It’s been nearly three weeks on the Chemin de Saint Jacques (as the trail is called here in France) and about 250 miles. I’ve decided to take the day off in a little village called Auvillar, giving my body much needed rest and my mind some time to reflect. Auvillar is famous for its 17th century clock tower, and it is this clock tower that warns me that I’ve sat staring at my screen too long. As the bell suddenly dings twice instead of once, I realize that I’ve been trying to think of a good way to write my experience for nearly an hour. But still, I can’t. When I look back I just see a jumble of places and people and thoughts and food and magic — like a carousel moving too fast.
Snapshots, in no particular order:
I see the tympanum of the Church of Sainte Foy in person — one of my favorite pieces in art history class. That night I read the benediction in English for all the pilgrims, I do so inside the church that once was on my exam paper.
I enter buildings older than my native country on a daily basis, and still have no idea how to express gratitude to them — simply for their age.
A morning that one man from Minnesota described as “having just enough rain to make your hair look good.” A French woman and I walked through the woods when all of the sudden we stumbled upon a herd of Aubrac cows grazing amongst the trees. The ringing of their cowbells matched perfectly with the rhythm of the rain — ding splat dong splosh.
I understand an entire conversation in French.
I treat myself to a three-course dinner as I stay behind another night to rest my body. I learn to listen to my body and I learn to eat alone. I try crème brûlée for the first time
Three days of hiking — peak of sore muscles. I start the morning early and climb out of a river gorge, up the side of a mountain.
An hour of brutal uphill trekking is rewarded by a stream of light and warmth as I move above the cloud cover onto the plateau
Two French women adopt me for four days of hiking. They have the most beautiful souls.
I learn to understand a Québécois French accent as I spend three days hiking with a girl from the banks of the Flueve St-Laurent. She teaches me that it is possible to live off of baguettes and the kindness of strangers
Walked 250 miles with nothing but myself and a backpack (go me!)
