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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

July 10, 2025 – Here’s one more episode-post on my trip to England last May. (From the 7th to the 21st.) The Notes below have links to past posts on the trip, but meanwhile…

In less than four weeks I’ll fly back to London, and from there on to hike the Canterbury Trail. So I need to finish these “on May” posts before flying over for a second English venture.

In the last episode my companion and I ended up at Marlin Apartments, 9 Byng Street, in the Canary Wharf part of London. This was after our first (one) night in London – recovering from jet lag – then one night in Liverpool, and then two nights in Stratford-on-Avon. (The last two featured reservation “cock-ups,” explained and defined in past posts.) But from Monday, May 12 on, “I knew where I’d be laying my weary head for the next nine nights in a row.”

Briefly, here’s what followed. (A cheat-sheet of highlights.)

Tuesday, May 13, a day trip to Oxford and the Ashmolean Museum. Wednesday, May 14, a day trip to Canterbury, to see where I’ll end my hike in August. Thursday, May 15, a day trip to Hampton Court. Friday, May 16, a day trip to Bath. On Saturday, May 17 – our 8-day Britrail Pass having expired – we used Oyster cards to get over to London’s National Gallery. Sunday, May 18, we went to a service at St Paul’s Cathedral. Monday, May 19, later in the afternoon I hiked down along the Thames to a foot tunnel across from Greenwich, then crossed over – actually under – and had a beer at the Gipsy Moth pub. (A definite highlight.) Tuesday, May 20, I visited the British Museum while my friend visited the nearby Victoria and Albert Museum.

And on Wednesday, May 21, we flew back home to Atlanta. Now for more detail:

Tuesday, May 13. Oxford is roughly an hour train ride from London’s Paddington Station. It’s home to “the oldest university in the English-speaking world.” One thing I didn’t know: “There is a long history of brewing in Oxford. Several of the colleges had private breweries… In the 16th century brewing and malting appear to have been the most popular trades in the city.” But we focused on the Ashmolean Museum, Britain’s first public museum. (It started in 1678 as a place to house Elias Ashmole‘s “Cabinet of Curiosities.”) Of interest to me was the massive art collection, including drawings by Michelangelo, Raphael and da Vinci; paintings by Picasso, Cezanne, Titian, John Singer Sargent; and watercolors and paintings by J.M.W. Turner.

(I got tired just remembering trying to digest all those exhibits.)

On Wednesday May 14, we took a day trip to Canterbury. I noted, “Today I’m slowly working the way to Canterbury Cathedral, partly for penance? But mostly to see where we’ll end up at the end of August, after hiking all those miles.” On the way we stopped for lunch at The Old Weaver’ Restaurant, a quirky old-timey place four that “serves up hearty and flavorful British pub fare, with pies and fish and chips frequently highlighted.” (And a four-minute walk from the Cathedral.) From there we passed a statue of Geoffrey Chaucer – of Canterbury Tales fame – then walked the last block or so down Mercery Lane. That’s the same lane I’ll walk at the end of August, after hiking the estimated 133.8 miles or so from Winchester. (Depending on the source. I’ll give my updated estimate in September.)

The Cathedral itself was huge, and well worth the visit, but probably boring to the reader. (Besides, I’ll give an update with more detail when I get home at the end of August.) On the way back to the train station we stopped at Bakers and Baristas, 23 High Street, a coffee shop a mere three minutes from the Cathedral. (We needed time to recuperate from gawking.)

Thursday, May 15. For starters, we had to take “Britrail to Hampton Court. Meaning getting up at the crack o’ dawn, because if you don’t get there early the place is ‘filled with [bleep]ing tourists!'” (We got up early and to Hampton Court early, but the place was still full of tourists, bleeping or otherwise.) It was chock-full, mostly with of large groups of students, mostly well-behaved, and all on “outings” like the kind Mary Poppins mentioned in the 1964 movie. For contrast there was one two-year-old who threw a long, loud and continuous hissy fit. She was brought to the place by Grandma and Grandpa, apparently to give mommy a break, “but really? A dark dank spooky castle-like edifice filled with strangers? No wonder she wailed!”

But other than that the place was a fun visit.

For starters, lunch in the cafe included a local brew. (Or so I thought at the time. It was actually a Meantime Greenwich Lager, ostensibly brewed in Greenwich, 18 miles away as the crow flies.) But it was “crisp and refreshing,” and went well with a split lunch of some kind of veggie pie, with a great Cole slaw mixture and assorted roasted more-veggies, all topped with gravy.

Some other highlights? The place itself was huge; in Henry’s day “200 cooks worked slavishly from sunup to sundown to feed 800 guests when Henry’s entourage was staying at the palace.” And there’s a picture of me standing in front of the huge fire in the huge kitchen, to feed those hundreds of servants. “The lady behind me is the Keeper of the Flame.”

And speaking of the good old days, how they disposed of “refuse.”

Lots of people: Lots of poo at Hampton Court. All human waste was gathered in a cesspool. Some lucky men had the fantastic job of using this chain pump to empty the pool when it was full. Insert one end in cesspool. Raise other end to highr ground. Connect higher end to pipe leading to river. Insert crank to turn the chain. The paddles will now carry the poo to the pipe. Let gravity do the rest!

All that was explained by a big chart on the wall, right next to the jury-rigged slooshy-looking chain pump that carried “waste” from the cesspool to the nearby Thames River. (Upstream from London, but still…) Which is why the English in those days drank beer instead of water!

Later that day we got back home for some well-deserved recuperation time. Duly recuperated, I hiked the near-four-mile round trip, down from Byng Street to the Gipsy Moth Pub, across the river in Greenwich. Or in my case under the river, by way of the Greenwich foot tunnel.

Sometimes on the way down I could hike along the Thames Path, a footpath that I just learned – writing this – is 185 miles long. (It starts at the river’s source in the Cotswalds.) But often the pleasant riverside path was blocked by big-ass waterfront condos. (Like the big-ass waterfront condos back in the States that block so much beach access.) When that happened I had to shunt over to Westferry Road. In due course I got to the tunnel entrance and started over.

Or under, more accurately. That was quite an experience. Good acoustics, meaning you could hear screaming little kids pretty much the whole way. And practice “limberness” dodging the frequent bicyclists, all while remembering to “look left,” the way they say in the UK. (Not “look right,” like back home in the States.) But other than that it was an enjoyable hike.

By the time I got across it was late and I had to get back for dinner. (And one of those G&T‘s in a can from Westferry Food & Wine, a three-minute walk from our apartment.) I took some pictures, including the famed Cutty Sark, “a premier exhibit at Greenwich.” Also of the Gipsy Moth Pub. I wrote longingly later that day at the apartment, “in a day or two I’ll hike back down, and under the Thames, with enough time to have a beer.” Which is a story for next time…

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I took the upper-image photo during our visit. See also Henry VIII, Terrible Tudor? | Hampton Court Palace, which included the following: “Henry’s religious policies met with opposition in the wider country, which he ruthlessly crushed.” “In 1539, the Act of Proclamations gave full legal authority to all his commands. Discriminatory laws were also passed … which had terrible consequences for many innocent people persecuted over the next two hundred years. Henry had become a tyrant.”

Re: Links to past posts on the trip. Starting last March, Next up – Hiking the Canterbury Trail, then A mid-May “Recon,” On “London, Liverpool and Stratford,” A return, to “London, Liverpool and Stratford,” and From Stratford-on-Avon to Byng Street in London.

Re: Old Weaver’s. See Home | The Weavers Restaurant, The Old Weavers House, Canterbury – Exploring GB, and THE OLD WEAVERS RESTAURANT, Canterbury – Tripadvisor.

Re: “Hiking 130 miles.” Wikipedia says the Canterbury-Trail hike is 119 miles. My brother Tom’s estimate is 133.8 miles, which includes getting to some of the hard-to-find lodging along the trail.

Re’ “Outings.” See He’s never taken us on an outing. – Mary Poppins (1964), Mary Poppins (film) – Wikipedia, and Punting on the Thames, including “When you’re with Mary Poppins, suddenly you’re in places you’ve never dreamed of,” and “And quick as you can say Bob’s your uncle, the most unusual things begin to happen.” Note that aside from the noun, there is a quite different verb definition.

Re: Hampton Court. Aside from Wikipedia, see 10 Fascinating Facts About Hampton Court Palace.

Re: Greenwich Lager. See Meantime Brewery – Wikipedia, and Meantime Greenwich Lager 24X 330ml Bottles: “East Anglian malt and Kentish hops combine for a crisp, refreshing lager that’s full of flavour. A modern classic, straight from London’s back garden.”

Re: Beer instead of water. Medieval English People Drank Beer Instead of Water – Scimyst supports the theory, while Did Medieval People Drink Beer Instead of Water? – HowStuffWorks. See also How Beer Became The Drink Of The English Poor | ShunBeer for some more fascinating reading.

Re: Thames footpath. See Thames Path – National Trails, Thames Path – Wikipedia, and Ultimate Guide to Hiking the Thames Path. As noted, there are sections of the Path in that part of London, between 9 Byng Street and the Gipsy Moth, but frequently you have to shunt over to Westferry Road, then back. Google Maps says it’s a 1.8 mile hike straight down Westferry, but that doesn’t account for the “shuntings.” (Note, the noun “shunt” has a different meaning than the verb form.)

The lower image is courtesy of Gipsy Moth Pub Greenwich – Image Results. See also The Gipsy Moth Pub & Restaurant in London, Greater London.

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 73-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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July 6, 2025 – To catch you up, last May a companion and I visited England, from the 7th to the 21st. See links in the Notes for the trip’s purpose and progress, but meanwhile: Less than five weeks from now I’ll be flying back to London. There I’ll meet up with my two “Camino” hiking partners, brother Tom and his wife Carol. After a couple days getting settled in, we’ll take the train to Winchester. Two days after that we’ll start the long hike on the Pilgrims’ Way, from there to Canterbury Cathedral. All of which means I need to finish writing posts about the May visit – that Mid-May “Recon” – before beginning the next adventure in England.

