bananas and chocolate. What a taste sensation!

Saint-Chély to Saint-Côme d'Olt

Today was an all-day endurance test, as there were killer ascents and descents. I will be overjoyed when I leave the Massif Central behind next week, because it takes no prisoners.

Upon leaving Saint-Chély, the ascent was formidable. But after 45 minutes of this, I arrived at a splendid plateau, with a gorgeous view.


The level plateau made walking very comfortable. It was a dirt path, with no rocks. When I say rocks I don't mean gravel -- I mean boulders of 6 inches to 3 feet. After that I entered a forest with the optimal track for a hiker: a dirt path with no ruts, and leaves covering the dirt to make it even softer. It was wonderful.

Several miles in while I was taking a break and getting refueled with a piece of quiche, a German pilgrim passed me. He was from near Munich in Bavaria, and this was his second tour on the Camino. Wow.

But since every day has its challenges, this day would be no different. The path seemingly wanted to test the pilgrims by having them go up and down like a yo-yo. There was a killer descent just to cross a small stream. That was followed by a killer climb. To calm myself I turned on iTunes. Just as I reached the top of the hill, Blood, Sweat & Tears' "Spinning Wheel" came on. That song could be the theme of this first week, what with the words, "What goes up, must come down." Again, I believe this was God trying to keep me in good humor.

While the stage was only 9 miles, it was a very tough 9 miles.

I finally arrived at the "Couvent de Malet," a convent on the outskirts of St. Côme (St. Cosmas). This magnificent piece of architecture was begun in the 13th century.



I don't know if it was because I'm a priest, but I got a private room with a bed with real sheets. No sleeping in a sleeping bag tonight! I took this as part of the glory of the Lord. If we don't see His glory in the little things, how will we find it in the bigger?

A few comments on the shower. Now I could write a book about bathrooms (in fact I wanted to write a coffee-table book about small half-baths), but the bath attached to my room deserves special mention. By the look of the fixtures it has been recently renovated.

The shower functions normally enough, but there's no enclosure for the shower in the bathroom. Therefore all the water from the shower goes all over the room, even getting the toilet paper wet.

Since the floor is made of linoleum, it is extremely slick. It's like taking a shower on an ice rink. A squeegee is provided to get all the water to the central drain, but this whole process could be avoided with an enclosed shower and a curtain or shower door.

I should made a disclosure that I'm not a fan of linoleum.

I was told at check-in that I would be having supper with the community. That was the real treat of the day. Sister Marie Robert came and brought me to the dining room at 7 o'clock. It turns out that there are only three sisters remaining in this Ursuline convent (the Ursulines were founded by St. Angela Merici), and only 15 remaining in the whole community.

So it was just sister and I for a delicious, home cooked regional meal.

Over dinner we lamented the lack of vocations among the young. It is so sad, because generations of young Catholics are growing up without knowing what joy a religious sister brings, or how great the fraternity of the priesthood can be.

Nasbinals to Saint-Chély d'Aubrac

The gîte at Nasbinals lacked warnth -- literally! Since I was the first to arrive, I got the best bed: the one next to the heater. I shudder (or is it shiver?) to think what those who were twenty-five feet from the heater would have done on a cold night.

Leaving Nasbinals wasn't too bad. I went to the ATM and soon I was in the country, passing farm after farm.

The path was mostly ruts in the farmland. Along the way I was praying the Luminous Mysteries (Wednesday) of the Rosary. As soon as I started the first mystery (the Baptism of Jesus), I felt my foot go into some muddy water. What a great sense of humor our God has!

This day I would ascend to the highest altitude on the Camino in the Massif Central of France: 4,288 feet. But the ascents were fortunately gradual.

I saw the first sure signs of spring: many crocuses about to explode, and butterflies flying everywhere. What great reminders God gives that it won't be cold forever.

Butterflies have traditionally been a symbol of the Resurrection of Christ. Sometimes we celebrate Easter in March and sometimes in April (because Easter depends on the placement of Passover, since the Jews based their calendar on a lunar cycle). This year Easter will be April 24th, the latest it has been in decades.

Arriving in Saint-Chély-d'Olt was a real privilege, because the gîte was so joy-filled. Another pilgrim (Reynaud) was already there. Most gîtes allow the pilgrims to do their laundry in the bathroom. This one actually did it for you via washer and dryer. What a difference! Such a little thing made me so happy.

I tried to nap, but just ended up coughing the whole time (I've been fighting this for a few days now).

Dinner was quite the affair. The husband put on the apron and made like the best French chef around. In addition to a delicious soup, he made us pilgrims a "Canard au gratin" (duck in a potatoes au gratin mixture) that was to die for. In fact, Reynaud and I both burned our tongues, because we were so impatient to taste the next bite. It was impressive.

