Day two
It is a strange situation waking in the morning and knowing that there are other unknown people in your room still sleeping. It takes quite a skill in trying not to rustle too many plastic bags as you prepare for the day's hike ahead- and you guessed it we haven't mastered the skill. I am sure there is a term for the dreaded plastic bag rustlers - in French I think it is 'merde'. All seems to be forgiven from last night by our host and breakfast is laid out this morning - baguettes, jams and a huge cup of coffee. This will be the menu for breakfast I am sure for the rest of the Camino.
This morning almost started off as a complete disaster. As I mentioned we were the two people trying to get ready early and in consideration for our fellow sleepers you can't put the light on. So the night before I have organised the clothes, the small pile of pills including my zinc and garlic so that I can find them in the dark. So in my preparation to get ready and fumbling around in the dark I reach for my pills and water and in an automatic action I was about to throw them down the neck and swallow when something in my befuddled sleepy state gave me a message that I seemed to have more pills than were necessary. It was with embarrassment that I realised that I was about to consume my earrings. I hate to think of the journey of two earrings in the gut- I suspect they could create quite a bit of mischief and during my morning walk I kept think how I would have explained that to the French hospital when they asked me ' but Madame why did you swallow your earrings?'
The view outside the wide panaroma of the gite is of the cloud twirling around and trying to make its last stance before the sun rises and burns it off. I remember the joy of setting out in the morning from the last camino- invariably refreshed, excited about a new day, new discoveries, the sun is coming up so everything is bathed in a particular glow- it's fresh without being cold and certainly not hot. The dew hangs off the leaves and flowers and the birds are usually quite busy with their morning gossip. Our eyes are keen for every new activity or sight so quite a bit of time is spent with the camera actively engaged- from that small snail making its laborious way across the rough terrain, the perfect purple flowers hanging over the fence or the special sight this morning of the wind turbines poking their heads above the clouds but it appears that they are wearing white skirts.

So the journey comprises of a lot of hills that go up but surprisingly go down again- navigating a path of rough rough rubble, rocks, protruding roots - need all our concentration so as not to slip - the knees are braced for the hill and the bag is throwing itself at the back. It's not an easy motion and as soon as you stop you can feel the tremble in the legs. There are constant signs advising walkers to take the alternative route in case of heavy rain and I can understand why. Trying to navigate all the obstacles in a wet environment would be treacherous. Again and again I gave thanks to my poles - for stabilising and correcting any misplaced steps.
We had been warned that nothing is open on Sunday and Monday so it is with delight to find in a little town called St Privat d'Allier, the boulangerie and baker were both open and we were able to buy suitable produce for our picnic later in the day. We are noticing that things are well organised on this trail. There are well positioned sign posts indicating the mileage, environmental friendly toilets every now & then on the track and also picnic set ups with seating. It is at one of these table in the forest that we have one of the best picnics I have had - the freshest baguette, the most delicious cheeses and a wonderful salami with the company of a friendly little squirrel. It pays to carry your knife with you in order to enjoy such a feast.
Our accomodation tonight was a big climb up in a little village called Monistrol. When we phoned ahead I assumed it was going to be easy to get accomodation but at the moment it doesn't appear to be so. The gite we found was our second choice and we are the last two. Even when we arrive there were others being turned away. We realise that we will need to book a couple of nights ahead. The French people we spoke to were amazed too by the number of people walking as usually by this time of the year things had quietened down.
This gite tonight was a much rougher experience. It is part of an old house with four people sleeping in one room off the kitchen and 6 people sleeping up in the loft. We are in the loft and find that we are almost on the floor - it is a mattress with a wooden base. The ceiling is so low that you can't stand. The rule is that no backpacks are allowed on beds ( to prevent bedbugs) so all our bags have to be put out on the mezzanine outside. This means putting yourself into a cramped position of the body as you try to organise yourself and get your bed sheets out. I can only hope my flexibility improves after all this bending and doubling up. I wonder what cacophony of sound will be created tonight in our loft.
Meanwhile the dinner made up for the cramped sleeping arrangements. We are ushered down under the house where the hosts live and they place us at their kitchen table. What is delightful is that we are joined by the host and his wife at the table which makes us feel as if we are invited guests. The hostess makes a point of asking everyone's names and then uses them throughout the meal. They serve us delightful lentil soup, chicken and pasta, cheese, and a berry flan. This time we are included in the conversation and different thoughts are discussed.
We have been fortunate that three French people travelling together have taken us under their wing and have helped organising accomodation for the next few nights.
Obviously the 'wing it a
' approach is not going to work!