Italy to Santiago II Part 1: Via Domitia Day 25 Châteaufort (Terres Basses) - Sisteron

Their way wound along the floor of the hollow, and round the green feet of a steep hill into another deeper and broader valley, and then over the shoulder of further hills and down their long limbs, and up their smooth sides again, up on to new hill-tops and down into new valleys.

- J.R.R Tolkein, The Fellowship of the Ring (1954)

Last night I had dinner with a nun! A rare occasion; in all the convents I have stayed in on my Long Walks, nuns and guests dine separately. And I knew that perfectly well when I arrived at the convent of Les Sœurs Contemplatives de Saint-Jean. But as the sœur hóspitaliere, Sister Marie-Sabine, discussed dining arrangements with me upon my arrival, I wanted to be sure that she was going to bring me more food for dinner, so I would know whether or not I had to ration my lunch supplies. It seemed rude to ask outright, Are you going to bring me some dinner? So I asked something like, Will we be dining together this evening? To which she replied that nuns and guests normally dine separately, each in their own chambers, and she would bring me a tray at the agreed time. 

When the time came, I was waiting in the little refectory in the guesthouse when in came Sister Marie-Sabine with a very heavily laden tray. "I thought about it, and I have decided to eat my dinner with you, so we can get to know one another!" she announced, proceeding to set the table and pour pumpkin soup out of a coffee carafe. "More convenient for carrying up the stairs!" 

Sister Marie-Sabine asked me why I decided to walk to Compostelle, and what I enjoyed about long-distance walking. I attempted to reply as best I could in my limited French, without either appearing banal or getting myself into spiritual hot water. I didn't ask her why she decided to become a nun, but I did ask about her life in the order and which other convents she had lived in, as she said she had only been in this place for a year. It turns out that Les Sœurs Contemplatives de Saint-Jean are, as the name suggests, a contemplative order: they spend their mornings in prayer and contemplation, reading the Bible, then dedicate the afternoon to manual labour. This includes not only tending to their vegetable plot and lavender plants but making handcrafts which they sell in their small shop: jewellery and rosaries, wooden knick-knacks, essential oils and soaps of lavender, and delicious jams - which are also provided to guests staying at the convent. The sisters have several guest rooms available to pilgrims and to people wishing to spend a few days in silence and contemplation in this beautiful place. At the moment there is a young woman in a room down the hall from mine - one of those I met at the monastery yesterday. There are normally five nuns, but in October they take turns going on holiday to visit their families - I never thought about nuns taking holidays too - so at the moment Sister Colette and Sister Marie-Sabine are the only ones here. 

The Sœurs Contemplatives de Saint-Jean have three small congregations in France, one in Chicago, one in Lithuania and one in Cameroon - so that they can cover the whole world with their prayers, Marie-Sabine told me. (Though they seem to have neglected Asia...) 

We chatted pleasantly over the Tarte Provençale and chèvre until a bell rang out. Sister Marie-Sabine hurriedly finished off her dessert and went to join Sister Colette in the chapel. It was Thursday: the Adoration of the Eucharist. I washed up the dishes and then went to join the two nuns and two other women in the chapel. 

Five women sitting or kneeling in prayer and meditation; silence. Candlelight. The scent of incense. 

I snuck a picture but it's not very good!

I sat in silence for some time. Another person came in out of the darkness and knelt on the floor behind me, bending double in an attitude of prayer and submission similar to that of the Muslims. Out of the corner of my eye I could see only a dark, hooded figure; I couldn't tell who it was, man or a woman, only that the person was wearing a leather jacket (it creaked). Again, a timeless scene, unchanged since centuries and centuries. 

After a while I felt the call of my nice warm bed, my novel, and the cup of herbal tea I had left brewing, and retreated to my room. 

Awake early in the morning, I made myself a cup of tea and dressed, then returned to the chapel. Sister Colette sat alone, praying in silence; the nuns had told me that there were no services this week as there were only the two of them. When I exited the chapel she followed me to say goodbye and wish me well upon my way. I toasted some of the bread I had been given and spread it with butter and delicious homemade jam, then packed up my things and prepared to go. Sister Marie-Sabine was in the guesthouse kitchen; se escorted me out and told me the nuns would be praying for me and for my family. I asked them to pray for some friends in difficulty, who need their prayers more than I do. Then I set off.

I wpund my way up a rocky road to the Pas de l'Echelle, climbing slowly but surely from around six hundred metres above sea level to 1220 metres, through a leafy forest where the silence was broken only by the occasional crow squawking in protest at my passing.

Looking back, I could see the village of Châteaufort and the valley of the Durance far below. At the pass, a whole new vista opened up before me, a whole new valley, with the village of Saint-Geniez nestled in a hollow at the base of the cliff.

I began the descent toward the village. White cattle grazing at the pass stood out against the sky atop the tall cliff, revealling all the nobility of these majestic animals: the cattle of Helios on the island of Thrinacia, perhaps. 

The steeple of the church in Saint-Geniez poked up out of the hollow below me. When I got there I found that the church was locked, though the outer wooden door was open; I sat in the space between this door and the padlocked wooden grille inside, waiting for a sudden rain shower to stop. Just before the rsin began, a woman and a girl had passed by leading horses; I asked if I could borrow one to take me to Compostelle, and the woman laughed. "I don't think he would want to go that far!"

The view from the church doorway,  in the rain