You could tell that the owners of the gîte (a husband and wife team) did this as a ministry to the lucky pilgrims who stopped there. I don't know what the other hostels were serving that night, but no one ate better than us.

Please pray that this cough will depart from me. I think it's a remnant from the "House in the Wilderness."


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Aumont-Aubrac to Nasbinals

After a day off to recuperate because of sore feet, I set off from Aumont-Aubrac on Tuesday (March 23) bound for Nasbinals, some 16.5 miles distant. After a half mile on the road I realized that I had fogotren my walking sticks, so I had to return and start over.

Daniel from Lyon had left the previous day on schedule. Considering his fast gait, there was scant chance that I would run into him again.

A twenty-something, also from Lyon, was at the same hostel. He was meeting his girlfriend, who was coming down from Paris, at the Aumont-Aunrac train station at 12:45 pm. Then they would walk the Camino together.

Since we were all bound for Nasbinals, I got a little worried. Given that I had a 4.5 hour head start, if they were to catch up with me, I would really be embarrassed. I know that's pride talking, but…

Well, I tried to keep it in high gear all day, to avoid the unthinkable happening. The terrain was a mix of everything: field and farm and mountain. Around lunchtime I was really getting excited about the upcoming hamlet of Quatre Chemins, because it boasted the "Rosalie's Café", with made-to-order sandwiches. I swear I thought I smelled the ham and cheese a quarter mile away.

Well, it was not meant to be. The Café had burned a long while before. The only thing I could see in the interior was a live duck. So much for lunch.

I kept it going, making sure that I didn't get lapped or run out of water. The Camelback running low is worse than the oil light coming on on your car's dashboard. In fact, I wish that Camelback could place a water meter on their products, so one would know how much they had left.

I stopped at someone's house and got the water filled, as most of the taps along the route are still turned off due to the winter freeze.

I soon came through the hamlet of Finieyrols, birthplace of Louis Dalle (1922-1982). During WWII, he was forced to go to the Buchenwald Concentration Camp, where he almost died.

Following the war he became a priest of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary -- the same order that St. Damien of Molokai belonged. He was sent to Peru as a missionary, and stayed there the rest of his life, working with the native peoples and eventually becoming a bishop of a rural area.

After a long day, and not getting lapped, I presumed that the next town would be my destination. I miscalculated. The next town was Montgros, not Nasbinals. I still had 2 miles to walk -- a seeming eternity when your body is tired and sore.

I eventually "crawled" into Nasbinals, with my pride somewhat intact, though I kept looking over my shoulder for the couple. I arrived at the gîte and got checked in.

This gîte didn't offer a meal, so I had to go grocery shopping. Radiator pasta w/ Parmesan cheese always does in a pinch, and so it happened.

By the way, the couple arrived only 90 minutes after I did. I just kept my arrival time to myself and went to sleep.


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Le Sauvage to Aumont-Aubrac

Leaving the "House in the Wilderness" on the morning of the 20th was surreal -- but would you expect it to be any other way? It was below freezing when Daniel and I left the guesthouse. The skies were gray and foreboding. The wind was howling and blowing the frost off the grass and trees into our faces. This was seemingly scripted in Hollywood. Did the Ingalls Family on "Little House on the Prairie" ever have an episode like this?

We had decided to try and make it to Aumont-Aubrac, some 16.8 miles away. No other gîtes were open to take us before that town. At first we made good time, as the paths were well laid-out and there weren't too many ascents or descents. The farther we got from "The Wilderness", the more the sun came out.

Daniel is a quicker walker, so he went on ahead. I am slower, and lagged behind. St.-Alban sur Limagnole was the halfway point, so I stopped for a sandwich (only the bigger towns have any type of stores, restaurants, hotels, etc). I had to stop at a boulangerie (bread shop) for the bread and a boucherie (butcher shop) for the ham.

Leaving St.-Alban was difficult, as the Camino route markers were poorly displayed. I got lost once or twice. Then came the ascents and descents. Some of them seemed to last forever. The descents are often worse than the ascents, because the path is often a dry bed of rocks. It would be so easy to sprain an ankle or break a leg.

The day wore on and I was going from field to farm to forest, all the while running out of energy. About 3 miles from Aumomt-Aubrac I ran into a dirt-bike rally that just happened to be using the Camino as their raceway. So every three or four minutes I was sprayed with dirt.

I finally arrived at the gîte (named "Flowered Paths"), and saw Daniel. He had arrived two hours previously. I was lucky to be upright.

Dinner by the hosts was in the gîte's dining room. We started with some delicious aperitifs from the Aubrac region, continued with a carrot and mushroom soup, then were topped off w/ cheese mash potatoes, a meat stew, and salad. Yum!

