Italy to Santiago II Part 1: Via Domitia Day 24 La Motte du Caire - Châteaufort (Terres Basses)

If you've ever done any walking on the GR long-distance walking trails of France, you may, like me, have wondered whether "GR" doesn't actually stand for "Go Round". I can just imagine the good people of the Fédération Française de la Randonnée Pédestre sitting down round a table at their annual meeting, getting out a map of France, and plotting out the longest possible route from A to B. 

This morning's walk from La Motte du Caire to Nibles would have taken me climbing 250 metres up into the hills, only to come back down and rejoin the road in the bottom of the valley. When I came out of the village of La Motte du Caire and saw a road sign indicating 8 kilometres to Nibles, and a GR trail marker indicating 12 kilometres to Nibles, I had no hesitations about choosing the road! In order to minimise highway walking, I had decided to leave the town along a small road through the apple orchards to Le Plan. Le Plan sounded like a nice flat place, and it quickly became My Plan; from there I would follow highway D951 the rest of the way into Nibles, where I hoped to find some nibbles (to carry on with the place-name puns... my apologies to my Italian followers if the puns don't work in translation!) 

When I came to the little road to Le Plan, I saw that it was signposted as a hiking route, albeit a secondary one, with yellow waymarkers; this reinforced my conviction that I had made the right decision. 

What the Grande Randonnée people wanted me to do, vs. what I actually did!

I have mostly been faithful to the Grande Randonnée route of the GR 653D on this walk, leaving it only a few times to take a shortcut along a road for the final few kilometres into a town (and often by mistake, not intentionally). So I didn't feel too bad about staying down in the valley this morning. In fact, I felt rather smug, walking my flat, easy path through the orchards to Le Plan while gazing up at the hilltops high above, where I would have been had I followed the GR!

There would have been one advantage to walking on the hilltops, however; at least they were in the sunshine. The valley was entirely in the shade, and there was frost on the grass. My fingertips were too cold to activate my phone, but the route was straightforward so I put it away in my waist pack, tucked my hiking poles under my arm and shoved my hands deep into my jacket pockets. 

When the sun finally shone through a gap in the hills to the east, the frost on the grass sparkled; it was like walking across a field of diamonds! It is moments like this that I walk for.

At Le Plan my little road fizzled out, and there was no alternative to walking four kilometres along the D951. But D-roads in France are small, local highways, which are usually all right for walking; this one had a broad grassy verge most of the way, and even a roadside picnic spot with tables and a drinking fountain! It narrowed in a couple of places, as in a bend in the river, where however signs warning of roadworks and a lowered speed limit ensured that no-one would come tearing around the corner at full speed. There was no work actually taking place, but the warning signs worked in my favour. I was wearing the bright orange high-vis vest I had been given at the Abbaye de Boscodon - I figured I might as well use it, having carried it all this way, over all those mountains!

There turned out to be no nibbles in Nibles, though the locals had come up with a pun of their own, that only works in French 😁

I sat in the sunshine in front of the little church thawing out, until I felt quite hot and decided to go on my way. 

My idea had been to follow this road for 25 kilometres, all the way to Sisteron, thus getting a day ahead of my original plan. But Sylvie of the Amis de Saint-Jacques discouraged me, saying there would be more traffic further down the road and it would be a pity not to take the scenic route, and not to stop and visit the nuns in Châteaufort. She went ahead and contacted the nuns on my behalf, so that was that! Two easy days of walking to Sisteron, rather than one long and boring day walking 25 kilometres along the highway.

I had seen sheep, and sheepdogs, across the valley from my stopping-place in Nibles, but I wasn't too worried as sheep and their sheepdogs are normally kept in enclosed fields in France, unlike Italy, where you are sometimes liable to find them right on the path. These enclosures may appear flimsy, but they are electrified, making them an efficient barrier for animals of all kinds. As I walked across the fields, following the official GR route again now, I saw a man laying out new fencing across the pasture. While simultaneously training his dogs, apparently; he kept shouting commands at them. I called out Bonjour! and waved, but both man and dogs ignored me. 

There's a man under that roll of electric fencing

I made my way uphill to Châteaufort, where I left the GR once again to follow the winding road up to the convent of Les Sœurs Contemplatives de Saint-Jean. The day turned out to be a splendid one, and the views back toward Châteaufort were amazing. 