In the last episode “we” got as far as the White Swan Hotel in Stratford-on-Avon, late Saturday night, May 10. (This was after leaving an updated “Much Ado About Nothing” at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre – “Waterside” – at 11:00 that night, then heading north – on Waterside – into the alien darkness – “not knowing where we’d lay our weary heads.”)

But things worked out, and the White Swan was a real treat. That continued into Sunday morning, before we headed to the 10:00 service at Shakespeare’s Church – Holy Trinity. (“Stratford-on-Avon’s oldest building,” on the banks of the Avon, and one of England’s most visited churches.) In the Swan’s breakfast nook I shared some food porn with folks back home. (Using two terms not often seen in one sentence; food porn and English Breakfast.) The Swan’s nook offered a multitude of items, including the classic “baked beans on toast.” I forewent that option and instead chose the French toast topped with fruit and some kind of yogurt. My conclusion? “Delish!” (Another word not often used in connection with “English breakfast.”)

After that we walked the 25 minutes or so to the 10:00 Holy Trinity service. (The post London, Liverpool and Stratford had a picture of me with the church in the background.) After that we stopped for lunch at Barnabys fish and chips, 22 Waterside, then “we” picked up some fudge at a street festival. (I certainly didn’t need it.) Then back to the Swan and a change of clothes.

In more casual dress we met friend Jane at the Shakespeare’s Birthplace museum about 2 pm. The visit included some old-timey-dressed performers doing bits from Shakespeare plays that involved some crowd participation. (Luckily I didn’t get volunteered.) We then followed Jane to her new flat down the street. (The afternoon before – before the hotel reservation “cock up” – we stopped by the two-story flat she was moving from.) Then headed back to the hotel.

Later that afternoon I took a walk. First, east on Bridge Street over the Avon River, then a bit more east down Banbury Road, then backtracked to the riverside park. (“The Recreation Ground,” including the Stratford-on-Avon Bandstand.) From there down the riverside footpath to the Lucy’s Mill footbridge, back across the Avon. From there I followed the footpath up past Holy Trinity – from the other end – and on back up to the White Swan.

My appetite restored, we had dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. A great shared meal including roast chicken, roasted root vegetables and gravy, and Yorkshire pudding. (Which I thought was a dessert, but no. “Not sweet, a savory crispy bread.”) There’s more detail in the Notes about this “no it’s not really a dessert even though the name makes it sound that way!” (Which illustrates the joy of discovery on your travels.) The hotel staff also showed us some things about the White Swan that had been uncovered during one of many renovations.

That included a framed readout of the hotel’s history, dating back to 1450. The readout included that after his 1582 marriage to Anne Hathaway, Shakespeare and Anne “would have drunk many a drink in the newly decorated tavern.” Another find? An ancient Bible in French open to the Book of Tobit. Yet another, a wall painting uncovered in a more recent renovation, this one in 1927. Research showed that the painting was commissioned by William Perrot, and could be dated “around 1560,” because Perrot and nearly all his family died “in the great plague in 1564.” The painting itself depicted the story of Tobias and the Angel, said to be a subject “doubly appropriate for a tavern of the day.” (Which I didn’t know.)

Next morning, Monday, May 12, we took the train from Stratford back to London, with a stop off at Winchester. (Where I’ll start my Pilgrims’ Way hike.) The goal was Winchester Cathedral, where the August hike will officially start. But first, we stopped for lunch at The Royal Oak Pub, the “oldest bar in England,” from at least 1002 A.D. (According to the chalkboard.) We checked out the Cathedral – and it was awesome – then headed back to the Oak. The Royal Oak that is, after an hour or two touring the Winchester Cathedral. (Lots of stuff to see.) This time I saw that “the Oak” had Estrella, a Spanish beer, on draft. (A brew I first learned to love on the original Camino Frances – French Way – from Pamplona, in 2017.) And by the way, I’ll have more pictures and commentary of Winchester in September, when I get back from the hike.

Finally, way later in the afternoon, we got on the train to London and eventually arrived at “The Place.” The place where I’d be laying my weary head down, for nine nights in a row. At Marlin Apartments, 9 Byng Street, in the Canary Wharf area. But first, the Ordeal…

The ride on the Elizabeth line – from Waterloo Station to the Jubilee metro station – was the ordeal, or more like a nightmare. 5:00 pm, big-city London, and the cars were jam-packed, all full of hot, sweaty, tired and anxious-to-get-home bodies. We had to let two trains go by, as they were packed like the proverbial sardines – chock full of people. Eventually we saw the third train a BIT less crowded, so we got on. Still, in all the jostling I got separated from my travel partner. She ended up surrounded – and jostled – by tall thuggish teenage lads, who refused to hold on to safety rails and giggled at the resulting bumper-car mayhem. I was luckier. I was surrounded – back against the sidewall – by a bevy of lovely young lasses. (Apparently, aside from the usual rush hour business-person traffic, a local high school just got out too.)

But wait, there was more! Google Maps says it’s a mere half-mile walk from Jubilee station down to 9 Byng Street. That’s assuming you head straight south, past Oysteria seafood, cross the New South Dock Bridge from Canary Wharf to the Isle of Dogs, down Admiral’s Way to Marsh Wall, then catty-corner over to Byng Street. That’s what Google said to do, but the only problem – construction! As in construction unanticipated by Google blocking the Google-suggested way. Meaning we had to backtrack up to Bank Street, then head west and on to negotiate the Marsh Wall Roundabout, then down the A1206, also known as West Ferry Road. All while lugging our bags behind us – and my “backpack on my back” – in what turned out to be a full mile hike, through a-bit-past-5:00 London rush-hour traffic.

Meaning, by the time we turned left onto Byng Street and found the lodging, we were hot, tired, hungry and bedraggled, not to mention in no mood to go back out looking for a place to have dinner. But somehow we got checked in, unpacked a bit and admired the nearby view of the Thames, through a gap in the tall buildings. And somehow I managed to find Westferry Food & Wine, a three-minute walk south in the Tower Hamlets building. There I found a bonanza: A slew of Ashoka Ready to Eat packets, including – for that night – Ashoka Aloo Matar, generally around £1.79 a packet. (We had two that night, to mix and match.) Also a prophylactic 16-ounce beer for right-away-me, and a good selection of ready-mixed gin-and-tonics-in-a-can. (A late-nigh libation I grew quite fond of over the next nine nights.)

For the morrow we planned a day-trip-by-train Oxford and sights like the Ashmolean Museum, but that’s a story for next time. Meanwhile, enjoy the view of Marlin Apartments, Canary Wharf. We had the seventh-floor apartment that included the ship-brow-like patio-balcony at the “toppermost of the poppermost” of the picture below. I later found out that it cost an arm and a leg – at least to me – but at a split cost of $100 a night, “actually not that bad – for London!”

Plus – I knew where I’d be laying my weary head for the next nine nights in a row…

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The upper image is courtesy of Royal Oak Winchester Uk – Image Results.

Re: The Notes for “the trip’s purpose and our progress.” Starting last March, Next up – Hiking the Canterbury Trail, then A mid-May “Recon,” On “London, Liverpool and Stratford,” and A return, to “London, Liverpool and Stratford?” 

Re: “Camino hike.” My definition: Any hike where at the end of each day you can look forward to a warm bed, hot shower and a cold beer. (You don’t have to pack a tent, sleeping bag, etc.)

For more on Shakespeare’s church see Church of the Holy Trinity, Stratford-upon-Avon – Wikipedia.

Re: Yorkshire pudding. The Britannica article included this about the classic old-fashioned British Sunday lunch: roast beef (not roast chicken), “typically cooked on a spit in a fireplace:“

Below the roast was a metal tray into which the fat and beef drippings fell. When the roast was done, a batter of egg, flour, and milk was poured into the tray, rising in the manner of a soufflé and forming a satisfying crunchy crust at its base where it had come into contact with the sizzling beef fat. The resulting pudding was then cut into squares, covered with gravy, and eaten as an appetizer or, less often, served alongside the roast, since it is considered a dish that should be served at once while hot.

And now you know more than I did when I first tasted this “Surprise, it’s not a dessert!” Also, Pudding – Wikipedia says it’s a type of food which can be – but doesn’t have to be – “a dessert served after the main meal or a savoury (salty or sweet, and spicy) dish, served as part of the main meal.”

Re: Backpack on my back. An allusion to The Happy Wanderer – Lyrics – Scout Songs.

Re: “Toppermost of the Poppermost.” A phrase from the Beatles’ early days, when times were tough. To cheer up the group John Lennon would say, “Where are we going, fellers?” The other three would respond, “To the top, Johnny!” Lennon: “And where’s that, fellers?” Response: “To the toppermost of the poppermost, Johnny!” See The one line John Lennon would use to cheer up The Beatles, and The Poppermost: The Poppermost Explained – Blogger. (I used the word “fellers” from Michael Shelden’s England, the 1960s, and the Triumph of the Beatles | Plus, from Great Courses.)

The lower image is courtesy of Marlin Apartments 9 Byng Street London Images – Image Results.

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As an extra added bonus, see If you want your 70s to be the most fulfilling decade of your life say goodbye to these 10 behaviors, for use in some future post.

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May 28, 2025 – Incidentally, that title could be sung to the tune “Hartford, Hereford and Hampton.” (From My Fair Lady,* with the English Her-e-ford in three syllables, and yes, “showing my age;” 74 in July.) But all that serves as segue to the fact that I just flew back from London, “and, boy, are my arms tired.” But seriously, it’s been over three weeks since my last post.