While I could barely move my feet, at least my mouth was working properly!


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The ¨House in the Wilderness¨

Okay, okay... you have already heard me speak that the Camino de Santiago has a lot desolate, remote areas.  You can walk for miles without seeing a soul.  Well, amidst all of this desolation, there is actually a locale called ¨The Wilderness,¨ and that was the goal for Saturday, March 19th.

It was a 12-mile hike, with only minor ascents and descents.  Compared to the day before, this was seemingly a piece of cake.  Just like Gilligan's Island, it seemed easy enough (a ¨... three-hour tour...¨).

We should have known better as we were heading to a gîte called ¨House in the Wilderness.¨  That would make the ordinary person think twice.

Daniel and I left Saugues early and were walking at a good clip.  We had to fend off a few wild dogs, but that's an almost daily occurence on the Camino.  The terrain wasn't too bad (mostly rolling hills), but then the rains came... and came.  I was wondering if I could build a small ark just using my leatherman.  It rained almost the entire time, with temperatures in the low-40s.  Even with rain jackets we both eventually got cold and wet.  Couple this with a heavy backpack and there was more than a fair amount of misery.


On a long trip, all of us have heard children say, ¨How much farther?¨  Well, that was me on Saturday.

About a mile before our destination, the freezing rain began pelting against my face.  I thought, this is a heckuva way to spend my 50th birthday!

The name of the area lived up to its reputation.  The principal structure was a 13th century chateau.  One could hear the wind howling all around.  It was like "Little House on the Prairie" except the place was made of stone, and there was no Ingalls family present to welcome us.

Since the ¨House in the Wilderness¨ is the only thing open for miles around, it gets its share of hikers.  I imagine that during the summer the place is packed (and it can hold 40).  The only two guests there that night were Daniel and myself.

No meal is offered, so you have to cook.  But of course there is no grocery store around.  Therefore, all the food has to be purchased from the Madame.  It's like having a company store.  There was a washing machine available, but guess what?  You have to buy the detergent from her.  You get the idea: she has the corner on the market.  If I were a wealthy man I would open up a gîte right next to hers, just to give some competition!

But she was nice enough and the place was warm.  Daniel and I did our laundry, using every available radiator to dry our clothes (and wool socks just don't dry quickly!).

It was certainly a memorable stay... and I will never forget how I spent my 50th birthday!

Saint-Privat d'Allier to Saugues

On Friday (March 18th), I departed St;-Privat d'Allier and set out for Saugues.  I knew that this would be a tough stage as it was where I quit in January.  Retracing my steps was interesting.  I ran into Daniel (from Lyon) along the way, right before entering the town of  Monistrol d'Allier, and that was a Godsend.  Why?  Because the ascent from Monistrol d'Allier is among the toughest in the whole French part of the Camino.  One ascends 1,420 feet in only 2.5 miles.  Having a fellow hiker along is a real plus.

The ascent was a bear, and precisely at the point that I quit for the first time (January)  I wanted to quit again!  Daniel and I encouraged each other greatly.  You climb and climb and climb... and then you climb some more.  We were so high that I was certain that heaven was only a few hundred feet away!  Progress was slow, and it took two hours to make 2.5 miles.  We were both bathed in sweat the entire climb even though it was only 45° outside.  We were also drinking a lot of water, draining our camelbacks (a modern canteen).

The guide book (¨Miam Miam Dodo¨) to the Camino de Santiago is full of maps, withicons pointing out water taps.  Much to our chagrin, a lot of these taps are shut off during the winter, especially at high altitudes.  Carrying water is a balancing act, because each quart adds 2.2 pounds to your backpack.  So you depend on these taps/fountains.  Well, with the difficult climb we both ran dry.  Fortunately we came into a village (15 houses) and asked a lady for some of her water.  Water never tasted so good!

We eventually made it to Saugues -- only about 8 miles, but a hard-fought stage.  At Saugues we checked into our gîte, which was a rather sterile place (no meal offered).  So we had to go shopping.  We prepared a small feast and then went right to sleep (there's nothing like sleeping with a warm stomach).

Le Puy-en-Velay to St.-Privat d'Allier

I concelebrated the 7 o'clock Mass at the cathedral in Le Puy. Every day following this Mass they bless the pilgrims starting their journeys. There were six of us, all eager to get underway. One young man ("Florian") had already walked 1,000 km from his native Austria. That was impressive.

Getting out of Le Puy is no small feat (pardon the pun!). You have to keep going up hills until eventually you get to a muddy path, that you follow for a long time. The trail is very well marked with two stripes (red and white), every 200 or so yards.

