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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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