I had been told that before reaching the nuns, I would come across the monks, so when I saw a little church beside the road I knew I had come to the monastery of the Frères de Saint-Jean. Hearing chanting inside the chapel, I opened the heavy wooden door, went in and took a seat at the back. Two elderly monks, hidden from view in the transept, were chanting the rosary; two women wrapped in woollen shawls joined in. The door opened and in came a nun, bearing a large wooden staff; she genuflected, sat down and joined in the prayers. I could have been transported back to the Middle Ages! I closed my eyes and listened to the rhythmic chanting; when I opened them again, a bearded and robed figure was leaning over me, smiling and holding out a large hand, which he placed on my shoulder. It was one of the monks. "Are you just passing through?" he asked me in a whisper, over the prayers. "I am walking the Chemin de Compostelle," I whispered back. "I am going to stay with the nuns today." The monk nodded and disappeared through a door marked "Frères seulement". 

When the prayers were over and we were back outside in the sunshine, the women who had made up the little congregation all flocked round and asked if I was going to Compostelle. We chatted and had a photo taken together before I continued on up the road. The nun (Soeur Colette) offered me a lift, but I told her I would walk as it was such a beautiful day and the convent was not far away. 

Sister Colette and another woman from the congregation passed me in a four-wheel drive on the rocky road up to the convent. I waved and carried on up the road, passing below yet another fascinating rock formation (I do wish I had my geologist friends with me!). 

Following the nun's instructions (and my GPS track), I turned onto a smaller dirt track and then cut through the nuns' vegetable plot and lavender garden towards the convent. The sœur hóspitaliere greeted me by name through the window and came out to meet me and show me to my room in the guesthouse beside the chapel. She showed me all the rooms and facilities I could use and, since it was lunch time, offered to bring me some things to add to the meal I was planning to make. I boiled the last of my lentils with some rice I found in a cupboard in the refectory, and fried a couple of eggs to put on top; I made a salad with lettuce, tomato and cooked green beans the nun had brought me, along with fresh bread, a basket of fruit, yogurt and pudding. Then I made myself a cup of tea and walked up the hill to sit in a sunny lavender patch a little way above the convent writing up this account, as there is no phone signal or Internet reception in the convent itself.

La Motte du Caire - Châteaufort (Terres Basses) 14 km

 

Italy to Santiago II Part 1: Via Domitia Day 23 Venterol - La Motte du Caire

Surprise! Laissez-vous aller vers l'Inconnu

- on the menu board at Ecogîte l'Asphodele 

It was hard to leave my cosy room at L'Asphodele, which after two nights had started to feel like home 😅. But the sun was shining and as I walked up the hill past the little church  and out of the village into the trees, I felt happy to be back on the road! 

A forest track took me up into the misty realms of the mountains; four and a half kilometres into the woods, it became a footpath through the trees. I continued to climb, from the village at about 1000 metres up to the Col des Marmets and then the Col du Buissonnet at 1380 metres. 

As I neared the top I realised it was not merely foggy but raining, and stopped under a tree to put my poncho on. I was already wearing my waterproof over-trousers, so I didn't have to worry about damp vegetation; but I hadn't thought to put on my waterproof socks before leaving in the morning, and now they were at the very bottom of my backpack! The waterproofing treatment I had applied to my boots was no match for the damp trail, wet grass and leaves, mist and rain, and I could soon feel that my feet were wet. 

Next came the bit that Christophe had warned me about: a steep descent over wet and crumbly shale. He had said it wouldn't be dangerous if I went slowly and made good use of my walking poles to brace myself, and he was right. I proceeded slowly and carefully, avoiding the slippery rocks in the central part of the trail and walking on the soil and grass at the sides. I was particularly worried about an area identified on the map as Ravin du Mort, but that too turned out to be feasible. The path followed the edge of the ravine, on crumbly rock, but it was wide and at least a metre away from the edge; if I had slipped and fallen I would have ended up on my bottom - but not at the bottom of the ravine! And the point where the trail crossed over to the other side of the ravine was broad and flat. It then hugged the edge of the ravine on the other side, and there were one or two narrow spots, but fine as long as you didn't look down 😅. This is not a trail for those who suffer from a fear of heights!

On the edge of the "Ravine of Death"!

Soon the cultivated floor of the valley came into view, and I realised there was not much further to go to the flat road at the bottom, which I reached after walking a total of ten and a half kilometres.  Someone had incongruously placed a plastic patio chair in the field where the trail met the road, facing the view of the cliffs; I sat down for a moment to admire the view - with waterproof trousers you needn't worry about sitting on wet surfaces! Just after I got up and turned to go, I heard a noise and turned around: a small rockslide was making its way down the cliff face. 

