Plenty of things went wrong today. The bakery in Monistrol-d’Allier was closed, due to illness. The farm snack bar in Rognac was also closed, as was the food truck after Montaure, and—crushing, for me— Chez Jérôme in Chazeaux seems to have shut down permanently. It drizzled off and on all morning, then abandoned all pretense and dumped rain through much of the afternoon. And now, after no wifi yesterday, the wifi in Les Faux is so agonizingly sluggish as to almost wish it didn’t exist.
But whatever, it’s so damn good to be here. After a quick breakfast in Rochegude—homemade yogurt, bread, cake, and jam—I flew through the downhill, sliding along the slick trail as the Allier River gradually came into focus. There’s a new gite and bar right at the entrance, with baskets of croissants sitting outside to lure in pilgrims (failing in the case of this boneheaded pilgrim who somehow still manages to violate rule #1 of pilgrimage: don’t ever pass up sure food in favor of something that might be better later on, especially when you’re an obstinate fool who won’t allow himself to backtrack later on). After crossing the Eiffel Bridge into town, I cursed the closed bakery, chatted with Robert (the shell/stick/stamp dude, who opens admirably early), and slipped briefly into the church before rolling onward.
One of the major highlights of the day followed: a fun little uphill, leading first along a trail through the woods, with glorious views back towards Monistrol, followed by the Chapelle de la Madeleine, built into the cliff face, and then emerging in Escluzels. The ascent continued, less sharply now. The sun made a brief appearance at this point and I naively thought in the moment that I’d need to shed layers soon. A lovely thought.
With most of the food options closed, I pushed on to Saugues. And surely, you must expect, I learned from my lesson in Monistrol and dutifully entered the first open bakery. Don’t underestimate, dear reader, just how many times I can make the same mistake. There’s another bakery in Saugues, just after the Gite Communal, that blew away my group with its offerings last time, so I confidently strolled the length of town in order to partake. The bakery, however, is closed on Tuesdays! That kind of day. Anyway, this time around I had no choice—I lowered my head in shame and sulkily marched back uphill, and proceeded to thoroughly enjoy my pastries from the first bakery outside the church.
After Saugues the rains came and at times they came quite hard. This was unfortunate for photos, but it actually made for thoroughly enjoyable walking. Sometimes, with the poncho comes a greater intensity of focus, like all that exists is the road at your feet, the tunnel vision accessible through the hood, and the next step. Of course, lots of pilgrims started to appear in this stretch as well, always in groups or pairs, and at one point I came across two women who were waiting for me (well, for anyone, really), because there was a large dog in the trail that made them nervous. I refrained from rolling up my sleeve to show why they shouldn’t feel comforted by my presence (the still visible tooth marks from a German Shepherd in Spain) and instead incanted the magic words: “Who’s a good dog? You’re a good dog.” Worked like a charm.
The biggest novelty today was detouring to Chanaleilles for the first time. It’s located just a bit off-route, prior to Chazeaux. The bar actually has a pretty well stocked épicerie tucked away behind the main room, and that’s a rarity in this stretch. Meanwhile, the church is distinct—a bulky Romanesque edifice right on the hilltop. Now that Chazeaux’s snack bar is closed, this detour seems much more worthwhile.
Otherwise, the reminder of the day was rain, dirt roads, and loads of trees, with a bit of pavement and footpaths (and even some sunshine) mixed in at the end.
The experience at Gite L’Oustal de Parent is wildly different from last night’s at Gite de Rochegude. Rochegude is a passion project run by people with a passion for agriculture biologique. L’Oustal is much more of a classic business, albeit one with a long family-run legacy. Conditions in Rochegude were rustic; the couch and kitchen are functional, but have seen better days. L’Oustal is polished and shiny. In Rochegude, we ate dinner around a table in the family’s house, as dogs and cats ran in and out. At l’Oustal, the dining room is formal, with each diner allotted their own private table. Conversation last night was steady and animated, and it was sustained for nearly three hours. Tonight, there’s at most a quiet hum of murmuring between the couples in the room. Last night’s meal was boundless; tonight’s was more circumscribed.
I don’t know if one of those reads as the “good” gite and the other the “bad” one or not, but I’m glad to have them on consecutive nights because, after three hours of intense socializing in French, it was actually kind of delightful to just eat in quiet. I wouldn’t want the latter to be my experience every night, but, if sterile, it was certainly relaxing!
