Joanne's long walks: Italy to Santiago II Part 1: Via Domitia Day 23 Venterol

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!