That’s because on May 7 I flew over to London, for two weeks “dress rehearsal.” That is, to get a feel for flying back next August and hiking the 130 miles of the Pilgrims’ Way, Winchester to Canterbury. (Plus do some additional sightseeing I won’t be able to do in August, like taking that “ferry ‘cross the Mersey” in Liverpool or visiting Stratford-on-Avon.) So after the last three apocalyptic posts, it’s time to get on with some fun in life. Like going over to visit London, Liverpool and Stratford, then getting to write up a scintillating travelogue about it. (A term “supposedly a blend of travel +‎ monologue,” something I didn’t realize before writing up this post.)

Starting off, the May 7 red-eye flight to London was scheduled to leave Atlanta at 9:50 p.m., but didn’t actually take off until 45 minutes or an hour later. And this time the Delta movie options didn’t include either “My Fair Lady” or “Rocky Horror Picture Show.” (I like them both for the great music.) So I watched a bunch of “Everybody Loves Raymond” reruns.

At Heathrow airport the trip through security was amazingly smooth, possibly because of the ETIAS clearance I got months ago. Then came a ride on the Elizabeth Line (the London Tube) to the ABC Hyde Park Hotel, 121 Sussex Gardens. One of the first things I noticed was a lot of “look right” signs, painted on the pavement at London intersections. We in America are used to looking left first (mostly because we drive on the correct side of the road). But Britain is different, and I almost got my “self” run over twice before I caught on; once by a huge bus and once by a speeding bicycle which showed no sign of slowing down for unaware American touristas.

Once we settled in, my travel companion and I walked the half-mile to Kensington Gardens, with its Italian Garden, along with the Serpentine (“recreational lake”), and the 1912 statue of Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie. (Bringing up the song, “I Won’t Grow Up,” which you might say applies to a 74-year-old man who keeps flying overseas to hike 130 to 150 miles just to burn off beer calories.*) Meanwhile, for those interested in such things, for a quick lunch we split a fish-and-chips order at Sussex Fish Bar, London – Paddington, about four minutes southwest. Then later on we dined at the Mughal’s Indian Restaurant, London – Paddington, also close by our digs.

Next, as noted in the last post, after the day off in London – to recuperate from jet lag – the trip would go on to Liverpool and Stratford-on-Avon, then back to London. We got eight-day Britrail passes, so once we used that up – with the trips to Liverpool and Stratford, plus day trips out of London – we’d stay in London and travel around the city on the Tube, or by bus, using our (Visitor) Oyster cards. (Which came in very handy.) But here I run into a problem.

In Liverpool and Stratford we ran up against reservation problems. Those problems were pithily described in an English expression I remembered vaguely from long ago, but it “hit the nail on the head.” That happened in Stratford, so I’ll take that episode out of order. In the next post I’ll describe the Liverpool visit, then revisit Stratford, then go on to the rest of the story.

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We have a friend in Stratford, Jane, which is why we stopped off there. (That and the Shakespeare stuff.) She went with us to where we had a reservation, an apartment in a small gated complex right across the street from Church of the Holy Trinity, Stratford-on-Avon. (Which would have been very convenient for getting to the 10:00 service next morning.) We went through the gate, looked around for someone to check us in, but no one could be found. There followed long attempts at phone calls and texts, all to no avail, very frustrating. Time passed by, we knocked on doors, but got no answer until one young gent finally answered. He had no clue but did his best to contact someone, anyone, to get maybe a code to enter into a lock-box into whatever room where we were supposed to stay? Until finally Jane said, “What a cock-up!”

At that I couldn’t help but laugh, despite the frustration, and my wondering “where, oh where will I lay my weary head tonight?” In such situations I always opt for a beer at a local bar, which usually includes the WiFi necessary to solve today’s travel problems. So, on Jane’s recommendation we hiked up what became Waterside Lane to The Dirty Duck, a “historic pub with two names and a royal connection.” Meanwhile, Booking.com tried to find an alternate place to lay our weary heads later that night. But unfortunately the “Duck” was packed…

Looking back it’s all kind of fuzzy, but there was an English gent sitting at a table on the streetside patio, with three empty chairs. Somehow I ended up in line with him, waiting patiently, while the ladies kept watch at the patio table. I found out his name was Chris, and asked him what he was drinking. He said an Abbot Ale – which I’d never tried, or heard of – so I ordered two, one for each of us. From there, hopefully, things would start to sort themselves out.

Meanwhile, we had expensive reservations at the Royal Shakespeare Theater. (With still no idea of where to find a bed for the night.) In due course we left “the Duck” and Chris, then got to the theater and were able to check our bags and my pack. Then we sat through a unique version of “Much Ado About Nothing.” (See the Notes for a review link.) All the time, watching and listening, I kept wondering, “Where, oh where am I going to lay my weary head tonight?”

The updated play was a unique blend of Shakespeare’s original Elizabethan dialog, combined with a “football club” setting. “We open at the final of the Euro League, as Messina FC takes the cup. Shakespeare’s lines are interspersed with football chants; ‘vaping’, ‘signed’ and ‘manager’ replace the Bard’s original words.” (The updated play frames the story “within sports to explore toxic masculinity,” and later gets into “slut-shaming, revenge porn and deepfakes, using the setting to their advantage to really explore these themes through a modern lens.”)

And all the while, trying to process all that hubbub while sitting in the way-up-high balcony I kept wondering, “Where, oh where am I going to lay my weary head tonight?”

But the play and the hubbub finally ended, and after that we got our checked bags and my pack, then trundled off into the late-night unknown. “Booking” said they’d found us a place, “but who the heck knew?” Which makes this a good place to end this post, with the Faithful Reader all on tenterhooks. (“Very nervous or excited [and] keen to know what it going to happen.”

I’ll describe what happened in the next post, along with my fulfilling a life-long dream in Liverpool. (Or at least a dream I’ve had since 1964, when I was 13.) That and yet another “cock-up,” this one involving our Liverpool hotel reservation. And I’ll do that even though my writing may “go all over the place!” You know, like Leviticus, Isaiah and Tristram Shandy?

As its title suggests, the book is ostensibly Tristram‘s narration of his life story. But it is one of the central jokes of the novel that he cannot explain anything simply, that he must make explanatory diversions to add context and colour to his tale…

On that note it seems that I too cannot explain anything simply – like tell a travel story – but feel compelled to add in “explanatory diversions to add context and color.” Which is another way of saying that I get a lot of grief because my writing ostensibly “goes all over the place.” But to me that’s the fun of both travel and writing about your travels. In my writing I explain those off-on-a-tangents as rabbit trails. To me they’re the fun part of blogging, as for example the rabbit trail that led me to Robert Burns and his expression, “cock up your beaver.” (A derivative of the “cock-up” expression, and relax, neither term means what many people think.*)

As John Steinbeck once said, you don’t take a trip, a trip takes you. So maybe the same thing applies when you start writing about your travels. You know (or should know) that the cock-ups are going to happen, so it’s better to just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride. And maybe learn something new? Or experience something never expected? In the meantime, the next post will continue the story with an account of coming into Lime Street Station in Liverpool, though perhaps not as “majestically” as Brian Epstein, as described by Paul McCartney. Stay tuned…

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The upper image is courtesy of my traveling companion. See also Church of the Holy Trinity, Stratford-upon-Avon – Wikipedia. On this trip we visited three other churches – Winchester Cathedral, Canterbury Cathedral, and St Paul’s Cathedral in London.

Re: “Hurricanes hardly?” People of a certain age will recognize the allusion to 1964’s My Fair Lady. It struck me that “London, Liverpool and Stratford” has the same rhythm as “Hartford, Hereford and Hampton,” where Eliza used three syllables for “Hereford.” (In the song The Rain in Spain, “a turning point in the plotline of the musical. Professor Higgins and Colonel Pickering have been drilling Eliza Doolittle incessantly with speech exercises, trying to break her Cockney accent speech pattern.” Wikipedia.) See two live versions at Hartford, Hereford, Hampshire… – YouTube.

Re: “Arms tired.” The link is to What’s the source of the phrase “and, boy, are my arms tired,” indicating it’s the punch line of an old joke, variously attributed to Henny Youngman or Bob Hope. Definitely a “rabbit trail” – for more, use the search engine above right – that led me to Did anybody ever really laugh at these? – Cafe Society.

Also on the Pilgrim’s Way see Pilgrims’ Way Stages: Winchester to Canterbury | One Step…

The link travelogue – Wiktionary, the free dictionary adds that it describes “someone’s travels, given in the form of narrative, public lecture, slide show or motion picture.”

On “not growing up.” I myself did have that 50 or 60-year interim – before my “second childhood?” – but the less said about that the better. Another note, before that interim I didn’t have beer.

Re: The Serpentine. “Although it is common to refer to the entire body of water as the Serpentine, the name refers in the strict sense only to the eastern half of the lake. Serpentine Bridge, which marks the boundary between Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, also marks the Serpentine’s western boundary; the long and narrow western half of the lake is known as the Long Water.” Wikipedia. I walked down below Serpentine Bridge, unaware that I’d crossed from Kensington Park into Hyde Park.

The site Cock-up – Meaning & Origin Of The Phrase said the phrase “isn’t commonly used in the USA, where it is generally assumed to have a vulgar meaning.” But no, “‘Cock up’ sounds rude, but it isn’t:”

What they might make of Robert Burns’ poem, which took the name of the old Scottish rhyme ‘Cock up your beaver‘, is best left to the imagination. What Burns was actually referring to was adorning a beaver fur hat by putting a cock’s feather into it.

None of which I knew before writing this post, one big reason I love blogging.

On that note see The Dirty Duck, Stratford-upon-Avon – Wikipedia: “It has existed as a pub since 1738 and has been known as The Black Swan since 1776… However, the pub is more commonly known as The Dirty Duck. It is unclear where this name originates.”

See a full review at Review: Much Ado About Nothing (Royal Shakespeare Theatre, The RSC).

On my writing shortcomings, and for future personal reference, see Rabbit hole Meaning & Origin | Slang by Dictionary.com, Definition of ‘go off on a tangent’ – Collins Online Dictionary, Unity and Coherence in Essays | Writing Center, and Unity & Coherence – ENGLISH 087: Academic Advanced Writing. (The last two show that at least I’m trying.)

