Day 2: Monistrol d’Allier to Saugues
- Simon Pollack
- Apr 28, 2024
- 2 min read
Updated: Mar 26
They moan and complain and see dark clouds ahead, their vision cloudy with doubt
Yet what they don’t see they know in their bones, though ne’er is it shouted aloud
For culture and films, for books and for wine, but most surely for gastronomy
There isn’t a country to touch La Belle France, nor where they’d prefer to be
28 April 2024, Sunday
Distance hiked 13.0km (8.1m) | Ascent 639m |
It was a far easier day today apart from the rain. And apart, in fact, for the climb out of Monistrol, which was really challenging as it was approximately 400 meters over 4km. A 1 in 10 incline for so long starts to wear, and you certainly feel it in the calves and hamstrings.
But in any event having reduced our challenge by 7km we had a relatively benign hike to Saugues, save for the bloody rain. It was so wet (and is yet forecast so to remain) that our hosts basically refused to let us use their laundry service as they had enough challenges to dry all the bed linen. But they were perfectly charming and accommodating (Pascal and Evelyne: also pilgrims, which imparts a certain cachet on those working on this route). And they directed us to a pubic launderette which was thankfully open on a Sunday, and we were able to de-sweat all our clothes.
And it became a very congenial and typical evening around the dinner table at this chambres d’hôtes called Les Gabales. A couple in their 50s and 60s, Peter and myself, a group of four women (one, very chic, is a professional singer who’s worked with all the stars including Johnny Halliday which is a huge name in France) and another group of three women.
One conversation brought home another observation I’ve noted on France. While the typical state of being in France is one of complaint (about anything you like, but certainly the government, the police, and the pension age), at root and unconsciously they’re sure France is the greatest country on earth. This, as in America, is a trait that engenders social cohesion, though the yanks are far more explicit about it. A woman, similar in age to me, rolled out a story I’ve heard a hundred times: I did a school exchange when I was 15, in Lancaster, and the food was so bad I cried on the phone to my mum. And then the wry comment that with this terrible weather it must feel, for Peter and me, just like home. Well those Napoleonic enmities seem still to be there! Then she recounted a story about her boss (evidently a rich Parisian) who had an apartment near the Champs Élysées and a problematic tenant he had to take to court to evict. The case took 4 years, ultimately successfully for the landlord, but meanwhile he lost 400k of rent (yes, it was 8k a month). Tell me that that makes a great country! Give me m’lud in blighty, with our assured shorthold tenancies, any time!
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