After 3 miles I stopped in someone's home to get some hot tea (there was a sign on the house). Of course there was this growling dog whom the owners described as "very gentle." Within seconds I barely avoided having my thumb bit off (I felt his tooth on my thumb).

I had decided to make Saint-Privat d'Allier by the end of the day. I didn't anticipate getting lost. I took a wrong turn (on a variant, so the markings were the same) -- I must have been walking backwards or something -- and was heading north instead of west. After 1.5 miles I saw a man walking in the opposite direction and asked him how far the town of Romourouscle was. He told me that I was on the wrong road. This was, no doubt, an angel sent by God. So I had to retrace my steps and get back on the path. This cost me 3 miles of energy and a full hour of time, but meeting an angel is worth it!

I remembered much of the route from my previous foray in January. The only things different were the lack of snow and the temperatures being about 15 degrees warmer.

As the day progressed, I still was a ways from Saint-Privat. In fact, it was getting dark and I was running out of energy. I didn't even take a lunch break (which in France can be lengthy!). I just kept on going and eventually made my goal.

Arriving at the gîte (hostel) at almost sunset, I was warmly received by the husband and wife proprietors. He got me settled in in the dormitory, where there was a wood-burning stove which made me want to stay there forever.

In the dormitory, I was surprised to see two of the pilgrims from the morning Mass there ("Florian" from Austria and "Daniel" from Lyon, France).

Dinner was at their dining room table, with the three pilgrims, the host couple and their son. The meal was comprised of a red-bean salad, spaghetti with meat sauce, cheeses, fruit, and wine. The couple told us that they met on the Camino, and they weren't even doing the pilgrimage for spiritual reasons! Wow -- God works in every way!

I hope every overnight is this warm and joyful.



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Salut de Paris !

Salut de Paris !

I arrived in Paris this morning, and am now sitting in an absolute hovel of a coffee bar outside the Gare de Lyon (a train station connecting Paris with central and southwest France). I don't know what's worse -- the missing tiles in the floor or the condition of the toilets downstairs. This place has seen better days (perhaps before WWII), but they offer free WI-Fi, and the workers are very kind, so I'm inside drinking a cappuccino. In 2.5 hours, my train departs for Le Puy-en-Velay, a starting point for the Camino de Santiago.

There's an energy/vitality in Paris that you have to be present to experience. It really puts a smile on your face (or maybe I'm just so jet-lagged that I'm losing it ?).

And contrary to what so many say, the vast majority of Parisians are really nice!

Anyway dear reader, the adventure is about to begin again. Pray for me!


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Living in the Wrong Time Zone

As you know, the sun has been setting later and later since the third week of December. Today there is almost 11.5 hours of sunlight, and it's growing every day.

As a novice hiker, this is great, as the more sunlight, the more time to hike, and the more time the sun has to warm the earth (I might not be saying that come summer!).

In my travels I have noticed how late the sun sets in some European countries, compared to the USA. When the days are at their longest, the sun will set around 8:45 pm on the east coast of the USA. But in France it won't set until 9:45.

I've asked people to help me understand this. Many explanations have been offered, from the notion that France is so far north that it gets sunlight from the sun peeking over the Arctic Circle, to the idea that the earth has a different rotation towards the sun in Europe. One person even took out a globe and flashlight to try and explain it to me.

I am grateful for these explanations, but none of them answered my question. I do understand the rotation of the earth, and the fact that the northern hemisphere will start to get more sunlight than the southern hemisphere starting in spring. But no one and no thing have ever properly explained why the sun sets later in France.

I lived in Rome as a seminarian, and the time of sunsets corresponded to those on the east coast of the USA. So why does France have the privilege of additional sunlight? Maybe God knew that French grapes needed more sunlight to produce a superior vintage?

Well, the answer finally came to me yesterday. I was on a bus from Georgetown to Falls Church and it was getting dark outside. So I looked up time zones on my iPhone browser. When I looked up European time zones I found my answer. Quite simply, France is in the wrong time zone. So is Spain, The Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, Monaco and Andorra (just so you know that I'm not picking on France). These countries have chosen to join Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Austria, etc., in what is called the "Central European Time Zone.". Now Germany, Italy, Switzerland and Austria are geographically in the correct time zone, because they are to the east of the other countries. But France, Spain, The Netherlands, et al., should be on Western European Time, which would require them to turn their clocks back one hour. Then life would be grand!

It's like living in Western Indiana but residing in a county on Eastern Time. You really are pretty far west and probably should be on Central Time, but the authorities keep you on Eastern time. So you have later sunsets (not as late as France, mind you), but still later than if you lived in Raleigh, N.C. or Washington, D.C.

I hope all of this makes sense. I'm just glad the mystery has been solved!



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