Re: Steinbeck on trips. The actual quote is “people don’t take trips. Trips take people.” John Steinbeck – Travel Quote of the Week – Authentic Traveling.

The upper image is courtesy of Liverpool Lime Street railway station – Wikipedia. The caption: “LIME STREET STATION LIVERPOOL JULY 2013.” I used the image to lead off the post, A mid-May “Recon,” then on to Canterbury! The reference to Brian Epstein riding “majestically” into Lime Street Station – with a record contract, finally – is from England, the 1960s, and the Triumph of the Beatles | Plus, a series of lectures by Professor Michael Shelden. As I recall, Shelden described McCartney mentioning the incident during a “cock-up” during the filming of a fairly recent television interview.

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March 31, 2025 – “Think positive thoughts, think positive thoughts…” Which I will now try to do, by focusing on a pleasant, upcoming overseas trip – instead of the current sordid and polarized state of American politics. As noted in the last post, this coming August I’ll be doing another Camino – Hiking the Canterbury Trail in England. (And once again, I define a Camino hike as one where at the end of each day you look forward to a warm bed, hot shower and a cold beer.)

But before that I’ll do a little recon, going over for two weeks this coming mid-May.

And by the way, before you can get into Great Britain you have to get an “ETA,” an electronic travel authorisation. (I applied for and got mine last December.) And just to be safe I also got a set of buttons indicating who I didn’t vote for. (“Let the reader understand.”) I’ll let you know how that turns out, but I’m thinking maybe I’ll get some free drinks along the way?

Then there’s the question: “Why would you spend good money to visit England twice, same year, in the space of four months?” For one thing, ever since 1965 – when I first heard Ferry ‘Cross the Mersey, that “Pacemaker” song – I wanted to do just that: Take the ferry across the River Mersey in Liverpool. This year I wanted to do that by flying over early in August, then taking the train from London to Liverpool. But it turned out that plan just wasn’t feasible, joined as it would be with trying to hike the Canterbury Trail on the same trip. But as it also turned out, a dear friend – and future travel-but-not-hiking companion – has a friend who lives in Stratford-on-Avon. And Stratford – as it thirdly turns out – is halfway between London and Liverpool.

But first, some preliminary details. First, the plan: Fly to London – another red-eye from Atlanta – and arrive next morning, all jet-lagged. Then get a modest place for that night, and next day take the train from London to Liverpool’s Lime Street Station. (The same one Brian Epstein repeatedly left from and came back to in 1962, trying to get a record deal for the Beatles. “Time and again he boarded the London train from Lime Street station… And time and again he would return with bad news for the band. One record label after another turned the group down.”)

Anyway, the point is that through a confluence of circumstance – ones I couldn’t foresee when I made my plane reservations for August – I am now able to make this mid-May trip to England. In turn that means I can both do a little recon for the Canterbury hike, while also being able to cross off a number of other Bucket list items that have been hanging fire lo these many years. (Decades in fact.) So this post will look ahead to that mid-May trip: 1) as a “preview of coming attractions,*” 2) as a point of reference for when I get over there, and 3) for future reference, for when I get home and can compare how dreams and plans matched up with reality.

So, aside from visiting London – for a second time; I went over in 1979 – on this trip in May I hope to: 1) take that ferry across the River Mersey, 2) come through Lime Street Station, with its historic connection to Brian Epstein and the Beatles, 3) see other Beatles-connected sites in Liverpool, 4) visit Stratford-on-Avon, with its historic connection to William Shakespeare, 5) make a day trip  to Winchester (via BritRail), where my hiking companions and I will start out in August, and 6) make a similar day trip to Canterbury, where we’ll end our hike.

But back to Lime Street Station. We’ll arrive there – after three hours* on the train – just like Brian Epstein returning from London in 1962, with the great news that his then-unknown group (the Beatles) finally had a record contract. (Though perhaps not coming in as “majestically” as Paul McCartney once put it.) We’ll only have one night in Liverpool, but that’s okay because the next day we only have to travel half-way back to London, to arrive at Stratford-on-Avon. (Or maybe the Leamington Spa station, a 24-minute car ride from Stratford.) Meaning that while we’ll only have that one night in Liverpool, most of the things I want to see there are clustered around the same area. (Between Lime Street station and the River Mersey.)

For example, the dock at Pier Head (Mersey Ferries | Liverpool) is a mere 20-minute walk from Lime Street Station, and only two minutes further from the hotel I booked for our one-night stay. There’s a Beatles statue in the area, along with the British Music Experience museum, the Liverpool Beatles Museum and The Cavern Club itself. (Where “it all started.”) So we’ll have plenty to do in Liverpool before heading southeast to Stratford.

And in Stratford? There are three Royal Shakespeare theatres, along with Shakespeare’s Birthplace, Anne Hathaway’s Cottage, and even a Shakespeare’s Distillery, “an artisan gin and rum distillery certified as a carbon-neutral business.” And maybe some practice hikes around the area, drinking in the ambience of those long-ago halcyon days. (Or so they seem to us.) Possibly followed by a G&T at that Shakespeare Distillery. And on Sunday, a service at Shakespeare’s Church – Holy Trinity, Stratford. There I’ll pray for continued safe travel, before getting ready to hop on the train back to London for seven or eight days. Once back in London we’ll use the remaining days on those BritRail passes for day-trips including but not limited to Winchester and Canterbury. (That’ll be the pre-August, pre-hike “on to Canterbury!”)

Finally, once the BritRail passed run out we’ll see if there’s anything else to do in London…

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The upper image is courtesy of Liverpool Lime Street railway station – Wikipedia. The caption: “LIME STREET STATION LIVERPOOL JULY 2013.” The article included the photo below left, “Inward view of Liverpool Lime Street Station in 1959.” (Closer to the time Brian Epstein frequented the place.)

Re, positive thoughts. The full link is to How to Think Positively Every Day: Advice (Wikihow). See also 11 Ways to Boost Positive Thinking, 5 Tips to Train Yourself to Think Positively – Walden University, and others, by Googling “think positive thoughts.”

Re: “Recon.” The link is to Reconnaissance – Wikipedia: “In military jargon, reconnaissance is abbreviated to recce (in British, Canadian, Australian English) and to recon (in American English), both derived from the root word reconnoitre / reconnoitering.” I’m familiar with the term because I came of draft-age in the late 1960’s (and thought I might end up involved in such things). More precisely, familiar with the term “LURPs,” long-range reconnaissance patrols in Vietnam. (A LRRP was conducted by a “small, well-armed reconnaissance team that patrols deep into enemy-held territory.”) For more information see Long-range reconnaissance patrol – Wikipedia and Long Range Patrol in Vietnam War| K75 Rangers: “The long-range reconnaissance patrols (LRRPs) of the Vietnam War operated in a silent netherworld of dark green shadows where error could mean death and where the extraordinary was commonplace.” (All of which means some things from your “yoot” are hard to forget. And by the way, “Lurps” is not a misspelling. That’s how they pronounced it back in the day…)

Re: “Preview.” See the old-time (1960’s) Prevues Of Coming Attractions (1960s) Cinema Promo Trailer.

Re: Stratford-upon-Avon. I usually shorten that to “on Avon” on the theory that in this day and age the average reader is overwhelmed with data and so of necessity has the attention span of a gerbil. Thus fewer syllables, fewer words, shorter sentences, shorter paragraphs, etc.

Re: “Hanging fire.” See Wiktionary, the free dictionary, that aside from figuratively meaning to “wait, or hold back,” it literally referred to the case “when a gun does not immediately fire when the trigger is pulled, but may fire shortly after.” (Which I didn’t know. See also “misfire.”)

On Brian Epstein trying to get a record deal, see Lecture 5 in the Great Course, England, the 1960s, and the Triumph of the Beatles. (“Beatles for Sale: Brian Epstein’s Genius.”) Professor Michael Shelden opened by quoting Paul McCartney during a taped interview in 2007. Enduring a number of technical glitches Sir Paul said serenely, “We’ll get it right. We’ll move majestically to the end like the steam train bringing Mr. Epstein into Lime Street Station to tell us we had a record deal.” Shelden added that if the Beatles were to conquer the world “they knew the journey would begin at Lime Street Station with the long trip to London.” And that Epstein repeatedly took that long train ride until, after “many frustrating setbacks,” he finally came back with a deal. (As for that deal, it was officially signed in June 1962. See George Martin offers The Beatles a recording contract, though it seems the band’s very first record contract came a year earlier, “in Hamburg, Germany, where the band honed its craft playing gigs in the city’s boisterous nightclub district.”) And here’s the full “time and again” quote:

Time and again he boarded the London train from Lime Street station and kept pitching the Beatles as the next big thing in music. And time and again he would return with bad news for the band. One record label after another turned the group down.

Re: The Mersey. The link is to Ferry Cross the Mersey – Wikipedia, about the Gerry and the Pacemakers song “released in late 1964 in the UK and in 1965 in the United States.” Also, “The Mersey Ferry runs between Liverpool and Birkenhead and Seacombe on the Wirral Peninsula.” See also FER Gerry Marsden Ferry Terminal – Seacombe Ferry Terminal. And there was also a Ferry Cross the Mersey (film), which I didn’t know until working on this post.

About that “three hour” train ride from London to Liverpool. I’ve seen Google Map references that say many such trips can take seven hours, but I’ve been assured ours won’t take that long.

Re: Stratford. See e.g. The 18 best things to do in Stratford-upon-Avon – Time Out. See also Church of the Holy Trinity, Stratford-upon-Avon – Wikipedia.

Re: “Anything else to do in London.” That was either sarcasm, irony or maybe hyperbole? I sometimes get those three mixed up.

The lower image is courtesy of Church of the Holy Trinity, Stratford-upon-Avon – Wikipedia.