Walking along the quiet road at the bottom of the valley seemed so easy after the slippery, rocky path. The road continued downhill but at a low gradient, making walking effortless even with a big backpack on. On either side of the road rose tall black cliffs with amazing geological formations - I wished I had my hosts from Châteauroux-les-Alpes with me, Marion and Thomas, as they are both geologists and could have provided a running commentary! 

I soon arrived in the village of Faucon le Caire and found the perfect spot to stop for lunch - and a change of socks. In the square in front of the Mairie is a covered picnic table with benches and a fountain nearby; the little chapel at the bottom of the square was open, with music playing inside and a plaque inviting pilgrims to ring the bell in celebration as they passed. Which of course I did! I poked around inside the church to see if there was a pilgrim stamp for my credential, but there wasn't. I sometimes worry that if anyone sees me poking around in the dark corners of churches, peeking under shelves and into drawers and cabinets, they might think that, with my muddy trousers and heavy backpack, I'm a vagrant looking for a collection box to pinch! 😂

But there was no-one in the church, and not many people in the village; a man passed by on the way home from his vegetable plot, carrying two small leeks (or large green onions) to out in the soup, and wished me bon appétit as I munched on my three-day-old baguette and cheese. Another rather chubby fellow unloaded a sack of potatoes from a van and carried it into a house. Another man walked to his car and drove away without even saying bonjour; there seemed to be no women in the village - or maybe they were all at home, getting lunch ready. 

After sitting at the sunny end of the picnic table for a while, drying off myself and my things, I packed up and went on my way. Faucon le Caire was at an elevation of 880 metres; the road continued to descend, gently but steadily, passing through a dramatic gap in the rocks where there is a Via Ferrata called Le Grande Fistoire. There was no-one climbing it on this damp October day, and the visitor centre was closed. 

At the base of these dramatic black cliffs were rows and rows of apple trees. The GR trail left the paved road to follow a dirt track through the orchards, where a sign said PILGRIMS AND HIKERS, PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH THE FRUIT, but I found a perfect apple lying on the ground that they surely wouldn't have been able to sell and took it away to eat later (it was delicious!). 

The trail passed through the village of Le Caire, where there are a couple of bed and breakfast type places that looked really nice (though a bit fancy for pilgrims); I would have stopped there had Jacques had not been able to host me in La Motte du Caire, another four kilometres down the road. It was a bit early to stop walking yet, just after lunch time.

After leaving Le Caire, the GR route went right into the apple orchards, in some of which the harvest was under way. At one point I forded a stream and came out into an orchard,  where the trail seemed to disappear, and there were a lot of dogs barking. I asked directions of a young woman who was washing lunch dishes in an outdoor sink beside a small prefabricated construction. I understood her slow, simple French perfectly - then she apologised for her French and told me she was Spanish. That's all right, I replied, I'm Italian - giving her the simplified version, without thinking; I didn't offer to speak Spanish as that would really have messed up my brain cells 😅! She told me the way to go into town and assured me that the dogs were all fenced in. When I passed by them they all started yapping at the same time. They all looked the same - perhaps the owner of the orchards breeds dogs on the side. 

When the path came out onto the road and then swung back into the orchards again, I declined to swing with it but walked down the road for the last kilometre into La Motte du Caire. I had told my host that I would be there around four, but it was only 3:15; there was supposed to be a bar in the town, so I carried on through the village to see if it was open for a beer. It was, and they had Affligem Blanche on tap! Best beer I have ever tasted. Except for all the other end-of-stage beers on Long Walks, which were equally as good! 😂 🍺

I wandered back through the deserted streets and crooked houses of La Motte du Caire to Le Clos du Verger, my bed and breakfast. I rang the bell and Jacques came out to meet me; I could instantly tell he was a great guy. As I mentioned yesterday, he'd had a full house with visiting family members, but after saying so he called me right back and said he had found me a room with friends. But today he said all his visitors had gone, and he had made up one of the guest rooms for me, but the price would still be the same. Pilgrims normally stay at the Maison d'Hôtes, which has cheaper rooms and dormitories but is currently closed for the season; Le Clos de Verger is the more stylish and upmarket place to stay in the town. But Jacques didn't want to leave a poor pilgrim in the street, or hungry - so I get this beautiful room in a lovely historic house at a special rate, and Jacques says his wife will make dinner for me, too!

My room

The view

Now that's what I call a key!

Venterol - La Motte du Caire 20 km