Day 3 – Back in the Aubrac

The hardest question one is asked on the Chemin isn’t “Why are you walking,” or “What will you do with your life when you return home.” No, it’s “Where did you sleep last night.” So much happens over the course of the day that when you finally pause and try to sift through the images and sounds flashing through your short-term memory, it’s hard to get a firm grip on pretty much anything.

Similarly, it’s difficult now—tired, sated, with a sunbeam on my face—to pin down the arc of the day. I had breakfast at 7am. I know that much. And then I retrieved my clothes, which my host had graciously stashed in the boiler room overnight, after persistent drizzle all afternoon thwarted any hope of drying. With a belly full of bread and butter, with liberal amounts of coffee helping it to navigate its way down the gullet, I was off and running, thrilled to find a dry—if cloudy—dawn.

It wasn’t long until I emerged in Saint-Alban-sur-Limagnole. Anybody else have a hell of a time keeping it distinct from Saint-Chely-d’Aubrac in their memory? Just me? (It took me years to finally get Lauzerte and Lectoure sorted, until I finally hooked on to the fact that Lauzerte came first geographically AND alphabetically. And, now that I think about it, I suppose it’s true for the saints as well.) Anyway, I took the scenic loop around the hospital, popped into the church, and then ventured down to the big, shiny new Spar supermarket, replacing the older, smaller one that used to be in the center. It’s right on the road out of town and quite well stocked.

Climbing out of Saint Chely, I caught up with many of the pilgrims who overnighted there, greeting a steady stream, including our very own Bob Hummel, who was at the head of the pack. I hope we’ll meet again, when I loop back in a few days.

In any case, I was surging with adrenaline, because the Aubrac was ahead of me. Rivalled only by the Célé Valley in the high-stakes battle to be my favorite part of the Chemin, I couldn’t wait to make it there in the second half of the day. That’s not to suggest the walking in the early morning was bad; on the contrary, in those cool and breezy hours I coasted merrily along the dirt roads and footpaths through the rolling hills.

Aumont-Aubrac brought my most substantial break of the day. I’ve always stayed here in the past—and consumed my weight in aligot in the process—but instead I snagged a pizza the size of a frisbee (and twice as heavy) from the bakery at the end of town (the first one was closed for holiday). I climbed the hill out of town and found a bench overlooking a small cluster of houses. Two bites in, an orange cat appeared from the bushes. I thought it wanted my pizza; instead, it just wanted to nuzzle—constantly—against my legs, my pack, my shoulders, whatever it could gain access to. Even when I offered it food, it treated the gesture like an act unworthy of it, and promptly returned to nuzzling. Eventually, I had to say goodbye.

I was eager to try out the new café in Les Quatre Chemins, replacing the old Chez Regine. Now called Aux Quatre Vents, with a gite attached, it felt much livelier than Regine’s did when I dropped by before, with a lot more food on offer. It was humming with pilgrims, with three different small groups eating together. Just down the road, I encountered a group of some 15 pilgrims, eating in a circle with a support van nearby. Pilgrims everywhere!

If you’re wondering how the pandemic has affected the Chemin, my answer is: what pandemic? Certainly, masks are expected when you go in a business or a church. But pilgrim-focused operations, like the gites I’ve stayed in and even Aux Quatre Vents, have been utterly mask-free. No pilgrim is wearing a mask outside. Pilgrims offer each other food and get in conversations with one another, indoors and out. I probably spend a grand total of three minutes with a mask on daily.

After Les Quatre Chemins, the peak Aubrac experience kicks in. Following a narrow footpath through gentle, wide open hills, with rock walls, barbed wire, and wildflowers lining the way, the pilgrim is pulled forward with little effort, consumed by the awe of the wild setting. There’s one thought process running through one’s head: “That’s the most gorgeous cow I’ve ever seen. No, that’s the most beautiful cow I’ve ever seen. Now wait a minute, that’s the…” You get my point. The cows are the stars and it’s our job to admire them accordingly.

Finally, here’s the hill I’m prepared to die on: while the GR-65 is masterfully designed, it’s single greatest mistake is not having the route go past the Cascade du Déroc, a stunning waterfall that is located just off-route after the Pont de Marchastel over the Le Bés River. The detour only adds 1.4km to the walk and it’s an exceptional visit. It’s also a pleasant walk. While paved at first, after the first km it’s all on footpaths, until the outskirts of Nasbinals. There’s a nice snack bar after the waterfall and the whole stretch after that is marked with the red and whites.

And now, I’m back in lovely Nasbinals, staying in the same place I’ve always stayed—the Gite Communal. It’s cheap, it has a very good kitchen, and it also has a fantastic dining room, where I’ve had two great dinners with past student groups. Alas, this time it’s just me typing, but the ghosts are always present.