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March 15, 2025 – It’s that time of year again. Well, almost. To explain, pretty much every September since 2019 I’ve done a Camino hike over in Europe. (To me a Camino hike means at the end of each day you look forward to a warm bed, hot shower and a cold beer.)

My brother and I started such hikes in 2017, on the Camino Frances. I met up with him in Pamplona and from there we hiked – and biked* – the 450 miles to Santiago de Compostela. (The “Way of St. James.”) In 2018 we changed up and did an 11-day canoe trip, from Kingston on Lake Ontario up to Ottawa. (A break in the hiking action.) In 2019 my sister-in-law joined us for a hike on the Portuguese Camino, from Porto – home of port wine – back up to Santiago. In 2020 came another break in the action, thanks to COVID, but in 2021 it was back to the Camino Frances – or at least the part I missed in 2017 – hiking over the “dread Pyrenees.” (For reasons explained in Hiking over the Pyrenees, in 2021 – finally!)

In 2022 we three hiked the Way of St. Francis in Italy, from Assisi down the 150 miles to Rome. In 2023 we hiked the Robert Louis Stevenson Trail in France, what the French call the GR 70 or “Chemin de Stevenson.” Last year – 2024 – we three hiked the Camino Finisterre – to the “end of the known world” – then on to the Camino Ingles. (Basically a round trip from Santiago, out to and up the northwestern coast of Spain, then back down to Santiago.)

In all those hikes we had to learn important terms in a foreign language to get by. (In Spain for example, words like cerveza and banos, pretty much in that order.) But not this year! This August we’ll be hiking in Merry Old England, and so will be able to understand what the locals are saying. (Pretty much.) Which means it’s time for a bit of preliminary research.

For example, in 2021 I posted Countdown to Paris – 2021, on August 8, the month before I flew over to do the over-the-Pyrenees hike. Then on July 24, 2023, I posted On visiting Paris and Lyon in 2023, before flying over to hike the Robert Louis Stevenson Trail. (In the Cévennes Mountains of south-central France.) Then on March 5, 2024, I posted Preparing for a Camino hike, for the Finisterre and Camino Ingles hikes – again in Spain.

The ’21 post covered the 2010 film, The Way, starring Martin Sheen. It’s central premise was not just that an old, out of shape Beverly Hills eye doctor went to France to recover the body of his son – who died while hiking over the Pyrenees. It also covered his spur-of-the-moment decision to go on and hike the 500 miles of the Camino Frances himself, without any prior preparation or training. In other words, the film shows all the things you should not do when preparing for such a hike. (Including sitting on a bridge and taking off your pack, only to see it fall into the river below and float away. Or leave your pack unattended, to be stolen by a young gypsy.)

The ’23 post discussed my early plans for climbing the towers of Basilique du Sacré Cœur in Paris and Basilica of Notre-Dame de Fourvière in Lyon. (Neither of which panned out. “C’est la guerre.“) And finally, the ’24 post offered tips for such an adventure. It led off with a sentence, “Getting ready for a hike on the Camino de Santiago? [Remember my definition.] Here are some useful tips.” Which as it turns out is always good for me to review.

It talked mostly about the importance of having a good pack, not a “cheap low-hanging pack from a local ‘Yuppie Goodwill.’” And about how the experts say your pack – including a full bottle of water – should weigh no more than ten percent of your body weight. (In my case 15 pounds, but for the last two hikes I’ve gone to 20.) And about the importance of packing only quick-dry clothes, good hiking shoes – along with some other incidental concerns.

Which brings up preparing for the next adventure, hiking the Canterbury Trail. The destination is Canterbury Cathedral, home of the Archbishop of Canterbury, “spiritual leader of the Church of England and symbolic leader of the worldwide Anglican Communion.” A pivotal moment in its history was the murder of Archbishop Thomas Becket, “in the north-west transept (also known as the Martyrdom) on Tuesday 29 December 1170, by knights of King Henry II:”

The posthumous veneration of Becket transformed the cathedral into a place of pilgrimage, necessitating both expansion of the building and an increase in wealth, via revenues from pilgrims, in order to make expansion possible.

And it looks like we needed to do this pilgrimage sooner rather than later. It turns out, “Much of the stonework at Canterbury Cathedral is damaged and crumbling, the roofs are leaking and much of the stained glass is badly corroded… [A] combination of centuries of weathering, pollution and constant use had taken its toll on the ancient building and some serious problems were in need of urgent action.” Which makes this trip kind of like that 2019 pilgrimage to Jerusalem,* what I rightly considered the chance of a lifetime. (I wouldn’t want to go back there now, or any time in the foreseeable future for that matter, and I am turning 74 in July.)

Back to the August hike: We’ll start at Winchester Cathedral, not just famous – for we of a certain age – for the 1966 novelty hit song by the New Vaudeville Band. But rather than “bringing me down,” this cathedral should make a good start for our UK pilgrimage. Among the largest of its kind in Northern Europe, it is the “sixth-largest cathedral by area in the UK, surpassed only by Liverpool, St Paul’s, York, Westminster (RC) and Lincoln,” and a major tourist attraction.

I hope and plan to write more preparation posts in the coming months, but in the meantime, here’s a glimpse of some of the foresty terrain we’ll be hiking through…

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The upper image is courtesy of Canterbury Cathedral From The Pilgrim’s Way Uk – Image Results. See also Pilgrims’ Way – Wikipedia, Canterbury Cathedral – Wikipedia, Pilgrims Way | Winchester to Canterbury | Pilgrim Walks, and Home | Canterbury Cathedral. (The site Pilgrims’ Way to Canterbury | The Natural Adventure offers a different and shorter route.)

Re: “Hiked – and biked.” Google Maps says it’s 234 miles from Pamplona to León, and from Leon, 182 miles to Santiago, though the official Camino mileage may differ. It took us 20 days, with one day off in Burgos, to get to Leon, but we only had 10 days left to finish. So we rented mountain bikes in Leon. (Google Maps also says the full Camino Frances hike from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France – and over the Pyrenees – is 453 miles, but Camino guidebooks put the distance at 500 miles.)

Re: 2018 canoe trip, see The “Rideau Adventure” – An Overview. For information on other past hikes use the search engine at the upper right.

Re: That French term after the ’23 post review. See History of the phrase ‘c’est la guerre’ (‘it can’t be helped’). It noted, “The French phrase c’est la guerre – literally ‘it is war’ – expresses acceptance of, or resignation at, the situation engendered by war; it can be translated as ‘it can’t be helped.'”

Re: “Yuppie Goodwill.” It’s actually the Clothes Less Traveled store in Peachtree City GA. “And by the way, I ditched that low-hanging pack on the sidewalk, by a series of recycle bins, just outside our last lodging in Rome, at Viale Angelico 38. (A half-hour mile-and-a-half walk up from Vatican City.)”

Re: Pilgrimage to Jerusalem. See the May 2020 post, This time last year – in Jerusalem!

Re: “Bringing me down.” The 1966 song begins, “Winchester Cathedral, you’re bringing me down. You stood and you watched as [pause] my baby left town…”

The lower image is courtesy of Pilgrims’ Way – Wikipedia, which provided the caption.

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October 20, 2024 – I last posted on September 1, 2024. That post talked about our last day hiking on the Robert Louis Stevenson Trail in France, back in September 2023. (A last-day hike with “a bit of drama.”) In the meantime I just got home from another hike, in Spain, hiking the Camino Finisterre and Camino Ingles. (From September 7 to October 7, 2024, which hikes also included some unexpected drama.) I’ll discuss those hikes in a future post, but here I’ll close out the 2023 hike with our leaving Saint-Jean-du-Gard and heading back up to Paris.

As noted, on October 3, 2023 – having finished our 150 miles – we had a quiet relaxing evening, then hit the sack, “weary but with a feeling of accomplishment.” Wednesday, October 4, we slept in and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. (Not at all like the usual hectic morning preparation for a long day’s hike.) Then visited the Cevennes museum, the Musée des vallées cévenoles.

Very impressive. “Rugged” is a good word to describe this countryside. Highly suitable for the guerrilla war waged by the Protestant Camisards, the killings, torture and pillaging [that] Stevenson described at length in his book about hiking through here with his donkey, Modestine. (“Thank God WE don’t have to worry about stuff like that!”)

Which brings up why I haven’t quoted Stevenson’s book lately. In the last part he talked mostly about that “spiritual” but violent warfare between Protestants and Catholics in the area. (An “off on a tangent” not relevant here.) One relevant thing I did learn at the museum? The locals don’t just let all those chestnuts we saw on the last days of the hike rot on the ground. Harvesting chestnuts is big business in the Cevennes. Also, the day of rest worked wonders. “My left-ankle tweak is pretty much healed up.” (The one I got falling twice on that last day of hiking.)

Thursday we took a bus to Alès. “For the first time since September 17, we traveled a good long distance – but without walking it, without hauling a 20-pound pack (too far), and without crawling around and over a bunch of (bleeping) rock-infested paths!” We waited at a cafe right near the St. Jean bus station. Sipping on a cafe creme I noticed “three antsy rug rats, waiting as mom got them some lunch. It struck me as odd: ‘Even these little guys can speak French!'”

Once we got to Ales we learned that the innkeeper was “caught up in the Paris bedbug panic. We each got a large plastic bag to put our packs in, with instructions to tie the bag up tight – when not getting stuff out of it.” (I’m not sure how effective that method was. I saw this summer that Paris had another infestation for the 2024 Olympics.)

Finally, on Friday October 6 we caught the train to Paris. On the ride up I checked Facebook and saw a friend’s quote from John Muir, on how he hated the word “hiking,” and preferred the term “sauntering.” Which brings up the fact that I too prefer to saunter.

My natural walking speed is a mile in 24 minutes, which makes it easier to string together Magic Moments, Zen Moments where you just ARE. (“I AM THAT I AM!”) Especially when you’re “sauntering” up a steep Mont in the Cevennes, having to stop every few minutes and look out at another majestic mountain view…

Finally we got to Paris and a day later I got to see that Père Lachaise Cemetery. The one I missed by 10 minutes on my second day in Paris? Back on Tuesday, September 12, 2023? I got there at 6:10 p.m. only to find that it closed at 6:00. But first, a bit about our lodging.

We ended up staying two nights at a posh apartment, supposedly on “76 rue Aristide Briand.” But type that address into Google Maps and you’ll invariably get a different place in Paris. Way down by the Seine, near the Assemblée nationale – Palais Bourbon. Meaning there are apparently two “76 rue Aristide Briands” in Paris. They’re both on rue Aristide Briand, but where we stayed was right across from “this big palace-looking place,” Mairie de Levallois-Perret, shown at the bottom of the page. And speaking of we three tired Americans being confused at the end of a long travel day, that brings the reputation of Parisians being so rude.

Remember that young French guy, back on my first day in Paris? When I got shunted onto Boulevard Richard-Lenoir instead of staying on Boulevard Voltaire? The one who said I’d just passed Rue Sedaine, but from the wrong side? It happened again on the late Friday afternoon, only two different Frenchmen helped we lost Americans find our way to the apartment.

We were in the vicinity, close, but somehow couldn’t see the apartment-building number.

We got into the apartment late Friday afternoon, and for one thing admired the great view. (Saturday afternoon we saw a bunch of big-group couples get married “en masse” at Mairie De Levallois-Perret across the way. “At least three such big-group weddings. And remarkably choreographed. All the people ‘whooping’ on cue by the cameraman. Boy those French sure know how to throw a party.”) Saturday morning Tom and I rode the Metro down to Pere Lachaise cemetery. “Where famous people like Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde are buried. I found Oscar’s tomb, sealed off against privy-part vandalism, but not Jim Morrison’s. It’s a huge place.”

That was a pleasant hour and a half, ambling around the beautiful, well-laid-out cemetery grounds, even if the place was filled with tourists and even though I couldn’t find Jim Morrison’s spot. There were plenty of people at Oscar Wilde’s tomb though, with an intriguing history of its own and a glass barrier to make the monument both “kiss-proof” and protect against vandalism. (The statue’s larger-than-life testicles were “removed in an act of vandalism in 1961.”)

A less-intriguing side note. In Paris I’ve always shied away from the Metro. But in those two days I took at least eight such trips, and fortunately had nary a problem with “les pickpockets.”

My last two rides on the Metro came on Sunday, October 8. Tom and Carol were flying out of de Gaulle Airport at 12:30, and my flight was at 3:30, so we hugged and parted ways at Gare du Nord. After that I hiked up and about a bit, then ended up at a cafe across Place Napoleon III from the station. (Right after the street-name changes from “Rue de Dunkerque.”) So there I was, “almost at the same place I was two years ago in 2021,” gathering my thoughts at a sidewalk cafe, scribbling in a pocket notebook “a la Hemingway,” sipping on one last cafe creme.

Now all I have to do is figure out how to explain why any 72-year-old in his right mind would want to hike 150 miles in a strange country where everyone talks funny, and when such “hiking” means crawling over and around a bunch of rock-strewn paths. I guess you had to be there.

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The upper image is courtesy of Père Lachaise Cemetery – Wikipedia.

Re: “From September 7 to October 7.” I flew over to Madrid on September 6, arrived the next morning, and flew back home from Lisbon on October 7. 

Re: Chestnuts. I wrote of those last few days, “Hiking along the Trail we saw TONS of the tree-droppings, with their green and sharp spikes. It turns out they’re chestnuts.”

Re: Bedbugs in Paris. For 2023, The Bedbugs in Paris: Here’s What We Know So Far. Then Paris Bedbugs Infestation & 2024 Olympics: The Latest Info. We didn’t have a problem.

Re: “Sauntering.” The site saunter – Wiktionary, the free dictionary noted, “Competing theories exist” as to the origin of the meaning. As to Muir or Thoreau on sauntering versus walking, etc. The Facebook post quoted Muir as saying the word came from “a la saint terre,” or “to the Holy Land,” but Henry David Thoreau wrote about that in 1861. See The Spirit of Sauntering: Thoreau on the Art of Walking. Published in 1861, when Muir would have been 23. See also John Muir: A Parable of Sauntering – Stillness Speaks, based on a work published in 1911. For the full quote from Thoreau see last June’s post, “Acadia” – and a hike up Cadillac Mountain.

Re: “I AM THAT I AM!” A reference to Exodus 3:14.

Re: Parisians being rude. See The Myth of French Rudeness: A Parisian Perspective – MSN, on the “recurring narrative in travel guides, movies, and anecdotes.” Also Rude or Simply French? Debunking the Cultural Clichés: “several years ago, France’s Foreign Minister launched a campaign to improve the reputation of French people .They encouraged local people to be warmer to tourists in daily interactions. It was to be a ‘national priority’ with initiatives to improve communication in hotels, restaurants, and kiosks, and to provide multi-lingual directions to airports.” I certainly saw the difference…

“Remember that young French guy?” See “The last time I saw Paris?” – Just this past September. “Then I asked a young Frenchman, sitting on a bench at what turned out to be the ‘Marche Bastille…’ He was polite, and set me straight. So much for the city’s reputation for being so rude.”

Also, re: Confusion about our lodging in Paris. I wrote: “I could have sworn the address was 76 rue Aristide ‘Bruant,’ named for the guy made famous by the Toulouse-Latrec Poster. He [Bruant] was a famous French cabaret singer, comedian, and nightclub owner. Aristide BRIAND served 11 terms as French prime minister, from 1910 to 1929. And was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1926. Quite the statesman, but he never got immortalized by a colorful Toulouse-Latrec poster.”

Re: Pickpockets. See e.g. Pickpockets in Paris: How to Avoid, or Google “pickpockets paris.”

The lower image is courtesy of Mairie De Levallois-Perret Paris – Image Results.

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Here’s a note I cut out in the interest of “UCC, that Unity and Coherence Crap.” At the end of last year’s hike on the GR-70 I suggested that we hike the Canterbury Trail (Pilgrims’ Way) in England. I wrote: “That’s it for this year. Next year hiking in England, where we can understand what the locals are saying. (Mostly.) It’s been fun, but I can’t wait to get home.” But as it turned out, the prices – especially for lodging – were far too high in England. “That’s why for 2024 we’re heading back to Spain and the Camino Finisterre. But that’s a story for another time.”

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September 1, 2024 – The last post saw us spend a night in a Middle Age castle, Château de Cambiaire, Saint-Étienne-Vallée-Française. That was our last night on the Trail, so this post will cover our last day actually hiking the GR 70, ending on a happy note, after some drama:

Well, we made it! But to say I limped into St. Jean du Gard would not be much of an exaggeration. Part of it was climbing up and over Col St. Pierre, with [lots of] rocks… You always think today’s ordeal was the worst so far, but in this case I’d say that’s true. A big part of that was that for the first time I had a slip and fall. In fact, two of them!

Now to backtrack a bit. First off, I noted that early that morning – when it’s always most pleasant on such a hike – we looked back, walking along that paved D984 highway, and could still see the tower of Chateau Cambriaire, “last night’s digs,” miles south of St. Etienne. But this turned out to be a “moist, misty morning,” which wasn’t too bad as long as we stayed on the pavement. But in due course we had to turn off, onto the dirt path heading up to Col St. Pierre. Meaning that after leaving our lovely medieval chateau we had One More [Steep] Mountain to Climb before the end. And way too soon we found ourselves hiking over “shaley, slippery rock.”

To put things in perspective, this Col St. Pierre – a part of which is shown at the top of the page – is 3.4 miles south of the Chateau and 4.4 miles from St. Jean du Gard. And this is a different “Col” than Col de la Pierre Plantée, the one I mentioned back in From a Cottage to a Castle (and a beer). And yes, all this is confusing, but that guidebook from Le Puy showed the col “Pierre Plantee” as being between Cassagnas and St.-Germaine-de-Calberte. But this shortened version of a “col” – it can mean either a collar or a pass (as in a pass through mountains) – juts up between St. Etienne Vallee-Francaise and St. Jean.

So anyway, the trail on this day – down to St. Jean, after up and over Col St. Pierre – was indeed covered with “shaley, slippery rocks,” followed by slick granite-like boulders. And this time I took plenty of pictures of the rocky, twisting path, mostly because we took way more than our usual number of Standing Stops. (Which we usually do while climbing uphill, but on this day the downhill hike was equally treacherous, if not more so.)

But back to leaving that nice smooth pavement and turning onto the dirt path. And heading up Col St. Pierre and coming to “shaley, slippery rocks.” We first followed a river – Le Gardon de Saint Martin – for a bit, then headed west and then back east across a branch of the river, “Gardon de Saint-Croix,” through thick-forest hills. At first the trail was covered over with smallish rocks, like we’d seen before. Then came thick tree roots snaking their way across our path, along with more ferns to the side like we’d also seen before. Then we hit the shaley, slippery rocks; tougher going, which is why we stopped quite often, ostensibly to take pictures of the view to the west. We kept following the horizontal-striped trail markers into thicker woods and bigger boulders strewn across the path. Soon the trail became pretty much all rock, with here and there a bit of soil and pine straw nestled in various nooks and crannies. It was slow going – “Careful where you plant your feet!” – and that long wooden staff I found came in handy.

Unfortunately the day stayed damp into the afternoon, and climbing up onto one of those slick granite-like rocks the “moist and misty” did its job. Which brought back thoughts from all those earlier 14 days of hiking. When I constantly reminded myself, “If you fall, fall backwards. The pack will cushion you.” But because of the moist misty morning and the granite-like rock being so slick, I ended up falling down to the left instead of backwards. I broke the fall – kind of – with my left hand, “which was okay, but I tweaked my left ankle… I could just hear the old high school football coach in my brain, telling me to ‘Walk it off! Rub some dirt on it.’ So I stepped very gingerly with that left ankle the rest of the day.”

And speaking of new things on the trail. (Aside from the “moist misty” and “shaley, slippery rocks.”) As we got closer to St. Jean we started seeing “TONS of the tree-droppings:”

Hiking along the Trail we saw TONS of the tree-droppings, with their green and sharp spikes. It turns out they’re chestnuts. I wondered if the locals just let them all rot on the ground, but no, they’re actually big business…

That’s what I wrote the following day, when I also learned that a “place of honor is given to the omnipresent chestnut tree, the so-called ‘bread tree’ which has been an important food source in the Cévennes for more than a thousand years.” In other words these seemingly wild-growing chestnuts are big business in this part of the Cevennes, but on the Trail they were mostly a pain. They lay all over the place and many times cover the path and make for even more tricky footing. Then came more of the new-ish parts of the Trail like I’d noticed in the last few days.

“Quite a bit of this part of the Stevenson Trail looks like tropical jungle, with lots of ferns and even some bamboo.” Then, still heading mostly downhill toward St. Jean, “plus it being the last day, and me wanting to get there, and passing through a ferny, close, overgrown area, with lots of (bleep)ing rocks to clamber over gingerly, I slipped and fell again,” but backward:

This time Carol called out, “Are you hurt?” I answered, “Only my pride!” Meaning this time I did fall backward, just like I had planned if just such an incident happened. And this thought:

A lot of sounds and fury, but signifying nothing. (Thank you “Macbeth.”) Meaning no damage done, except to my pride. Musta been that PLF (parachute landing fall) training I got for my seventh and last skydive…

That was all during the last stage of our heading into Saint-Jean-du-Gard – a glimpse of which you can see in the photo below – and yes, I guess I was in a bit of a hurry, but we finally got into town. There we stopped for a break and a libation at a sidewalk cafe – and collectively breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Well done, thou good and faithful servant!”

In other words, despite my slipping and falling twice we made it to the lodging shortly after 4:00, at what our spreadsheet called La Castanhs aux Fumades, 195 route de Luc. (A “5-minute walk from the village, it is ideally located on the path taken by writer Robert Louis Stevenson.”) Tom had heard – via some kind of internet magic – that the landlady would be working until 5:00, but this day she took off early. (“Thank you!”) To cut to the chase, we got checked in and shortly after I wrote, “Climbing Col St. Pierre seemed the most rugged [hike], more rocks. 1st slip moist misty rock.” But fortunately I had some “pretty good and quick powers of recuperation.” (Or so I thought. Next morning I added, “Feet and legs are still sore, left ankle tender.”)

That night we had a nice, quiet relaxing home-cooked dinner of burgers and salad, plus for me “a couple quick-freezer beers and I’m good to go.” To bed that is, weary but with a feeling of accomplishment. Next day – Wednesday, October 4 – we planned to sleep in, have a leisurely breakfast and visit the Cevennes museum. (Maison Rouge – Musée des … Cévennes Valley). There we learned a whole lot more about those hordes of chestnut-tree “droppings” that littered the Trail and indeed covered the whole driveway area of our quaint apartment.

On Thursday we’d take a bus to Alès, and from there a train to Paris on Friday. We’d have a day off to enjoy Paris – in which I finally got to see that Père Lachaise Cemetery I missed by 10 minutes back on Tuesday, September 12 – then fly back home on Sunday, October 8. And I finished this series of 2023 hiking posts just in time. In a few days I’ll be flying over to Madrid, this time to hike the Camino Finisterre. And all that I’ll cover in future posts, but in the meantime:

We made it hiking 150 miles to Saint-Jean-du-Gard!

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The upper image is courtesy of Col St. Pierre France Stevenson Trail – Image Results.

Incidentally, for this section of the hike I mentioned that following the Trail you look for special markers. (Not like the ones on the Camino.) Usually three horizontal red and white bars, to let you know you’re still on the Trail. But when it comes time to make a turn you’ll see some bars in an L-shape, indicating which way you should turn. An “X” means “Don’t go this way!” The signs are usually pretty helpful, but sometimes you get mixed signals. Or no signals, which can mean backtracking.

The middle image is courtesy of Chestnuts On The Ground France – Image Results. According to Wikipedia, the term applies both to the deciduous trees and the edible nuts they produce. (But first you have to get through that spiny outer shell that feels like a cactus – “he said, from not-pleasant experience.”) For more on the subject see The history of the chestnut – Cévennes Tourism and The history of the chestnut tree in the Cevennes | History.

Re: “Parachute landing fall.” I most-recently did a second tandem parachute jump on October 1, 2020. The first one – at Skydive Spaceland Atlanta – happened the previous summer, in July 2019. But those were actually the sixth and seventh times I’ve jumped out of a perfectly good airplane. My first jump happened on May 30, 1971, at Zephyrhills (FL) municipal airport. The fifth jump happened on April 29, 1990, at Keystone Heights Airport, nine miles south of Starke, Florida. (My wife at the time – who died in 2006 – watched the jump, then said “You’re never doing that again!” Which led to a 19-year hiatus.) “Anyway, with that second tandem jump I’m now qualified to jump ‘solo’ at Skydive Spaceland. But I’m not sure that’ll happen any time soon. After all, I am turning 70 in a few months.” (From a February 2021 post in my companion blog From two years ago – “Will I live to 141?”)

The lower image is courtesy of St Jean Du Gard France – Image Results. I used the image and caption in An update – Stevenson Trail “REST of the Way.” An interesting “go back and read,” first posted on September 10, 2023 – the day I flew over to Paris – but with an update from October 12, after arriving “back home in God’s Country, safe and sound.”

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In the last post we hiked down to Saint-Germain-de-Calberte, on October 1, “What turned out to be a really eventful and awe-inspiring day.” That left only two more days hiking on the Chemin de Stevenson; first, “an easy 5.5 miles to Saint-Étienne-Vallée-Française, then another 8.1 miles to the end, Saint-Jean-du-Gard.” If all went according to plan we’d get to St. Jean on Tuesday, October 3, “145 years to the day after Stevenson ended his journey.” (Though his journey ended in Alès, some 34 miles east of St. Jean. We’d be taking a bus to Alès on October 5.)

I started that October 2 with a note back home on Facebook, with a picture: “Good morning, ‘Sunrise over the Cevennes!'” I added that we were supposed to have a short hike, and that hopefully it would be “nice and boring, smooth level path all the way.” Later I added that it was a fairly smooth hike, and that we “ended up at basically an old castle, high atop a hill in St. Etienne Vallee Francaise. Built entirely of rock. You’d think there wouldn’t be any rocks left over for the Stevenson Trail, BUT THERE WERE! And rocks o’ plenty. But seriously, a spectacular place to stay. Medieval, and definitely not your Motel 6.”

Getting there we saw more locals along the way, out hunting for the mushrooms that seem to be a favorite pastime. (Like back in my college days?) Also, strangely, we hiked through a lot of what seemed to be tropical rain forest, complete with stands of bamboo and “ferns aplenty.”

Our goal was Le Château de Cambiaire, Saint-Étienne-Vallée-Française, and you can see it from miles away. But how to get there? A river – Le Gardon de Saint Martin – runs along the main drag, “D984,” leading into town. But to get to the chateau you have to get off the main road and on to a side road, “Le Meyran,” with a turn that comes way before you get into town. From there it weaves back and forth up a steep hill to where that road splits, and there you have to get on a side-lane, “St.-Etienne Val Franc Bourg.” Then hike up another hill to the chateau

Still, we got there in good time, by 2:00 in fact, then faced a slight problem. You can’t check in until 3:00, which led to “Lots of waiting around.” Fortunately the place had a bar, in a side building, and after waiting patiently a while, sitting at an outside picnic table and being observant, I saw a man who seemed to be part of the staff coming in and out. After a bit he went in again and I followed, then managed to persuade him – with sign language and some pointing-of-fingers – to pour me a draft. From there I was happy and went on to “wax poetic.”

Sitting at a picnic table, looking out over the light-speckled green valley below, I got out my pocket notebook and started scribbling, a la Hemingway. I first noted the hike was a “milk run of sorts. Left the apartment at 10:10″ and from there a “veggie store” in  Saint-Germain at 10:21. We ended up officially checking in at the chateau at 3:35, because of a delay of sorts. Of the setting I later wrote: “Neat old place. Medieval, dark-paneled wood. The guys’ room (BR) in the turret of this old towered place.” I wrote that part of my ode to the place while “sitting with a Stevenson blonde beer, looking out over the valley, three mountains on the horizon.” Then this:

Tomorrow, last day hiking. Thoughts of home? 8.1 miles to go… What have I learned? Have I developed? I think there’s a book in this. Too! Like the other adventures. Zen moment here, “Tasting the breeze!” – Grazing horse down below. Soft Cevennes sunlight. Soft breeze. Moments like this make the plodding, plugging along for hours, sore feet and all, all worthwhile.

So much for stream of consciousness, but in time I got a little antsy. And as it turned out, dinner wasn’t until much later. (We weren’t exactly sure.) So at 6:30, needing a break, I hiked back down the hill and along the river, of which I wrote later. “Going down I heard kids. They were down by the water tossing rocks in. I could hear them way up, leaving the chateau.” A pleasant enough interlude, watching them do what I used to do as a kid, but then came some drama.

“Right by the city-enter sign, two heavy-armed gendarmes. Impressive, dark blue trousers light blue shirts. Like bad-ass Air Force dudes. I tried my hardest not to look suspicious. Like a doofy harmless American tourist? I dreaded the chilling ‘May I see your papers please?'” The thing was, they didn’t seem to have any reason to be there. Just standing around. Which brought to mind something I’d read in Travels with Charley. John Steinbeck described coming back into the US from Canada, being stopped at the border and asked, “Please step into the office.”

This request had the effect on me a Gestapo knock on the door might have. It raises panic, anger, and guilty feelings whether or not i have done wrong. My voice took on the strident tone of virtuous outrage which automatically arouses suspicion.

I certainly didn’t want that to happen. (And I had had those two beers.) But nothing happened. I made good and sure to walk up the road far enough not to look like I was turning and heading back just because I saw them. (Talk about raising suspicion.) Then made it back to the chateau, where I sat at a picnic table and started jotting again. And this: “At 6:50 p.m. the bar guy just came by. Nice guy! Very attentive! Brought a Stevenson out to my picnic table with a little Petri dish kind of thing with pretzels.” Later still I added, “I love sitting here, or in a Paris sidewalk cafe, scribbling away, like I’m Hemingway or something. Tom just came out of the room. I directed him to how to get a beer. And we reminisced.” Of old times, back when we were kids.

And finally, to dinner, in the ancient wall-of-stone dining room seen below. (But you know, packed with pilgrims?) Along with the usual complimentary big bottles of shared wine, a full three-course meal. For some reason I didn’t write about the first course, but the second was a “combination salad, veggie bowl, lots of rice and two local-made sausage links. (‘Erp!’) But good.” Then came the dessert, “A very rich dessert, with whipped cream and like a graham cracker crust on the bottom.” (And another good time was had by all.) Which led me to observe:

These three and four course dinners late at night are killing me! (Plus wine of course.) At home I usually don’t eat after 6:00, and then only a salad. I dread that first weigh-in Monday morning, October 9.

But all that would come later. Meanwhile, tomorrow is our last hiking day, to St. Jean du Gard. Then a day or two later we head back to Paris, where apparently they were having a plague of bed bugs. (“Oh thank you, France!”) But hopefully that’s not on our future agenda.

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The upper image is courtesy of Le Château de Cambiaire, Saint-Étienne-Vallée-Française, our goal that October 2. And to those who might say this place did not fit the term, see Castle – Wikipedia:

A castle is a type of fortified structure built during the Middle Ages predominantly by the nobility or royalty and by military orders. Scholars usually consider a castle to be the private fortified residence of a lord or noble.

Re: Milk run. According to Wikipedia it has multiple meanings, including that during World War Two especially, for United States Army Air Corps and Royal Air Force crews, a milk run was a “military air mission posing little danger.”

Re: “Tasting the breeze!” A phrase from my nephew-by-marriage, describing his son – my great-nephew – in a swing, going back and forth, eyes closed, thoroughly enjoying himself.

The Steinbeck quote is at page 86 of my Penguin Paperback version. He tried an end-run, to “creep along the neck of Ontario,” thus bypassing heavy traffic in Cleveland and Toledo.

Re: Bed bugs in Paris. See 2023 Paris bedbug infestation – Wikipedia. And apparently the city is having another this year, Bedbug panic sweeps Paris as infestations soar before 2024 Olympics. Which means this is a good year to go to Spain.

The lower image is courtesy of CHÂTEAU DE CAMBIAIRE – Prices & B&B Reviews (Tripadvisor).

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August 19, 2024 – In the last post we made our way to St. Julien and on to Cassagnas. From there, Sunday October 1 we hiked on to Saint-Germain-de-Calberte, “what turned out to be a really eventful and awe-inspiring day.” From there we had only two more days hiking; an easy 5.5 miles to Saint-Étienne-Vallée-Française, then another 8.1 miles to Saint-Jean-du-Gard. We’d get there on Tuesday, October 3, “145 years to the day after Stevenson ended his journey.” Which means we’re coming to the end of this travelog. Or at least the hiking-with-a-pack part.

Which leads to my next major bit of note-making, that late Sunday in Saint-Germain:

Good evening from Saint-Germain-de-Calberte… We got here after hiking 11 and a half miles from Cassagnas. Interesting, eventful day, starting with a misty rainbow just setting out this morning. Early on we came across a guy riding a horse, coming the other way, with a dog and a donkey as well. “That’s one way to do the Trail.” Then passed a passle of sheep, 60 to 70 I’d say, coming through. (We let them pass. Carol took a video.) Four sheep dogs herding them, two in front, two behind. And two or three shepherds. Quite a sight. Then got to the top of “Col de la Pierre Plantée,” at least that’s what the Stevenson pamphlet called it.

Col de la Pierre – the Wikipédia article is all in French – is not as high as Mont Lozere or “Signal,” but had more spectacular views. To see those views we started the morning in fog, looking west through trees and bushes to distant hills topped by a rainbow arc. Then more toward the east on a slightly rocky trail – but doable – the sun peeked in rays through another line of trees.

Approaching the summit we saw a scenic outcrop. The area teemed with more stacked-on-rocks, what appeared to be ancient stone altars of the kind we’d seen before on hilltops, but curving serpentine at this place. Then we saw a “little bitty speck to the right of the small tree ‘down there.’” It turned out to be an adventurous hiker who had clambered out onto the outcrop. We decided to join the fun, and from there a picture-taking party developed.

More hikers came along, saw what we were doing and they decided to join the fun. (Including a French couple hiking with a big white dog with a spotted back.) We all took turns clambering out onto the precipitous outcrop. (Climbing “awkwardly or with effort especially by using both the hands and the feet.”) We’d taken off our packs but still took care to tread carefully. Then took pictures of ourselves and each other, and “a good time was had by all.” Lots of back-and-forth French-to-English and back again. Then for us it was back on the trail again.

Shortly after that we stopped to enjoy some of the picnic lunch prepared for us by the nice lady at last night’s lodging. Like most days, today there was no place to stop and refresh. Most towns we’ve passed through were “dead dog,” almost ghost towns. “How about a stinkin’ 7-11, some place to get a cold drink?” But this salad was pretty good. Garbanzos, edemame, lima beans, various veggie bits, tasty dressing.

From there the trail continued part smooth and part rocky. “Except at the end of the day, always a REALLY rock-infested stretch heading into the destination town. Like this afternoon.” And it did seem that way, both then and in hindsight. No matter how smooth the Chemin may have been most of the day, as the afternoons wore on the trail magically grew more and more rocks. Maybe it was just because we got more and more tired as the day wore on. Or maybe it happened because the hike took longer than expected? As I wrote later, “Carol’s Fitbit said we did 11.5 miles, up from the projected ‘9.3.’” I added that overall it was a pretty smooth hike, “trailwise. Except for that last part – always – when coming into your stop-town. Never fails.”

Which leads again to the question, “Why would anyone in his right mind put himself through such agony, especially at age 72?” I’ll get to that in a bit, but despite the end-of-day magic-trail-rocks, we eventually found the place, Cottage In The Heart Of The Cevennes. (Check out Google Maps to see lots of zig-zag back-and-forths on the last part of the hike in from Cassagnas down to Rue de la Cantarelle in St. Germaine-de-Calberte.) Then it took a while to figure out where “in town” it was exactly, but eventually, “there it stood, on a hill overlooking a deep valley, with azure mountains in the distance, some of which we’ll have to climb in the next two days.”

Now back to the question, “Why would anyone put himself through such agony?” That evening, relaxing on the slat-shaded balcony, beer in hand, looking south over the azure mountains we ourselves would clamber over in a day or two, I pondered the question. Part of the answer comes from the feeling you get at the beginning of each day. I remembered a Zen saying from years before. “A child looks at a mountain and sees a mountain. An adult looks at a mountain and sees many things. A Zen master looks at a mountain – and sees a mountain.” Except that when you’re an adult on a Camino hike – and “in the proper frame of mind” – you don’t just see a mountain. You see that of course, and for the moment just that, but you also have a lifetime of memories to “mule over.*” More than that, each morning you are a child again. Everything is fresh, new and exciting, and each bend in the trail reveals things you’ve never seen before.

But of course, the warm bed, hot shower and cold beer at the end of a day helps a lot too.

So much for my meditations that Sunday evening. Which leads to another note I made: “Tomorrow, a nice easy 5.5 mile walk, then Tuesday we reach St. Jean du Gard, where our hike ends. 145 years to the day from when Stevenson arrived there.” Aside from that:

(Monday night we got to stay in a castle!)

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The upper image is courtesy of Cottage In The Heart Of The Cevennes Saint-germain-de-calberte France – Image Results.

For this post I borrowed from the September 10, 2023 post, An update – Stevenson Trail “REST of the Way.” (Which I actually posted on the evening of September 9. I flew out of Atlanta to Paris on September 10.) That post noted that “Stevenson reached the town [St. Jean du Gard] on October 3, 1878.” However, it seems he actually ended his journey in Alès, not St. Jean. We rested on October 4, in St. Jean, then took a bus to Ales on the 5th, and from there a train to Paris on the 6th, as detailed later.

Note: We figured the October 1 hike to St. Germaine would cover 9.3 miles.

Note that Wikipedia spells Travelogue with an extra “ue,” which article directs you to Travel literature – Wikipedia. That term “encompasses outdoor literature, guide books, nature writing, and travel memoirs.” The section “Composition of a Travel Journal” indicates there is no specific format, but such journals typically include “details and reflections about an individual’s experiences, observations, and emotions during the journey.” They also include notes on the activities engaged in sites visited, “interactions with the local culture, such as trying traditional foods, festivals etc.,” personal reflections – “thoughts, feelings, and impressions” – along with memorable moments. “These could be positive experiences, surprises, or even unexpected challenges throughout the journey.” (Like those “gang aft aglay” moments?) I’ll be reviewing that article…

Re: “Mule it over.” A quote from John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley, noted at Reader Q&A – Goodreads, about his knowing “from thirty years of my profession that I cannot write hot on an event. It has to ferment. I must do what a friend calls “mule it over” for a time before it goes down.” See also Mull It Over: Definition, Meaning and Origin.

The lower image is courtesy of Le Château de Cambiaire, Saint-Étienne-Vallée-Française, our goal on Monday October 2. And to those who might say this place did not fit the term, see Castle – Wikipedia:

A castle is a type of fortified structure built during the Middle Ages predominantly by the nobility or royalty and by military orders. Scholars usually consider a castle to be the private fortified residence of a lord or noble.

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